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“Are those for me?” Jo gestured to the flowers in Emma’s hands.

“Um,” Emma said. “Yes.”

She thrust them toward Jo. Her nerves were getting the best of her, but she had no control over it. She was in Jo’s house for adate, and Jo wouldn’t stop smiling at her. Jo didn’t stop smiling when she took the flowers, either. Instead, she put a hand on Emma’s wrist, and Emma remembered, with blinding clarity, their moment on the red carpet almost a full year ago, Jo making Emma laugh so she forgot about her anxiety.

“Emma,” Jo said, still with a smile. “I think this will work better if we’re both alittlenervous instead of you beingcrazynervous.”

“I’m not crazy nervous,” Emma said immediately. Jo tilted her head and raised her eyebrows, and Emma sighed. “I might be crazy nervous.”

“I know,” Jo said. “And it’s adorable, but unnecessary.”

Warmth expanded out from Emma’s chest. She couldn’t help the way her mouth broke into a grin. Jo squeezed her wrist.

“Come help me get these in water,” Jo said.

She slid her hand down, locked her fingers with Emma’s, and tugged her farther into the house. Emma felt warm all over by this point. Her nerves settled down a bit.

Jo’s kitchen was huge, opening into an equally huge living room. Emma hadn’t seen this part of the house when she’d been there before, had turned down a hallway to get to Jo’s room before making it this far inside. There was an enormous refrigerator, two ovens, and a big farm sink set into the counter.

“God, Avery wouldkillfor this kitchen,” Emma said, eyes wide. “How do you even have time to use it?”

“I don’t have enough, certainly,” Jo said.

She let go of Emma’s hand to pull out a cutting board from behind some ceramic jars labeledflourandsugar. She set the flowers on the cutting board and pulled a knife from a knife block.

“Cut these while I find a vase?”

Emma was happy to have a task.

“I cook most weekends,” Jo continued, answering Emma’s earlier question. “I keep trying to get Avery to give me her recipe for chocolate babka so I can try it out myself.”

She set a vase beside the cutting board Emma was using.

“Good luck,” Emma said. “She changed something from the recipe our mom gave her for it, and she didn’t even tellour momwhat the change was for, like, three years. She guards recipes with her life.”

“Maybe once I meet your mom, I’ll charm it out of her instead.”

Emma stopped cutting the stems, just for a moment, took a breath, and smiled to herself. Sure, they had talked about Jo meeting her parents during Hanukkah, it was just—it was hard to believe she was standing in Jo’s kitchen while Jo talked about charming family recipes out of her mother.

“Or,” Jo said, standing sideways next to Emma and leaning her hip against the counter. “Can I charm the recipe out of you?”

Emma grinned at her. “I hate to break it to you, but I don’t have it.”

Jo laughed. “How do you not have a family recipe?”

“Because I don’t make things right, apparently,” Emma said. “Even though I always follow recipes exactly, nothing ever turns out quite right. Avery says I don’t have the touch.”

“Following recipes exactly is your first mistake,” Jo said. “Everyone knows the recipe is just a suggestion.”

“No!” Emma huffed at her. “People put effort into making a cookbook! There are recipe testers and everything. The recipe isliterally tested so you can re-create what they’ve made. How is it a suggestion?”

Jo got a wooden spoon full of the sauce that was simmering on one of the gas burners. She held it to Emma’s lips.

“The original recipe for this called for one clove of garlic, which is ridiculous,” Jo said. “I used three tonight.”

Emmammmed around the burst of flavor on her tongue.

“Do you think I should’ve followed the recipe instead?” Jo asked.