Hungry for More

CHAPTER 24



James and Amy skated for almost an hour, if skating was what you could call sliding like puppies across the ice, crashing onto their butts, pulling each other down by accident into a soggy heap, their limbs flailing on the slippery surface. Amy hadn’t laughed so hard in years.

Now they sat on the hard bleachers of the University of Pennsylvania Class of 1923 rink, watching lovers and friends and families go around and around to the beat of The Jackson Five on the ancient sound system.

“They’re pulling this place down,” James told Amy.

“Were we that bad?” Amy unlaced her skates and pulled them off her frozen feet.

He smiled and warmed her toes with his hands. “I don’t think it’s our fault. Well, maybe it’s our fault in abstract, since we’re one of the millions of people too busy to learn to skate.”

“You need parents who care to learn to skate. Parents who’ll take you out and rent you skates and break their backs holding you up for a few years.”

“Yeah, well, I score zero on all counts, there.”

“Me too.”

They watched the happy families go round and round.

“They’re making way for something more important, I guess,” James said.

“A French restaurant?”

“Nah, that’s not important.”

Amy snuck a glance at him. He seemed to mean it, for the moment, anyway. She sipped hot chocolate they had gotten from the vending machine. James refused to even smell it, saying it was neither truly hot nor truly chocolate. But he hadn’t been able to resist her electric-blue cotton candy—which wasn’t cotton but was most definitely candy—and his tongue and lips were stained bright, electric blue like hers.

“Are you worried about tonight?” she asked, feeding him a piece of the airy candy. “Manny running the kitchen?”

He ran his hands over her toes. “Nah. It’s about time he got a shot at it. Plus, the soup is out of this world.” His eyes clouded, and Amy braced herself for the conversation that she’d been dreading. “But I am worried about you. The word on the line says you’re avoiding Roni. The boys are all waiting for some kind of fireworks between you two. They’re very disappointed so far.”

Not as disappointed as Roni was. The poor woman was desperate for a showdown—the channeling—and Amy didn’t blame her. But so much could go wrong. Amy could find out Maddie wanted nothing to do with her. Or, she could discover that Roni lied about Gladys Roman and that James was her soul mate, and she’d have to leave him despite her promise to James, because she still needed Maddie back.


She’d rather keep things as is. James, his beautiful stained blue lips, his long eyelashes cast down as he rubbed her toes warm with his rough, kitchen-scarred hands. She and Troy and Roni—friends. Cooking together. Sharing Gypsy stories.

“They are right, Amy. It’s kinda strange that you waited for her for days, and now you avoid her like the plague.” James was watching her, waiting. He shook off the morsel of cotton candy she offered.

Amy turned away from him, grateful for the distraction of the skaters rushing past. A woman twirled gracefully on the center ice as amateurs floundered around her. For years, Amy had felt like the chosen one, the one who could skate circles around mere mortals. Lately, she felt like she was mostly on her butt, unable to even stay upright. She watched a woman fall, pulling her boyfriend down with her. Falling isn’t all bad if you do it together.

James took her hand. “And Stu told me that the boys believe you’re really a psychic.”

“I told you I was.” Was being the key word.

James pressed his lips together. “They say that Roni has a spirit-voice that used to belong to you. What does that mean? And why didn’t you tell me?”

Amy shrugged, trying to hide the dread that was shooting through her like black tendrils, circling her heart. Of course James would know everything. There weren’t any secrets in a restaurant. “It’s Gypsy business. You wouldn’t understand.”

He shook his head and crossed his arms. “Amy, I know that look on your face. You’re searching for the exits. Don’t. Stay, trust me. Tell me what’s going on.”

Amy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Do you believe in psychics?” She studied his face.

“I believe in lovers telling each other what’s happening in their lives.”

Lovers. The word caressed her, filling her with longing. She stuffed a piece of cotton candy into her mouth to stifle the emotion. He wasn’t her soul mate. Unless . . . But why would Roni lie? What did she want? “We’re not lovers, James. We’re business partners. Menu planners. Muse and . . .” Musee? “ Man.”

“I want more.” His voice had gone deep with emotion. “I want in, Amy.”

“You don’t believe in psychics and voices. You won’t believe what I say. So why bother?”

He leaned back along the bleachers, long and languid. “Forget what I believe. We’re not leaving this rink until you level with me about what you believe. I have your shoes, ma’am.” He dangled the key to the locker where they’d stashed their stuff.

Despite his silly threat, he was serious about wanting to know, and it terrified her. “I believe that we have nothing in common besides sex,” she blurted. Push him away, then run.

His eyes flashed as if she had slapped him. He considered her for a long time before he spoke. “When we make love, I get visions. They’re not voices, more like flavors. Fully formed dishes enter my head, and I know exactly how to make them and how they taste. It’s as if I’ve eaten them before. In another life, maybe. It’s like a psychic voice.” He was watching her closely. “So if my spirit gives me recipes, what does your voice give you?”

Amy stalled while she watched the attendants clear the rink of skaters. The Zamboni came out of its cave, waiting for its turn to wipe the ice clean.

“Does the voice tell you something awful? How to make British pub food, maybe?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes at him. A family came off the ice and sat nearby. A wave of longing rose in Amy.

