LITMIR.BIZ

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find me before he died,” he hastened to add. Oh, yes. Definitely a tsunami of feeling. “It took a bunch of legal proceedings to get the records opened so the estate could pass to me. Anyway, in his letter, he said Susan didn’t want to put me up for adoption. That she wanted to raise me herself. She even named me. Travis. Travis Amherst.” He chuckled, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in the sound. “I mean, can you see me as a Travis Amherst?”

      Actually, Chloe could. Hogan Dempsey struck her as a man who could take any form and name he wanted. Travis Amherst of the Upper East Side would have been every bit as dynamic and compelling as Hogan Dempsey of Queens. He just would have been doing it in a different arena.

      “Not that it matters,” he continued. “My grandparents talked Susan out of keeping me because she was so young—she was only fifteen when she got pregnant. They convinced her it was what was best for her and me both.”

      He looked at the photo again. In it, Susan Amherst looked to be in her thirties. She was wearing a black cocktail dress and was flanked by her parents on one side and a former, famously colorful, mayor of New York on the other. In the background were scores of people on a dance floor and, behind them, an orchestra. Whatever the event was, it seemed to be festive. Susan, however, wasn’t smiling. She obviously didn’t feel very festive.

      “My mother never told anyone who my father was,” Hogan continued. “But my grandfather said he thought he was one of the servants’ kids that Susan used to sneak out with. From some of the other stuff he said, I think he was more worried about that than he was my mother’s age.” He paused. “Not that that matters now, either.”

      Chloe felt his gaze fall on her again. When she looked at him, his eyes were dark with a melancholy sort of longing.

      “Of course it matters,” she said softly. “Your entire life would have been different if you had grown up Travis Amherst instead of Hogan Dempsey.” And because she couldn’t quite stop herself, she added, “It’s...difficult...when life throws something at you that you never could have seen coming. Especially when you realize it’s going to change everything. Whatever you’re feeling, Hogan, they’re legitimate feelings, and they deserve to be acknowledged. You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t matter. It matters,” she repeated adamantly. “It matters a lot.”

      Too late, she realized she had called him Hogan. Too late, she realized she had spilled something out of herself onto him again and made an even bigger mess than she had last night. Too late, she realized she couldn’t take any of it back.

      But Hogan didn’t seem to think she’d made a mess. He seemed to be grateful for what she’d said. “Thanks,” he told her.

      And because she couldn’t think of anything else to say, she replied automatically, “You’re welcome.”

      She was about to return to the kitchen—she really, really, really did need to get cooking—but he started talking again, his voice wistful, his expression sober.

      “I can’t imagine what my life would have been like growing up as Travis Amherst. I would have had to go to some private school where I probably would have played soccer and lacrosse instead of football and hockey. I would have gone to college. I probably would have majored in business or finance and done one of those study-abroads in Europe. By now Travis Amherst would be saddled with some office job, wearing pinstripes by a designer whose name Hogan Dempsey wouldn’t even recognize.” He shook his head, clearly baffled by what might have been. “The thought of having to work at a job like that instead of working at the garage is...” He inhaled deeply and released the breath slowly. “It’s just... A job like that would suffocate me. But Travis Amherst probably would have loved it.”

      “Possibly,” Chloe said. “But maybe not. Travis might have liked working with his hands, too. It’s impossible to know for sure.”

      “And pointless to play ‘what if,’ I know,” Hogan agreed. “What’s done is done. And the idea that I would have never known my mom and dad or have the friends I’ve had all my life... The thought of all the memories that live in my head being completely different...”

      Chloe winced inwardly at the irony of their situation. They both grieved for the unknown. But with him, it was a past that hadn’t happened, and for her, it was a future that would never be.

      “I need to cook,” she told him. She pushed her glasses into place with the back of her hand and took a step backward. “I’m sorry, but...” She took another step back. “I need to cook. If you’ll excuse me...”

      “Sure,” he said. “No problem.” He didn’t sound like there wasn’t a problem, though. He sounded really confused.

      That made two of them.

      When Chloe turned to head back to the kitchen, she saw Mrs. Hennessey topping the last stair. Hogan’s housekeeper reminded her of her grandmother in a lot of ways. She wore the same boxy house dresses in the same muted colors and always kept her fine white hair twisted into a flawless chignon at her nape. She was no-nonsense and professional, the way Chloe was. At least, the way Chloe was before she came to work for Hogan. The way she knew she had to be again if she wanted to keep working here.

      And she did want to keep working here. For some reason. A reason she wasn’t ready to explore. It was sure to be good, whatever it was.

      Mrs. Hennessey announced to the room at large, “There’s an Anabel Carlisle downstairs to see you. I showed her to the salon.”

      That seemed to snap Hogan out of his preoccupation with what might have been and pull him firmly into the here and now. “Anabel is here? Tell her I’ll be right down.”

      “No, Mr. Dempsey, she’s here to see Ms. Merlin.”

      Hogan’s jaw dropped a little at that. But all he said was, “Hogan, Mrs. Hennessey. Please call me Hogan.” Then he looked at Chloe. “Guess she refigured her budget and wants to hire you back.”

      Chloe should have been delighted by the idea. Not only did it mean more money coming in, but it also meant she would be free of Hogan Dempsey and his damnable heartache-filled eyes. She should be flying down the stairs to tell Anabel that she’d love to come back to work for her and would pack her bags this instant. Instead, for some reason, she couldn’t move. “Tell Anabel we’ll be right down,” Hogan told Mrs. Hennessey.

      The housekeeper nodded and went back down the stairs. Chloe stood still. Hogan gazed at her curiously.

      “Don’t you want to hear what she has to say?”

      Chloe nodded. She did. She did want to hear what Anabel had to say. But she really needed to cook. Cooking was something she could control. Cooking filled her head with flavors and fragrances, with methods and measurements. Cooking restored balance to the universe. And Chloe could really use some balance right now.

      “Well then, let’s go find out,” Hogan said.

      Chloe looked at him again. And was immediately sorry. Because now he looked happy and eager and excited. And a happy Hogan was far more overwhelming, and far more troubling, than a conflicted one. A happy Hogan reminded her of times and places—and people—that had made her happy, too. And those thoughts, more than anything, were the very reason she needed to cook.

      * * *

      Hogan couldn’t understand why Chloe looked so unhappy at the thought of seeing Anabel. Then again, Chloe hadn’t really looked happy about anything since he met her. He’d never encountered anyone so serious. Even cooking, which she constantly said she wanted to do, didn’t really seem to bring her any joy.

      Then he remembered she’d never actually said she wanted to cook. She always said she needed to. For most people, that was probably a minor distinction. He was beginning to suspect that, for Chloe, there was nothing minor about it at all.

      “C’mon,” he told her. “Let’s go see what Anabel wants.” And then, because she was standing close enough for him to do it, he leaned over and nudged her shoulder gently with his.

      He

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