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Kia flipped the sign on her food truck to CLOSED and walked out into the festival to stretch her legs.

Liver More Food Truck was packing up and leaving.

The turnout was poor because of the unrelenting rain, or maybe Portland wasn’t ready for trucks like the Chitlin Shack.

Sullivan would like Chicken Feet and Chow, Kia thought.

The festival was all about using the parts people didn’t eat.

Waste not, want not. Now that Kia thought about it, she really should use more of the spare parts.

Maybe if she brought Sullivan a serving of her sweet soy and adobo patas de pollo she could convince Sullivan she wasn’t a wasteful capitalist? Probably not. Kia sighed.

Her turquoise glasses did little to protect her eyes against the slicing rain as she trudged through puddles big enough to swallow small cars.

“This weather!” she said into the wind. The weather wasn’t the real problem.

The men operating the Krispy Kraken were huddled around a smoker, their backs turned against the blowing wind.

Instinctively, Kia headed their way, ready to cheer them on, but she stopped.

She didn’t have the right to raise anyone’s spirits.

She’d disappointed so many people already.

The wind kicked up and blew her rain jacket hood off.

Cold rain splashed her neck, and she flinched from the shock.

At least the Diva was warm. She let herself back in and sat down with her back against one of the stainless steel cupboards, checking her phone. Lillian hadn’t responded to her last text: a picture of the rain pouring down around the fair.

She had just reached the depth of self-pity and was taking the next emotional staircase down to full-blown angst, when someone knocked on the frosted glass service window.

The figure stood silhouetted in the dull light.

Kia wiped her eyes and put on her Kia Gourmazing smile.

Then she pulled herself off the floor. Maybe she could make someone a sandwich and make their day a little brighter.

Maybe it was a fan hoping for a signed napkin.

She’d give them a free LET’S GET GOURMAZING! T-shirt.

She opened the window. Sullivan stood in front of her holding two travel mugs, hunching against the rain. Her face said she did not want a sandwich or a napkin or a T-shirt.

“I’m going to regret this.” Sullivan handed Kia a mug.

“Come in.” Kia bounded to the door, then hesitated with her hand on the latch. Nothing fun or pleasant was going to come of Sullivan trudging through the rain. She let out a long breath to calm her nerves, opened the door, and beckoned Sullivan into the small space.

Sullivan looked around the inside of the Diva.

“Nice layout.”

Sullivan liked the layout. That was something. Kia pushed a button and a bench unfolded from the ceiling. That always impressed people. Kia gestured for Sullivan to sit. Sullivan wore a camel-colored overcoat and a scarf of some sophisticated tartan.

Kia clutched her mug. Where should she sit?

Sitting next to Sullivan was too close. Standing over her was weird.

The floor was too greasy. She chose leaning against the counter in a pose she knew said, I’m trying to look casual , while not being casual at all. She tried to think of something to say.

Sullivan broke the silence.

“You’re the lesser of two evils.”

Was the correct response fuck off or thanks ?

“You’re better than an off-ramp.” Was there just a touch of humor in her long-suffering look?

Like Sullivan couldn’t believe she was speaking the sentence out loud?

“I talked to my friend, who’s a divorce attorney for the rich and dysfunctional, and she says she’ll work with your lawyers on a prenup. ”

It took Kia a moment to register the words.

“You’re going to marry me? Oh my god. Thank you. Thank you!” Kia stood up straight. Sullivan had said yes! “Can I hug you?”

“This is not a hugging situation.” Sullivan sat back, reminding Kia of an affronted cat. “And the second you sign the papers for the sale, we’re getting divorced.”

Hysterical laughter threatened to well up in Kia.

Her spirits lifted. She could call Me’Shell back.

Don’t panic. We might still do this. Then tears welled up behind her laughter.

She’d spent all that time in a passionless relationship with Gretchen, and now she was going to marry a woman whose highest praise was, You’re better than an off-ramp .

And it was Sullivan whom she’d adored. She hadn’t looked Sullivan up because she didn’t want anything to ruin her fantasy that one day they’d meet again and Sullivan would adore her.

And now they’d met again. And Kia was tired, sad, and scared, and Sullivan wanted Kia out of her life as fast as possible.

Kia held her breath to hold in her feelings.

“Okay. Well. Now that we’ve settled that.” Sullivan touched her eyebrow as if to smooth it out, although the only thing in need of smoothing was the chestnut curls dripping rainwater. “So we’ll get married.”

Kia nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Try the coffee.” Sullivan motioned to the mug in Kia’s hand.

Kia took a sip. For a second, the taste washed away the damp, sad festival and Sullivan’s weary expression, the panicked relief at saving Taste the Love Land, and the sudden reminder that she would probably be alone forever.

Suddenly, Kia was standing in a field impossibly poised between spring and late summer as the taste washed over her tongue.

“Sumatra with mint and coriander simple syrup,” Sullivan said. “And one Jet-Puffed marshmallow.”

Kia’s favorite. Kia had made herself this special coffee every morning.

She’d always offered one to Sullivan, and Sullivan had always refused.

Not with the marshmallow, Jackson. I have standards.

It had become a joke, and Kia had snuck marshmallows into Sullivan’s coffees, for the delight of watching the taste dawn on Sullivan’s face. Jackson! You are in so much trouble.

“You remembered,” Kia whispered.

“I couldn’t forget that insult to the culinary arts.”

Kia swirled a sip around her mouth.

“You made the simple syrup. It’s fresh.”

“I have standards, Jackson.”

“And you bought the marshmallows for me, didn’t you?”

Sullivan would never have store-bought marshmallows on hand.

“And I will keep them in the car because those pillows of horror are not coming into my house. Get your lawyer to call mine before I change my mind.” Sullivan set a business card on the counter, picked up her own coffee, and walked out.

Kia’s thoughts bubbled like a pot boiling over.

Adding to panic and relief and sadness and exhaustion, she felt a touch of excitement that had nothing to do with Taste the Love Land.

And it wasn’t the excitement of boiling water hitting a hot stovetop but the fizz of freshly made soda.

Little sweet bubbles appearing out of nowhere.

For all that you’re-not-as-bad-as-an-off-ramp stuff, Sullivan had brought her favorite coffee.

What if they spent time together, and Kia was so charming and delightful, Sullivan fell madly in love with her?

And because Kia was hopeless and determined to throw herself headlong into disappointment, when she got to her RV, she opened the neatly organized box of accessories stored in a built-in cupboard above her bed.

She took out a rhinestone ring she’d bought in Albuquerque.

She put it on her ring finger and held out her hand to admire it.

“I do.”