“Recipes for liver hash?”

Amy took a deep breath. Funny, gorgeous, man. She was lost. Sunk. Gone. She watched the parents dote on their two children, whose snowsuits were soaked through from falling.

She was turning into Stu.

“Blood sausage and beans?” James asked.

“God. Stop. Not that bad. She tells me the names of peoples’ soul mates.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she was sorry. She held her breath. You still with me, James? She wished Maddie gave her something as mundane as bean recipes. She watched her words register as a shadow over James’s face as he processed what she had said.

His voice came out guarded, his eyes on hers. “Who’s your soul mate?”

“Oh, relax. It’s certainly not you. ”

The green specks in his eyes flashed, then faded to brown. “How do you know?”

“I don’t know. The voice never told me my True Love’s name. I have no idea who he is, and I don’t ever want to know. But Roni told you your soul mate is named Gladys Roman.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Me and Gladys, huh? Lets you off the hook.” His voice was flat and hard.

“My soul mate could be anyone. He might be a she. He might be a five-hundred-pound shut-in who needs a crane to lift him through a hole in the roof. He might be a wife-beater.”

“He might be a French chef,” James said matter-of-factly. “Roni and that spirit might be full of shit.”

“You think this whole thing is ridiculous.” A shiver went down her spine, and she shook it away. “But it’s not, James. I’ve seen the power of Maddie and her names. You have to find this Gladys Roman woman and you’ll see.”

He thought for a while, watching the Zamboni make lazy circles like a hawk. “Why didn’t the voice tell you who your soul mate was?”

“Some screwed-up spirit rule. The one who has the voice doesn’t get to know the name of her One True Love.”

“But Roni could tell you?”

Here we go. She braced herself for his scorn. “I forbade Roni to tell me.”

“Why?”

“If I fall in love with my soul mate, I can’t have the voice back. And I’d rather have it back than have my One True Love.”

His eyes scanned hers, but she couldn’t read them. “So you agreed to stay and help me with the menu only after you knew I wasn’t your soul mate. So you could still get your power back. If Roni had heard my name in the walk-in, you’d have split?”

Amy rushed to defend herself. “If I told you that you could have your One True Love but that you’d never have another recipe enter your mind, fully formed, as if in a vision, what would you choose? The power to create amazing food or True Love? Think of that third star, James. If you had to choose your stars or me, what would you choose?”

“The stars.” He didn’t hesitate, and her body relaxed into his answer. So there. But then her body tensed again. The stars? What about me?

He fixed her with his hard brown eyes. “Because I don’t trust you, Amy. If I chose you, you might split, and I’d be left with nothing. Give me a reason to trust you. That’s all I’d need. Then the rest could go to hell.”



They walked silently to James’s silver Audi. Everything had changed; she could see it in his eyes. She had hurt him. I’m with you because you’re nothing. Of course he’d take it that way—wouldn’t she if she were in his shoes? She shouldn’t have told him so much. She shouldn’t have told him anything.

He got into the driver’s seat and she slid in beside him. He started the powerful engine and eased the car into the traffic. “So you think Roni will give you the voice back? That’s why you’re hanging around here?”

Amy stared at the city passing by. He was angry, and she didn’t blame him. It was a lot of information to take in, especially for someone who obviously didn’t believe in the spirit world and psychic power. She knew that his talk about recipes was just a metaphor to him, a way to explain his own power and its mystery. He didn’t really believe that a spirit gave him his recipes.


Well, the man might as well know the whole truth. He’d find out anyway through the restaurant grapevine. “Roni doesn’t want the power. She begged me to take it back when I told her she couldn’t have One True Love and the voice. But it’s not hers to give. We have to convince the spirit to come back to me. We’re going to try a channeling. Soon.”

“And when you get the voice back, you leave?”

“I’ll help you finish the menu,” she said. “If that’s what you’re worried about. Hell, we’re almost done, right?”

“Yep. Almost done. No further business here with some second-rate guy who poses no threat of True Love.” He stared at the red light swinging on its tethers as if it were the saddest thing he’d ever seen.



James gunned the Audi’s engine at the first flash of green, shooting past the crawling buses. So, she was using him to get to Roni. She not only didn’t love him, but she also didn’t believe she ever could love him because of some whacked-out Gypsy prophecy.

So, he’d let her go. It was nuts, and he didn’t need any part of a woman who couldn’t stay put. But something was bothering him. Something about the whole situation didn’t seem right. Something about the way Roni had acted in the walk-in. “I want to be at the channeling,” he said.

Amy shook her head. “It’s Gypsy business.” She stared out the window, her arms crossed.

He pulled the car to the curb, slamming it into park and turning to her. “Amy, I let you into my restaurant, my home, my life. You owe me. I deserve to see this power that you trust when you don’t trust anything else in this world—not your own feelings, not experience, not even me. So don’t even bother saying no, because you can’t stop me. I’m coming, whether you like it or not.”





Always pause before the main course. Drink a glass of wine.

Relax. Get ready for the revelations yet to come.

—JAMES LACHANCE, Meal of a Lifetime,

THE MENU: BETWEEN COURSES