As the weeks passed, Happy decided she liked Toby. He was weird - he'd vacillate between spouting stupid puns and trying to yank out your childhood secrets - but he was a patient and kind boss; he didn't yell perpetually like Louis. He also made a weekly tradition of the head chef/sous chef dinners, and Happy grew to look forward to them.

One day, a few months into Toby's tenure as head chef, as they were cleaning up from their dinner, Happy asked, "Why don't you ask me on a real date?"

Toby smiled down at her. "That would be sexual harassment."

Happy scoffed. "What, are you worried I'd sue you?"

"No, I was worried you'd slap me. And then quit."

Happy paused, pretending to think it over. "I don't think I would."

"Well, for it to be on the up-and-up, you'd have to be the one to ask me."

"I don't think that would make it 'on the up-and-up', exactly. You'd still be my boss."

"But it would make it closer to the up-and-up. Up-and-up adjacent."

Happy rolled her eyes. "You just want the satisfaction of having me ask you for something, don't you?" She was surprised at herself - was she flirting?

Toby grinned at her without responding.

"Fine," Happy said. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"

"I would love to."

"Good. How about tomorrow night?"

Toby frowned. "I have a meeting tomorrow night. How about Friday?"

"Sure. It's a date."

"That it is."

Happy had the following day off, and then Toby took off on Friday, so she didn't see him for two days. He texted her in the morning, telling her where and when to meet for their dinner. She spent all day slightly giddy - an emotion she rarely felt. One her way home, she mentally planned out her outfit for the first time in her life.

When she'd told Paige about her date - not naming Toby, of course; Paige was deeply linked to the office's grapevine, and Happy didn't want word of this getting to Walter - Paige had insisted on taking her shopping, but Happy had refused. She didn't want to spend three hours and three hundred dollars finding a dress she'd probably never wear again. Now, though, she wished she had taken the waitress up on that offer; Toby had told her to "dress nice" for the date, and she realized she had painfully few "nice" outfits at home. She had one decent black dress, which she'd worn as Paige's plus one to a cousin's wedding - that would have to do.

Right before she got to her building, she bought a copy of the Times, just to scan for her name, which she did as she walked up the steps to her floor. As she reached her apartment, she caught sight of La Petite Table.

The review started off talking about Walter, his unorthodox business practices, etcetera etcetera - all stuff she'd read before. Then it mentioned Toby.

La Petite Table has caught the hottest new Johnson and Wales grad, Tobias Curtis. After a little over a year of sous cheffing in Midtown, he's come to be the head chef of one of the priciest restaurants in the Upper East Side.

His secret? "The Creation Book. It's our nickname for this book we have of all these original recipes - that's why people come to La Petite Table. We have the most unique dishes. Almost everything on our menu was invented by the chefs working in our kitchens. We're one of a kind, really."

Curtis didn't mention who's contributed the most to this "Creation Book", but with a background like his, we can only assume his recipes rule it.

Happy's grip on the newspaper tightened, almost ripping the thin page. We can only assume his recipes rule it. He didn't even have any recipes in it. Even Louis - perhaps the least humble person Happy had ever met - had had the decency to credit Happy every time he mentioned the Creation Book.

Immediately, Happy knew she wasn't going on the date. She couldn't sit across from him and act like he hadn't taken credit for her life's work. She thought about calling him, telling him she was sick or some emergency had come up, but she didn't even want to hear his voice - that voice that had subtly taken credit for the Creation Book.

She tossed the paper onto her kitchen counter, sat down on her sofa, and flipped on the TV. She was too angry to really focus on anything, so she just stared at the screen blankly, allowing the characters on it to float in and out without registering what they were doing.

He had taken credit for the Creation Book.

Around ten thirty - an hour after she was supposed to meet Toby - Paige called. She sounded surprised when Happy picked up the phone.

"Happy? I thought I was going to get your voicemail. Aren't you supposed to be on a date?"

"Yeah. I'm not going."

"What? Why?"

"Turns out the guy was kind of a jerk."

"Really? You seemed so excited about it yesterday."

"Yeah, well, I was. But now I'm not. Anyway, why did you call?"

"Oh, just - do you know anything about our seafood supplier?"

"Greatview Fishery? Just that they work out of Baltimore. Why?"

"Walter asked me to talk to them."

"Jeez, please tell me he didn't get them to ban us from their business."

"I think he did."

"Well, there goes our seafood. The next closest vendor has to be in Virginia, maybe even the Carolinas."

"Walter wants me to try to talk them into selling to us again."

"Well, that would be nice."

"I don't know…"

"Didn't you do that with Molina a few weeks ago?"

"Yeah, but that was different. I knew her; her daughter has a crush on Ralph. She practically owed me a favor. I've never even heard of these Baltimore guys, until this morning."

"Well, just do your Paige thing."

"My 'Paige thing'?"

"Yeah, you know. You always get the most tips of any waitress on staff. Just… charm them."

"Being nice to customers is pretty different than talking to some pissed-off fisherman from Baltimore."

