Page 35 of Bed and Breakup (Dial Delights #15)

Molly

As I fix my hair in the Counterculture bathroom between courses, I remember my gram’s favorite cure-all.

Better than saltines and ginger ale and even Vicks VapoRub, it was the motto “Live in the moment.” I heard it when I whined about things I wanted to happen sooner (like a road trip to the beach when I was seven), when I didn’t want something to end (like leaving the arcade at age ten), when I wanted something I didn’t enjoy to be over (like the last month of sixth grade before summer break), or when I wanted something that clearly wasn’t going to happen (like for my mom or dad to visit at any age).

Gram’s answer was always “There are many things we want but can’t have.

Embrace what you have now. Live in the moment. ” It was kind of Zen, in retrospect.

This whole agreement I’ve got going with Robin?

I’d say it’s peak living in the moment. I’m taking advantage of where I am in my life right now, without being angry about what happened in the past or sad about going our separate ways in the future.

I’m finding pleasure in my current situation.

(A lot of pleasure.) Wouldn’t Gram be proud?

Looking in the mirror at the big, goofy smile on my face now, I’ve got to admit it’s working wonders for my mood.

All the animosity between me and Robin has evaporated completely.

Restoring the inn to its former glory is emotionally rewarding—and will be financially rewarding in the end.

I’m sleeping better than I have in years.

I feel, dare I say it, happy ? Genuinely joyful, creative, relaxed.

It’s all because of the closure I’m getting with Robin. And maybe the incredible sex.

And the food. God, the food. Fresh bread. Handmade pasta. Cakes and pastries galore. Fruit and veggies straight from the garden. Considering I’ve spent the past few years on the road eating mostly things I could get from a drive-through, this is heaven.

Tonight’s meal is the most magical yet. Jesse’s starting a monthly dinner series at Counterculture.

Robin says it’s his opportunity to get really experimental.

Since I somehow still hadn’t visited his restaurant, Robin reserved a friends-and-family seat for me next to Caro.

The dinner series features small-plate courses organized around a theme, today’s being Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Jesse’s childhood favorite book.

In his speech for the full room of enthusiastic diners, he said he always dreamed of a world filled with delightfully strange creatures where everything was a bit queer.

I knew Jesse could cook. I saw how quickly he picked up new skills at the Hummingbird.

But this is a whole new level. The first course was a series of brightly flavored mousses served in mismatched teacups: a vivid green avocado-herb, a purple coconut-ube, and a reddish sun-dried tomato.

Next was a foraged-mushroom tartlet, a work of art for both the eyes and the taste buds.

Then there was a vegan mock-turtle soup served in a sourdough bread bowl shaped like a turtle.

As the Cheshire Cat would say, the chefs must be a bit mad here, because the last plate before dessert was a tea-smoked cauliflower steak that somehow tasted meaty.

Who even thinks of that? Naturally, each dish came with a paired cocktail labeled Drink Me .

I find my seat next to Caro for the final course, which I’ve been waiting for all evening.

Robin’s in charge of dessert, although she’s been tight-lipped about her plans.

She delivers my plate with a wink that makes my heart skip a beat.

There are three tiny round cakes in front of me, each covered in a thin white glaze and topped with the words Eat Me in chocolate.

“What are they?” I ask, bending over to inspect them.

Robin gives me a cryptic grin. “Surprises.”

“The last course,” Jesse announces, his white chef’s jacket surprisingly pristine after an intense night of cooking, “was created by my first culinary mentor, who believed in me when no one else would, who I’m lucky enough to call my friend and, for now at least, my sous-chef, Robin Lasko.”

The room erupts in applause, and I’m reminded that Robin is a celebrity.

C-list, maybe, but still recognizable, particularly for foodies, and this room is filled to the brim with those.

As she steps to Jesse’s side, people whisper and pull out their phones for pictures.

A twentysomething lesbian at the table next to me looks like she might pass out from excitement.

The churning feeling in my gut isn’t jealousy, but it’s not not jealousy either.

“Thank y’all so much,” Robin says, projecting demure charm. “But it’s Jesse who dreamed this up and made it happen. Let’s hear another round of applause for Jesse!”

The crowd responds immediately.

“All right,” Robin says once the room quiets. “Before you is a trio of vegan petits fours, meant to surprise and delight. I would tell you what each contains, but wouldn’t that ruin the fun? All I’ll say is, eat them from left to right. Enjoy.”

Caro and I turn to each other with matching bewildered expressions. “That was mysterious,” they say.

I nod. “Why do I feel scared?”

“Me too. But let’s go for it,” Caro suggests, straightening their emerald velvet smoking jacket.

We pick up the petits fours on the left of our plates and hold them up, nodding toward each other in solidarity. I pop the whole thing in my mouth.

“It’s good,” I say tentatively as I chew. “Sweet. Strawberry, I think? Whoa.” I rear back, hit with a wave of heat. My eyes tear up as my whole face starts to tingle.

“Spicy!” Caro says, delighted. They’ve always been an adventurous eater and were the first to recommend Robin and Jesse start bottling the Hummingbird’s signature hot sauce to sell at the gift shop. “It’s, like, buzzing in my mouth somehow.”

All around us, diners are exclaiming about the first cake, fanning themselves with their menus, chugging their waters.

Although it was a risk for Robin to surprise everyone like this, folks seem to be enjoying it, laughing at one another’s reactions.

The sensation is already starting to fade into the sweet coating of the glaze, leaving behind the fresh strawberry flavor.

I can’t believe one bite took my taste buds on such a wild ride.

What do the next two cakes have in store?

Seemingly reading my thoughts, Caro picks up the second petit four from their plate and asks, “Ready for the next surprise?”

As soon as my teeth break through the layers, I shiver. There’s something cold in there, a semi-frozen layer in the middle, but there’s also an unexpected tingly cooling sensation on my tongue. “Is it minty?” I ask Caro.

“I think so,” they agree. “And a little coconutty. I like it.”

I swallow and feel the chill travel all the way down to my stomach. “I’m cold all over,” I say. “Weird.”

“Refreshing after the spicy one.” Caro watches the other people around us shiver and rub their arms for warmth. “What do you think the third one will do?” they ask, eyes wide.

“Only one way to find out.” I pick up the third cake, grin at Caro, and give it a try.

As I start to chew, I think the surprise is the small crunchy bits with bright, citrusy flavor between the layers.

But the real reveal comes a moment later as the bits dissolve on my tongue with fizzy pops all across my jaw.

“Pop Rocks!” Caro says, delighted. “But also not? They’re denser and more tart.”

Everyone else in the room is equally tickled by the final treat. I’m surrounded by gasps and giggles, as if Robin transported us right back to our childhood selves. It’s a perfect end to an evening of culinary wizardry.

Caro and I stick around chatting while the other guests effusively praise Jesse and Robin.

With a full and grateful stomach, I refuse to acknowledge any discomfort I feel about the beautiful women lining up for selfies with Robin.

She’s not really mine to be jealous of anymore.

Even so, once we finish helping clean up the decorations, I’ll be the one at Robin’s side for the afterparty at One More Round.

What do we do when we’re having jealous feelings about our not-quite-ex-wives? We live in the moment.