Every time he shows up at my door, heartbroken once again, my heart breaks and soars at the same time.

Trisha Graham was just attempting to pull a casserole out of the oven without using oven mitts when the shrill call of the telephone broke the relative silence in the room. Trisha jumped and screamed, having burned her hand on the hot dish and lunged for the phone on the other side of the kitchen. Pushing the burned part of her hand into her mouth, she answered the phone. "Hello?" she asked, her voice sounding strained and on the edge of tears.

"You burned yourself again." The voice was matter-of-fact, tinged with concern and a bit of amusement.

Trisha rolled her eyes. "Hi to you too," she muttered. "And it's not my fault!" she defended. "I really can't find those mitts!"

"Sure, sure," the voice teased. "They got up and walked away. Say no more, I know the story. What did you burn this time?"

"My hand," Trisha said gruffly. "At least I didn't spill everything down the front of my shirt like last time. Those scabs haven't all come off yet."

For a moment, the line went quiet. Then, the voice said with a sigh, "Trish, you do so much for us. Why?"

Trisha made her way to the kitchen sink, turning the water on low and sticking her throbbing hand under the stream of coolness. "Because you're my best friends, and my world. What else? Plus, this isn't for you. It's for a customer. So presumptuous of you!"

"Trish-" the person on the other end seemed to hesitate, something they rarely ever did.

This action made Trisha stand up straighter and grip the phone tighter. "Shane," she whispered. "Did something happen?"

Shane Grey seemed to hesitate even longer this time. "Let's just say that he'll probably be showing up any minute, and he'll need one of your special menus."

Trisha hurried to the stove and turned it off, not wanting her casserole to burn while she talked. "Okay," she said. "I'll be ready."

"Trish," Shane said again, his voice carrying a hint of a warning tone. "Are you sure you can handle this?"

Trisha busied herself by cleaning up the kitchen space as she talked, the phone tucked under her ear. "Of course I can handle it. Shane, I'm not a baby. He comes to me every time this happens. Why should this be any different?"

"It isn't," Shane said quietly. "It's just that I know it breaks your heart more than it does his."

"I doubt it," Trisha scoffed, trying to sound nonchalant even though she knew what her friend was saying was true.

"I don't," Shane replied. "Everyone but Nate knows that you're in love with him, and that's your fault for being so secretive. Why can't you tell him?"

Trisha sighed, leaning against the counter. Her hand had stopped throbbing so insistently, replaced by another throbbing in her heart region. Why couldn't she tell him? Why couldn't she, the person that knew him better than anyone else, tell him that she'd loved him forever? "I just can't," was her eloquent reply. Before Shane could get started on all of his reasons (he had many) as to why she and Nate were perfect for each other, Trisha hastily changed the subject. "When are you guys coming for dinner?"

Shane noticed the change in subject but shrugged it off and decided not to reprimand his friend just that moment. "Sometime around five," he said. "Sound good to you?"

"Sure," Trisha said, pulling herself away from the counter's support and striding towards the large fridge. "I'll just make some adjustments to the menu."

"Let me guess," Shane drawled, and there was a trace of amusement in his voice, "you're going to make a favorite of Nate's now?"

"You know, Shane," Trisha teased, pulling out ingredients from the fridge. "For all your Hollywood pop star looks, you've actually got a rather sharp brain under that bed hair."

"Hey!" the phone screeched, indignant. "You do not insult my hair like that!"

Trisha smiled and tried to make her voice sound apologetic. "Sorry." It didn't work.

"No you're not," Shane scoffed, "but never mind. I just wanted to give you a heads up."

A sadness swept over Trisha as she remembered the reason for Shane's call. "Thanks," she said. "I'll be on the lookout for him." She heard the buzzer sound in the front and said, "Shane, I've got to go. See you tonight?"

"Sure," Shane responded. "Bye, Trish."

Trisha put the phone down and hurried to the front door of her store, throwing it wide open so that the young man standing there could step inside. "Sorry about that," she apologized, cursing herself when she realized that he was a new customer. "Way to make an impression, genius," she thought as she ushered him into the room. "I was trying to get everything together for you," she explained, wincing slightly as she stretched the truth a little.

