Chapter 2

Roman finally walks away, but the way he moves triggers something in my memory. That careful, deliberate pace. Like he's thinking through every step.

I've seen that walk before.

Five years ago, Austin Culinary Institute. First day of hands-on cooking.

I was standing in the pristine kitchen, surrounded by thirty other students who all looked like they belonged there. Sharp knives gleaming. Cutting boards perfectly aligned. The smell of fresh herbs and possibility in the air.

And me, wearing thin nitrile gloves like a surgeon.

"Today we're making fresh pasta," Chef Williams announced, his voice cutting through the nervous chatter. "From scratch. No machines, no shortcuts. Real cooking requires you to feel the dough."

My stomach dropped.

"What's wrong with your hands?" Jessica Martinez asked, loud enough for half the class to hear.

I focused on the pile of flour in front of me. "I have a condition."

"What kind of condition?"

Chef Williams appeared behind me like a storm cloud. "Miss Winters, in my kitchen, we cook with our hands. We feel the texture, the temperature, the readiness of ingredients."

Every pair of eyes turned toward me. Thirty future chefs, all staring at the girl who couldn't even touch her food.

"How do you expect to be a chef if you can't even touch what you're cooking?" Williams continued.

I wanted to disappear. To run back to my dorm room and never come out.

That's when I noticed him.

Roman Castellano. Tall, confident, with the kind of easy smile that made everyone like him instantly. He was supposed to be working with his assigned partner, but instead he was watching me.

"Chef," Roman's voice was respectful but firm. "Some of the greatest chefs in history have found unique ways to work around challenges. Maybe we should focus on results, not methods."

Williams raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"I'd be happy to partner with Sage today," Roman continued. "Show what we can create together."

I stared at him. This beautiful, popular guy who could have worked with anyone in the class.

"Why?" I whispered.

He smiled. "Because I think you're going to teach me something I never knew about cooking."

The pasta lesson was a disaster. I couldn't feel the dough properly through my gloves. Couldn't tell when it was the right consistency. My noodles came out thick and uneven while everyone else's looked perfect.

"Pathetic," Jessica muttered as she walked past our station.

I ran.

Found myself hiding in the supply closet, surrounded by industrial-sized cans of tomatoes and flour sacks. Trying not to cry and failing completely.

The door opened. Roman slipped inside, closing it behind him.

"Hey," he said softly. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." I wiped my face with the back of my gloved hand. "Just needed some air."

"In a closet?"

Despite everything, I almost smiled. "It's quiet."

He sat down on a bag of rice across from me. "Want to tell me about the gloves?"

Here it comes, I thought. The questions. The judgment. The inevitable moment when he realizes I'm broken.

"I have sensory processing issues," I said quickly. "Certain textures make me panic. Raw meat, sticky sauces, anything slimy or..."

I stopped. Waited for him to laugh or make excuses to leave.

Instead, he leaned forward. "Does it hurt?"

The question caught me off guard. "What?"

"When you touch those things. Does it actually hurt?"

No one had ever asked me that before. "Yes. It's like... like every nerve ending is screaming. I can't think, can't breathe."

Roman nodded slowly. "Okay. So we figure out a way around it."

"You can't just figure out a way around it. It's not something you fix."

"I didn't say fix. I said work around." He stood up, offering me his hand. "Come on. Let's try something."

Back in the kitchen, most students had left. Roman led me to a clean station and pulled out a bandana from his bag.

"Close your eyes," he said.

"What?"

"Trust me. Close your eyes."

I did, and felt the soft fabric settle over my face like a blindfold.

"Now," Roman's voice was right next to my ear, "tell me what you smell."

I breathed in. "Basil. Garlic. Something sweet... honey?"

"Good. What else?"

I focused harder. "Yeast. From the bread station. And... vanilla extract."

"Amazing." I could hear the smile in his voice. "Most people can only identify one or two scents at a time. You just named five."

He guided my hands to different ingredients. Had me identify them by smell alone, then by sound when he chopped or mixed them.

"Your other senses are incredible," he said. "Way better than mine."

For the first time all day, I didn't feel broken.

"Want to try making something together?" Roman asked. "I'll handle anything you can't touch. You handle everything else."

We made carbonara. Roman dealt with the raw eggs and bacon while I focused on the pasta water, the timing, the seasoning. He described textures to me while I told him exactly when to add each ingredient.

"Now," I said, tasting the sauce he'd made. "Just a pinch more pepper."

"You sure?"

"Trust me."

He did. And when we tasted the final result, his eyes went wide.

"Holy shit," he breathed. "This is the best carbonara I've ever made."

"Language, Mr. Castellano," Chef Williams appeared beside us.

We both froze. Williams had been watching.

He took a bite of our pasta, chewed thoughtfully. "Interesting technique. Unconventional, but..." He paused. "Effective."

After Williams walked away, Roman turned to me with the biggest grin I'd ever seen.

"See?" he said. "You don't need to change. The world needs to change to accommodate you."

That's when he did it. Reached for my hand without thinking.

I jerked back instinctively, and his face fell. Just for a second, I saw hurt flash across his features.

"Sorry," he said quietly. "I forgot."

That expression I'll never forget.

Hurt, but immediately replaced by understanding. He didn't push. Didn't insist. Just said quietly, "It's okay. We'll take it slow."

That's when I knew I was falling in love with him.

Too bad love couldn't solve everything.

Six months later, when he brought me to meet his family, I learned exactly how much love wasn't enough.