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magically appeared with tempting dishes conjured from nothing but desire.
    The young man who’d seated her came to take her order. He said he had let Connie know where she was seated, and then whisked away to another table.  
    Emma wondered how they did it. She even considered that a career as a chef in a busy establishment such as this might not have been the best move for her. She didn’t like pressure. Her dreams of being a chef always seemed to be about her flitting around a well-stocked kitchen alone, producing wonderful dishes to patient customers who understood that genius should never be rushed.
    Her food came and it was even more delicious than she’d imagined. Connie had become a master chef. Emma had worked her way through most of the pasta and half of her glass of wine when Connie appeared and took the seat opposite.
    Her brow glistened with perspiration and her eyes looked a little wild.
    “How’s the pasta?” Connie asked.
    “Perfect as always.” Emma lifted her glass in a toast. “To my best friend, the chef. Salutè.”
    Connie smiled and reached for Emma’s glass. She took a small sip and passed it back.
    “You never accept a toast without drinking as well,” Connie said.
    “Are you sure you have time to sit? I don’t want to pull you away.”
    Connie laughed. “If I don’t sit, I’ll fall, so I’m glad for the excuse.”
    “I don’t know how you do it.” Emma shook her head. “It’s so busy in here, the kitchen must be a madhouse.”
    “Actually, it’s not too bad. I have great staff. Although I prefer to be the head chef, I could easily pass things over to Rick. He’s a perfectionist, as you know, and yet a wonderfully creative thinker. I don’t know how I got so lucky to find him, but he’s worth his weight in truffles. Just don’t tell him I said so.”  
    Connie’s eyes twinkled in the candlelight.
    “Well, it just might be that he’s thrilled to work in one of the most prestigious restaurants in Toronto,” Emma said with a broad smile. “Or, maybe he’s still in love with the chef?”
    Connie waved her hand. “Nah, that’s all over.” She leaned back in her chair and surveyed her brain child. Emma could see she was pleased and proud with the success she’d found. But when Connie turned back to her, it was obvious something troubled her.
    “What’s wrong?” Emma asked.
    “I don’t know. I’m happy, I love this place of course, but lately it all just seems like hard work and no life. Stupid, I know. I should be happy to have accomplished all I set out to do, but it’s begun to feel a little empty without a family.”
    “Oh, Con, I didn’t know you felt that way.”
    “Well, I haven’t told you, so it’s not your fault. I didn’t even really know what was wrong until lately. I dread coming in to prep for the evening. I used to have to hold myself back from coming in too early, you know? It didn’t matter what I happened to be doing, I could only seem to think about Il Giardino. Now that it’s such a success, I just want to hand it off to someone else and go do it again, or maybe just open a small, more intimate place. This is all just so big and impersonal. It’s nothing like the trattorias I fell in love with in Rome.”
    Emma sipped her wine. She’d had no idea that Connie hadn’t been perfectly happy with her life. It rocked Emma to think that her best friend’s life—which she had always envied in her heart—wasn’t everything Connie wanted. Sure, she could sell Il Giardino for a pretty sum, but Emma worried Connie would regret it. And what about a family? It wasn’t like you could just conjure one up out of the air.
    “Well …” Emma paused, still unsure.
    “It’s okay, Em, you don’t have the answers any more than I do. Who knows what I should do. For now I’ll carry on, just as you’ll carry on and we’ll see what life brings us.” She smiled and reached across the table to pat Emma’s hand. “Enjoy your pasta. I’d better