1
“Hey, you look like you’re hunting for something specific.”
Rosie McQueen was standing in the spice aisle of a busy supermarket, carefully scanning the shelves. Her fingers brushed over various jars of thyme, basil, and rosemary, but none of them felt quite right for the dish she was planning. She was deep in thought, trying to remember the precise measurements from her great-grandmother’s recipe book when a voice broke through her concentration.
“Need help?”
Rosie turned, slightly startled. A tall man with messy black hair and striking gray eyes was leaning casually against the aisle, his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. The man wore a half-smile, as if he was trying to make the situation less awkward, but Rosie could feel the faint pull of his curiosity.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Rosie replied quickly, shifting her gaze back to the shelf in front of her. She wasn’t in the mood for distractions—she had a lot on her plate, and this grocery run was part of her carefully planned routine.
The man, however, didn’t seem to take the hint. “Are you sure? You look like you’re trying to piece together a secret recipe.”
Rosie forced a tight smile, trying to ignore him. “I’m just trying to find the right spices.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “Spices, huh? You know, you could probably get away with a little creativity—let the flavors surprise you. You’re not cooking for a food critic, are you?”
Rosie gave an amused, though slightly annoyed, glance at the man. “No, just for myself,” she muttered. Her focus was drifting back to the spices, but the man wouldn’t let up.
“I’m Aidan,” the stranger said, his smile widening. “And I don’t bite, promise. Just… curious. You seem like you’re in a hurry. Or, you know, just… not interested in talking.”
Rosie froze, glancing at him. There was something oddly magnetic about this guy. He wasn’t exactly her type, but there was an effortless charm to him, the kind that made Rosie feel suddenly… awkward.
“Aidan,” Rosie repeated, her voice flat. “I’m Rosie,” she said reluctantly. “But, uh… I’m a little busy.”
Aidan nodded, unfazed by Rosie’s curt response. “Right. Busy. I get it. I’m usually pretty focused too. You know, being a journalist, you have to be.”
Rosie didn’t know why she had bothered to mention her name, but the stranger’s persistence was beginning to grind on her nerves. It wasn’t that Rosie was rude; she simply didn’t like distractions. Especially not when she had something important to do. She wasn’t the type of person who could juggle conversations and shopping.
“Anyway,” Rosie added, glancing briefly at the man again, “I’m not really the multitasking type.”
Aidan chuckled, a low sound that seemed to draw Rosie’s attention against her will. “Yeah, I can tell. I won’t keep you long, but if you need help with any spices—or advice, you know—just let me know.”
Rosie’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t want to seem like a jerk, but she had things to do. And if there was one thing she couldn’t stand, it was small talk when she was focused on a task.
“Well, thanks, but I think I’ve got it covered,” Rosie said, her voice clipped.
There was a moment of silence before Aidan spoke again, this time softer. “It’s not every day I run into someone as focused as you, Rosie. But hey, maybe I’ll catch you another time, huh?”
Rosie just nodded, offering a tight smile before returning to her task. Aidan lingered for another moment, watching her, then, as if sensing he wasn’t going to get any more attention, backed away.
“Alright, I’ll let you focus. Maybe I’ll see you around, Rosie,” Aidan said with a final grin, pulling out his phone. “I’ll put your number in my phone, in case you need a hand sometime.”
Before Rosie could protest, Aidan had already saved her number, quickly making his exit. Rosie stood there for a moment, staring at the shelves, unsure how to feel. She had barely spoken to the man, and yet, Aidan had left his mark on her.
It wasn’t as though Rosie didn’t want to talk to him more; it was just that she had too many things to handle right now. Aidan was intriguing, but she didn’t have time for distractions—especially not when her family’s restaurant, The Lavender Table, was on the line.
Still, Rosie couldn’t shake the odd feeling that Aidan wasn’t entirely a random encounter. There was something about him, something sensual, though Rosie couldn’t quite place it.
And when Rosie checked her phone a few minutes later, she cursed herself silently for not asking for Aidan’s number first. Her fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating before she decided to let it go.
Later that evening, as Rosie sat alone in The Lavender Table, her great-grandmother’s old recipe book—now nowhere to be found—lingered at the back of her mind.
She cursed under her breath, unable to stop the feelings of panic rising in her chest. Without that book, everything she had worked for felt… meaningless.
Rosie smiled faintly, but the pang of frustration still lingered in her chest.
The seed of curiosity had been planted.
Rosie couldn’t help but wonder: What if that man knew something about the recipe book that had gone missing?
Aidan leaned back against the cold supermarket shelf, his eyes fixed on the phone screen. He couldn’t help but smile at Rosie’s number, still fresh in his contacts.
The brief but interesting encounter had lingered in his thoughts all morning. But before he could get too lost in daydreams, his phone buzzed again.
“Hello?”
“Aidan,” came the sharp voice of his boss. “We need to talk. Now.”
His heart sank. The tension in the air was thick, even over the phone. He’d been expecting something like this after the scandal, but the tone was still a punch to the gut.
“Aidan, the company is facing legal action because of that piece you wrote,” his boss continued. “This is serious. You didn’t check your sources. I’ll need you to take full responsibility.”