She looked up to see if the guy was buying it, and by the look on his face, he didn't seem to care what she was saying. His eyes were constantly flickering from her face to her feet and back again, and Trisha turned around quickly, hurrying back to the kitchen. "Just have a seat!" she called over her shoulder. "I'll be out with your order in a minute."

She scrambled around in the kitchen, looking for the right to-go box and then hurried to the stove and opened the oven door, hopping that the pan had cooled slightly. She gently tapped the sides and experimentally gripped the edges, breathing a sigh of relief when she realized that the pan was warm, but not hot. She dished up the casserole and rang up the total. Putting the casserole in a bag, she took it out into the front of the restaurant so that she could hand it to the customer, who was still watching her with a ridiculous grin and flickering eyes that were becoming unnerving. "Here you are," she said, handing him the total.

The young man took the receipt and handed her the proper amount. Trisha handed him the casserole and smiled. "Thank you," she said.

"No," he corrected her as he took the bag. "Thank you." He grinned at her and asked, "May I have your number?"

A dozen thoughts flashed through Trisha's mind, "No, I have a boyfriend," "No, I can't," "No, I've vowed not to date anyone because I'm in love with my best friend," and "No, you scare me," being only a few of them. She stood there for a moment, feeling foolish, and finally decided on her most-used excuse. "I'm sorry, but I'm not dating at the moment. Thank you for the compliment, though."

The young man left, looking slightly dejected, and Trisha weighed the thought of losing a customer to having to go on her first date with someone who looked like he wanted to eat her instead of her food. No, one customer was definitely not worth it. She watched from one of the front windows as the guy pulled away from the curb and sighed, her mind wandering back to three years ago when she had founded this restaurant. She had always had a love for cooking, and when she had been a little girl, she was forever making cookies and brownies and other sorts of treats and taking them to school to share with everyone. When she grew up, she had started baking more intricate projects, and making dinner became one of her "chores." Now, she had her own restaurant, called Off The Chain. It was named after not only her best friend, but also for her business partner. He not only made the business decisions, but he also cooked a mean batch of macaroni and cheese.

"Speaking of Nate," Trisha mumbled out loud as she saw her friend speed up in his blue Murcielago. As he parked in the stall designated for him, Trisha sighed. Nate Grey was the boy that had everything. He had wealth, status, and a thousand or more screaming girls following him around. How had she been so fortunate to grow up with him, to still be his friend, and to be so close to him? How had she been so unfortunate as to fall in love with him? He was Everything, and she was nothing but Everything's friend.

Still, she was what he needed right now. Being a Nothing had its perks, because when you're a nobody from nowhere, people open up to you. They don't have to fear that what they say to you will end up in the next issue of Tiger Beat or People magazine. They feel comfortable about sharing their problems, knowing that your only motive for listening is that you care. So, with that in mind, Trisha squared her shoulders and threw the door open once more, this time opening her arms so that Nate could fall into them.

"Hi," she whispered quietly, holding him tightly as he breathed deeply, trying not to cry. "It's okay. I have tissues." She felt his shuddering laugh, and then he stepped back to look at her, his eyes red and his face haggard looking.

"So you know," he said, his voice sounding gravelly, completely unlike the rich, smooth voice Trisha was used to hearing.

"Not really," Trisha said. "I wasn't filled in on details." She tugged Nate's arm toward the kitchen where they always shared their secrets.

Nate was about to allow her tugging when he noticed the burn on her hand. He stopped her, caressing the hand carefully. "What did you do?" he asked, his voice strained as he looked at the new wound.

"It's nothing," Trisha said, trying to pull her hand away. "It'll heal. I was just being stupid, that's all. Nothing new." She attempted a carefree laugh, but it came out rather forced.