"I guess. But what's the worst they can do? Say no? It's not like they're going to come find you. I'm sure Baltimore fishermen have bigger things to worry about than a waitress from New York City."

Bigger things to worry about. Toby would've said that the fishermen have bigger fish to fry, no pun intended. Happy frowned; she didn't want to think about him.

"I guess so," Paige was saying. "I'll call them in the morning, I guess."

Thinking about Toby made Happy think about the date and the newspaper article, which sent her fuming all over again. Before Paige hung up, she said, "Have you seen the Times?"

"No, I don't really read the paper. But I heard someone say we got a mention in it again?"

"Yeah. Let me read you the article."

When she finished reading, Paige scoffed on the other end of the line. "Wow. Well, the Times got it wrong."

"The Times? How about Toby? He basically took credit for my work."

"Well, they did write that he didn't say who made the book."

"He probably didn't say anything just so they would assume it was all his work."

"Maybe. But he seems like too nice of a guy to do that. Just ask him about it tomorrow; I'm sure he didn't mean to make the reporter think that."

Paige's logic just made Happy angrier.

"Whatever."

"Look, I have to put Ralph to bed - are you okay, though?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

As soon as Happy got off the phone, there was a knock on the door. Happy checked the clock; it was close to eleven, much past the time for normal visitors.

When she pulled open her front door, Toby was standing in her hallway.

"Thank God," he said, breathless. "I thought something happened to you." He slipped past her, into her living room. "I called you, like, three times."

"I know. I was ignoring you."

"You were? Why?"

"God, haven't you ever been stood up before? You're not supposed to show up to the girl's apartment - how did you even know where I live?"

"Employee records. I just came from La Petite Table. It was a long walk, damn it - from the restaurant where I was waiting for you, up to the Upper East Side, and then back here."

"Okay, well, glad you got your exercise. Now please leave." She motioned to the door, which was still open.

"Wait," he said, not moving. "Why did you stand me up?"

"You really don't know?"

He shook his head.

"Have you seen the Times today?" she asked.

"No - wasn't there an article about us in it?"

"About us? About you, maybe." She walked over and picked up the paper, which was sitting on her counter. " 'Curtis didn't mention,' " she read, " 'who's contributed the most to this "Creation Book", but with a background like his, we can only assume his recipes rule it.' "

Toby shook his head innocently. "Oh. Well, the reporter must have just gotten confused."

"Sure. I'm sure you didn't say anything that hinted that you had made the book."

"I didn't, I swear! Why would I have? It's not mine."

"Why didn't you just say I made it? Would that have been too emasculating, to admit that a female sous chef who never went to culinary school was a better chef than you?"

"I didn't say anything because I thought it went without saying!" He didn't, Happy noticed, deny the fact that she was a better cook than he. He continued, "Louis mentioned you in a thousand interviews; I just assumed everyone knew by now that you were behind the book. Look, I'll call up the Times tomorrow and get them to issue an apology."

Happy shook her head. "That'll just make me look petty."

"Who cares? Walter has looked petty as hell in every newspaper in New York. He won't say anything."

"Yeah, but no one would hire me."

Toby shook his head, not understand. "You already have a job. Why do you need anyone to hire you?"

Happy took a deep breath before saying what she had been thinking over for the past two hours: "Because I quit."

"Excuse me?"

"I quit. It's never going to work. This," - she moved her hands in a circle, motioning to the space between her and Toby - "is never going to work. You were right, what you said back when we first met: restaurant owners are too conservative to make me head chef, and I'm sick of being sous to people like you." Toby winced at the insult, but Happy kept going. "So I'm done being a chef."

"What? What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Write cookbooks, maybe. Travel. Get the hell out of this God-forsaken city. I don't care. I just don't want to play this" - she motioned between them again - "game anymore."

"No, Happy, please don't do this. I'm sorry-"

"It's not about you. Or, maybe it is about you a little. But mostly, you were just, I don't know, a catalyst. You just made me realize what I should've realized a while ago: I'm not the kind of person who makes it in New York restaurants."

"Not the kind of person who makes it? Happy, you've already made it! All the critics worship you."

"Yeah, and maybe that would be enough for some people. I don't know. I'm just sick of this - of always having to listen to someone else, to worry about what the head chef is going to say in some interview, because sous chefs never get interviewed. I just need a fresh start."

"Happy…"

"Stop. I've made up my mind. I'm going to tell Walter tomorrow."

Toby sighed. "Okay, wait. You have the weekend off, right?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, at the very least, don't quit until Monday."

"Why?"

"For me. You just stood me up; you owe me at least a weekend."

Happy wrinkled her nose. "Fine. But first thing Monday morning, I put in my two weeks notice."

Toby nodded. "Thank you."

"Now, would you please leave me alone before I call the police?"

Toby held his hands up. "Fine, I'm going. But you promise: don't do anything until Monday?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

"Thank you, Happy." With that, Toby walked out her door and was gone.