Aidan clenched his jaw, already feeling the anger rise. “What do you mean, I take full responsibility? I only wrote what the editor told me to. It’s not my fault if it wasn’t double-checked.”
His boss didn’t even try to understand. “We’ll deal with this later. Just clean up your desk. The meeting’s been set up. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”
The line went dead. Aidan stared at the phone, hands clenched, the weight of it all crashing down. He couldn’t even be angry; he was just tired.
Shoving the phone into his pocket, he turned to leave the store, too frustrated to even care about the groceries. He was halfway out the door when something caught his eye—a tattered, old book tucked between fresh vegetables.
Curious, he picked it up and flipped through the pages. The fading ink, the handwritten notes—it was all so... nostalgic. A recipe book, old and full of family secrets, recipes passed down through generations. Aidan smiled to himself.
He glanced around, then his thoughts went back to the young woman from earlier.
She had been sweet, a bit reserved, but genuinely interesting. And now, with this book in his hands, Aidan had the perfect excuse to reach out.
“Looks like I have something to call you about after all,” he muttered, the smile returning to his lips.
Aidan walked into his office building with a heavy heart, still reeling from the phone call earlier. He had barely put one foot in the door when Lula, his ex and the editor-in-chief’s daughter, appeared out of nowhere, blocking his path.
“Aidan,” Lula started, her voice a mixture of sweet persuasion and barely concealed desperation. “Can we talk?”
Aidan froze, exhaling sharply. Of course, Lula had to show up today. “Not now, Lula. I have a lot to deal with.” He tried to step around her, but Lula persisted, stepping right in front of him.
“Please, just listen,” Lula pressed, her eyes pleading. “I’ve been thinking a lot about... us. About everything that happened. I know I messed up, but can’t we try again? I was wrong to cheat, but I need you to forgive me. We can move past it.”
Aidan’s patience, already thin, snapped. He didn’t even look at Lula, his focus shifting to the desk, as he began to pack up his things, still organizing his documents. “Lula, stop. This isn’t about forgiveness. It’s about me—the real me. Not some version of myself you can manipulate to fit your ego.”
Lula stepped closer, her voice tightening with frustration. “You’re being stubborn, Aidan. I’m trying here!”
Aidan turned, meeting her gaze for the first time, his voice calm but firm. “I’m not going to make excuses for you anymore. You’re selfish. Always have been. And honestly, Lula? Even if you hadn’t cheated, I would’ve still ended things. You never cared about anything other than yourself.”
Lula’s face faltered, but she quickly masked it with a cold smile. “Whatever,” she muttered, her voice edged with bitterness. “I guess this is it, then.”
Without waiting for a response, Aidan walked past her and headed to the boardroom for the meeting. As he passed Lula, the tension in the air felt thick, but Aidan didn’t let it stop him. He had more pressing matters to handle.
Lula, standing there, fuming with frustration, turned back to Aidan’s desk. Her eyes landed on something unfamiliar—a worn, old recipe book tucked underneath Aidan’s clutter.
Curiosity piqued, Lula opened the book, flipping through its pages, a smirk creeping onto her face.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” she murmured, the smile shifting to one of intrigue. “Guess someone’s got more secrets than I thought.”
She ran a finger across the pages, noting the careful handwritten recipes, then paused. The book felt… familiar, in a way that sent a ripple of recognition through her.
With a glance toward the door where Aidan had just disappeared, Lula slid the book into her bag, a devious gleam in her eye.
She might have just found something that could change everything.
Rosie’s steps echoed through the empty aisles as she paced back and forth in the supermarket, her frustration mounting. She had been searching for what felt like hours, asking staff members if they’d seen the old recipe book, but no one had any answers.
“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, running a hand through her hair. She glanced around one more time, but the shelves were bare, the elusive book nowhere to be found.
Her gaze fell to her phone, and for a brief second, she almost hoped that Aidan might have messaged or called. Maybe, just maybe, the guy would have come back to give her the book.
But no. The screen was blank, the silence pressing in on her. Rosie sighed heavily, the weight of her family’s legacy and the restaurant’s future bearing down on her.
“Stupid,” she muttered to herself, then pressed her thumb to the screen to scroll absentmindedly. Why hadn’t she at least asked for Aidan’s full name or written down his number? She had been so caught up in the moment.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed in her hand. Rosie’s heart skipped a beat as she glanced at the screen, seeing an unfamiliar number pop up.
She quickly answered, her voice hesitant. “Hello?”
“Hey, Rosie. It’s Aidan,” came the smooth voice on the other end. “I’ve got something of yours.”
Rosie’s breath caught in her throat. “You have the book?” she asked, feeling a rush of hope.
“Yeah. I found it after we talked earlier,” Aidan said. “It was hidden among some vegetables in the produce section. Didn’t realize how important it was at first, but now... well, I think it’s pretty significant. I’m willing to return it, of course.”
Rosie’s relief was immediate, her voice softer. “I can’t thank you enough. I— I’ve been tearing this place apart looking for it.”
Aidan’s voice took on a teasing tone. “Well, I’m not just going to hand it back to you for nothing. I think you owe me a favor.”
Rosie laughed nervously, feeling the tension in her chest ease. “Anything,” she replied, more than willing to do whatever it took. “You really saved me.”