Trisha watched as Nate's eyes flickered to her chest and stomach, and she knew that he was thinking of the last time he had come, angry with his girlfriend for cheating on him. Trisha had been pulling a soup concoction off the stove when he had whirled on her, startling her. As a result, all the piping hot soup had spilled out and had rushed down the front of her shirt. Trisha knew that those scars would last forever, but she had refused to let Nate wallow in the self-anger that he had wanted to disappear into. Now, she felt the need to remind him…again. "It wasn't your fault," she said. "Stop thinking about it." She tugged at his arm, jerking him back from the memories and into the present. "Come on. I'll get you a menu."

Nate followed her, laughing bitterly. "You'd think that I would've learned the menu by heart by now," he said as they made their way past the restaurant and into the kitchen.

Trisha turned around and glared at him severely. "I should hope not," she said. "There's a lot of food on that menu." She sat him down at the staff table in the corner of the expansive kitchen and handed him the heartbreak menu. The heartbreak menu was a special menu that Off The Chain touted, catering to those lonely people who had just had their hearts broken. It contained everything from brokenhearted cookies to bleeding heart pancakes, which were pancakes with strawberry jam oozing out of them.

Nate perused the menu for a moment and finally decided. "I'll take your Heart Break Hot Chocolate," he said, "and your Half Heart Cookies."

Trisha nodded and got to work whipping up the hot cocoa and the cookies. The cookies were her own special recipe and they only took a few minutes to bake, so she made those first and then began on the hot cocoa, working in silence until she could give Nate her undivided attention. "There you are," she said, setting the treats down in front of her friend. "Don't eat too many, though, or else you won't have room for your dinner."

Nate smacked his forehead mid bite. "That was tonight!" he exclaimed. "Today is Friday!"

Trisha nodded. "Yes, today is Friday," she said patiently. As tradition demanded, the Grey brothers came over to the restaurant every Friday night to have dinner, except for when they were out of town on their tours.

"I'm sorry, Cracker," Nate said softly, using the nickname for Trisha that he had given her when he had learned her last name. "I completely forgot what day it was."

"No problem," Trisha said, putting her chin in her hands. "At least you're here. Now, tell me what happened."

Nate's eyes clouded over, and he sighed. "She dumped me because she can't stand my seriousness anymore."

"Are you serious?!" Trisha exclaimed. For the years she had known the Greys, she'd heard a lot of lame excuses for breaking up with them, but she'd never heard one quite that lame.

"Apparently I'm too serious," Nate said sulkily, taking her exclamation out of context.

Trisha rolled her eyes. "Not exactly what I meant," she muttered. Then, she sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, trying not to wince as her shirt pulled at one of the scabs still left on her chest. "If that's what she came up with, then she wasn't worth it in the first place." She refrained from adding that she'd never liked his girlfriend anyway. That made absolutely no difference, for she didn't like any of Nate's girlfriends.

Nate went on to explain how the night had gone, while Trisha listened intently, saying all the right things in all the right places. Afterward, she gave him a hug and handed him a couple of tissues, even though she knew that he wouldn't use them. Sure enough, he thanked her and stuffed them into his pocket, asking instead, "So what are you making tonight?"

Trisha smiled at him, knowing from past experiences that he was trying to move on. "I'm making steaks with the seasonings you like, baked potatoes, and you're going to make the mac and cheese. Sound good?"

Nate smiled at her and stood, draining the last of his hot chocolate. "Sounds great," he said. He put his cup in the sink and turned around to find that Trisha had placed everything he needed for the macaroni and cheese out on the counter. He pulled her close, enveloping her in a hug. "You're the best friend," he whispered into her hair and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I don't know what I would do without you."

The sentiments were too close, yet so far away, from what she wanted to hear, so Trisha pushed him away gently and grinned saucily, flipping her auburn hair over her shoulder. "You'd starve," she said plainly. "All you can make is macaroni and cheese."

Nate tugged on her ponytail. "Point taken," he chuckled. "I need you." They fell into a comfortable silence as they prepared the evening meal, waiting for Nate's two brothers to arrive.

A/N: So, what did you think? I'm having a slight writer's block on my other stories and I felt like I needed to take a break. Let me know if you liked it! :D Remember, I own nothing!