Her brow furrows, as if she’s considering all I’ve said. “Did you come to me for permission? Like I’m a proxy for him?”

“No.” But maybe in some way I did. “Maybe?”

“Look at me.”

I meet her eyes.

“I’m not going to give it to you. Because you’re not going to find that, and somehow you’re going to have to be okay with it. Because you know what? I’m not the one to give you permission, and he’s not either.” She taps my heart. “This is where it comes from.”

The earth stops on its axis. The oceans cease churning. In that moment, I realize how completely wrong I’ve been. I’ve been looking for permission in the wrong place.

It exists in only one place, and that’s inside of me.

I have to give it to myself.

I say goodbye to Vivian, thanking her profusely. I walk across Central Park, remembering the laughter, the friendship, the needling, the teasing, the calls to go out and celebrate, the calls to go to sporting events, the calls to go help each other move a piece of furniture, test out a recipe, anything, everything.

And then the last call. The night we went to The Red Door, the hottest eatery in town.

He can’t call me anymore and tell me that everything is cool and to just go for it with the woman of my dreams.

And finally, I don’t want that anymore. I don’t need it any longer. Because I’m giving it to myself.

I’m the only one who can decide to love Lulu the way she deserves. With my whole heart. I’m the only one who can go forward gladly, exuberantly, without a shred of reluctance.

Life is full of choices, and I’m making this choice.

It’s exhilarating.

Tonight, I say goodbye to guilt.

I shout see you later to any last doubts.

I call out I’m done to the past.

The choice is now, and it’s high time to embrace the present and make room for the future—an absolutely fantastic future with the woman I adore.

The woman who’s somehow wonderfully, fantastically mine.

Well, as long as I don’t fuck things up anymore.

Shoot.

I need to fix things, stat.

That’s when I start running.

There’s not a moment to waste.

I run out of the park, down Fifth Avenue toward my home, dialing and dialing, reaching voice mail every time.

But voice mail won’t win.

I’m a resourceful man. I strike business deals for a living. I know how to work my way around a problem.

I call her best friend, and he answers.

38TRIPP

Nearly two years ago,The Red Door restaurant

I raced up the stairwell to Leo’s apartment, taking the steps two by two, not bothering with the elevator.

I had to get his ass in gear.

I reached the fifth floor, sprinted down the hall, and banged on the door.

A few seconds later, he yanked it open. “I told you I’d be downstairs in five,” Leo said. “Is your watch broken?”

“I don’t wear a watch.”

“No kidding.”

“We gotta go. I’m telling you. Now. Time’s a-wasting.”

He laughed. “Like the restaurant won’t hold the reservation for you?”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s not the point. The point is I got us into The Red Door, and now I don’t want to wait. C’mon.”

I’d snagged a table at the hippest new spot in all of Manhattan. This place was so cool, and I was sure it would inspire a whole new spate of dishes at my restaurant. Lord knew, I needed the help.

Not to mention, I needed some dough to pay the overdue bills.

But I wasn’t going to worry about that tonight.

There would be time to worry.

For now, it was Leo and Tripp hanging out, eating the best food, and living the single life in New York City.

A few minutes later, Leo shut the door behind him, and we took off for the restaurant.

Soon we were dining on bacon-wrapped shrimp, succulent butternut squash ravioli, and mushroom truffles, and I was in heaven. “This is so good. Why don’t I have this on the menu at my place?”

He laughed as he took another bite of the mushrooms. “Because you’d be stealing another chef’s dishes?”

I waved a hand dismissively. “Who cares? I need truffles on the menu. And I need them now.” I banged a fist on the oak table.