Elodie’s POV
Murphy cracks a joke as he slides into an apron with the show’s logo emblazoned across the chest. I barely hear him. Instead, my gaze drifts across the bustling room to where a certain chiselled jawed man stands. He leans down, smiling warmly as he helps Sicily’s daughter loop into her own apron.
A sharp spike of bitterness slices through me as I watch them. My fists clench instinctively at my sides, my nails biting into my palms.
‘Elodie?’
Murphy’s voice cuts through the noise right beside me. I snap around to find him staring at me, an eyebrow raised expectantly.
‘I’m sorry, what?’ I ask, my brow furrowing as I try to pull myself together.
He chuckles, a low, easy sound, as he holds out a fresh apron. ‘I said, this one is yours.’ The knowing glint in his eyes tells me
