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It had happened so fast, like everything had the last few weeks.

Kia had been cooking at Portland’s Cruciferous Carnival.

Then a fan was asking if she was Kiana Renee Jackson.

The man actually took a selfie with her before handing her the papers.

You’ve been served. Mega Eats was suing to stop the land deal and questioning the validity of their marriage.

Now she was stress cooking. She’d tried taking some pictures with her old digital camera, but putting her naked, unfiltered self on a memory card had done nothing to stop her panicking.

“I am me.” Right now, she’d rather not be. “I am real.” Ditto. Today, it’d be better to be an avatar.

If only she could turn back the clock, to not press start on the live feed that brought Mega Eats’ ravenous boars snarling at her front door.

Hers and Sullivan’s. Kia tried to focus on the candied kale and not on how much of Sullivan’s life she was destroying.

She poured more sauce on the kale. Maybe she could stuff it in yeast dough.

Add cheese. A cruciferous Hot Pocket. She stuffed the cabbage into her food processor and reduced it to shreds.

She couldn’t call Gretchen. Gretchen was at an important site visit and off her phone.

Kia could call Aunt Eleanor and ask for help, but she couldn’t face Eleanor.

She couldn’t even face Lillian. She thought she’d fucked up before.

She’d almost lost the deal. She’d messed up Sullivan’s life. But this was so much worse.

Kia leaned on her elbows on the counter.

She’d felt a blaze of excitement when Sullivan handed her the marshmallow coffee.

That was gone now. Sullivan hadn’t wanted anything to do with her before this.

What happened when you got sued? She couldn’t go to jail, could she?

The papers said something about fraud. She returned to the stove and stirred frantically as though stirring could salvage the kale… or her life.

Reaching for salt in the built-in spice rack, she noticed a person walking toward Old Girl, head down in the rain.

Kia peered out the window to get a better look.

The strides, even and deliberate, were familiar.

They neared. She’d seen that posture too many times not to know it was Sullivan.

But what had happened to her? Gone was her 1920s retro style.

She looked like a bushwhacker, dressed in dirty overalls, complete with knee pads and a sheath around her waist. She looked ambush-ready.

When she looked up, she had fire in her eyes, a scowl anchoring her face, and a manila envelope in her hand.

Of course, Mega Eats had served Sullivan too. Kia wanted to hide, but it was too late. Sullivan locked eyes with her, standing in front of the large kitchen window. Kia wanted to close her eyes and make it all go away, but she could feel Sullivan’s hot impatience through Old Girl’s sheet metal.

Kia went to the front door and hesitated. She didn’t have to open it. If she stayed in Old Girl for the rest of her life, she’d be safe. Wasn’t there some law like that? Maybe it was churches? Or maybe that protected you against vampires.

“I know you’re in there,” Sullivan said.

Kia unlocked the door and quickly stepped back to her stove.

Sullivan waved the envelope in Kia’s direction. “Did you know?”

“I got one too,” Kia managed. “I’m sorry. I’m the one to blame. I got you into this fake marriage, and now we’re both in hot water.” It came out in one breath.

“Did you read the complaint?” Sullivan demanded.

“Some of it.” There were so many legal terms and they all meant you’re fucked . Kia blew on a forkful of kale and tasted it.

“Let me get this straight… you’re named in a lawsuit. And now you’re cooking?” Sullivan said with all the incredulity of a news anchor announcing some clickbait story. Sullivan picked up a clean spoon, touched it to the barbecue sauce, and tasted it. “What is that? Burnt high-fructose corn syrup?”

“Grape jelly and kale.”

“You’re burning grape jelly and kale while we get sued?” Sullivan paced around the kitchen floor.

“I had to stop reading the complaint. I got overwhelmed.”

“They’re accusing us of fraud.” Sullivan’s pacing continued. “And you’re making kale grape jelly. And so much cabbage.”

“It’s my therapy. Don’t you cook to calm down?”

Sullivan looked at the cabbage shreds bursting out of the food processor.

“I cook to make food.”

“I’m not out-the-box ready to fight.” Kia grabbed a handful of cabbage and clutched it hard enough that her knuckles went white. “I’m processing.”

“Your feelings or the cabbage? And this isn’t food,” Sullivan added. “This is a cruciferous massacre.”

“I know I fucked up.”

“You’re a tornado. You’re an earthquake. You’re climate change. You’re ruining everything. And you’re taking the healthiest vegetable and turning it into a blackened Jolly Rancher.”

It was too much. Kia felt her whole face tremble.

“I’m trying to pull it together. I know it’s bad.

I’m sorry. I came crashing into your life, snatching your Bois and your hand in marriage all so I could chase my crazy dream.

I’ve promised too much to too many people.

” Kia focused her eyes on the floor, because looking at the anger in Sullivan’s eyes would make her cry for sure.

“I know I’m going to hurt everyone. And I should call Gretchen, my publicity manager, but I know she’s busy, and I haven’t, and my cousin’s in love, and my dad’s on a yacht with a million spaniels and no cell phone, and you hate me.

” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, still clutching the wad of cabbage.

“And I didn’t need the American Fare Award.

It should have gone to someone else, but I’m still a great cook.

” She stifled a sob. “You can’t judge my panic kale.

You can’t make fun of someone’s kale when they’re… they’re…” Crying.

Sullivan laughed, low and deep in her throat. Kia looked up, ready to tell her that it was mean to laugh, even if it was all Kia’s fault. But when she met Sullivan’s eyes, Sullivan’s expression was soft and rueful.

“Come on, Jackson.” Sullivan walked over, gently took Kia’s hand, and eased her fingers off the cabbage. It fell to the floor like sad, damp confetti. “Obviously someone likes candied kale. You won the American Fare. That’s huge.”

“It doesn’t feel like a win.”

“It is.”

And Sullivan hugged her. Sullivan, who was still wet from the rain.

She smelled of soil. It was a tender hug.

Sullivan pressed her hand to Kia’s back, not patting her, just holding her close.

Kia’s body warmed in ways it shouldn’t. Her heart warmed too.

She needed this hug, and she needed it from Sullivan.

Sullivan whispered, “I’m proud of you.”

Then Sullivan stepped away quickly, her scowl reasserting itself, but it felt like Sullivan directed it at the two ominous manila envelopes, not at Kia.

“I don’t understand the whole thing either,” Sullivan said. “But I know we’re both fucked if we don’t address it. My last relationship was a train wreck, and I got screwed. I won’t stand for it again. We’re fighting this crap together.”

Sullivan might have meant together as in don’t think I’m going to handle this mess alone , but it almost sounded like we’re a team .

“This lawsuit is offensive on so many levels,” Sullivan added.

“They don’t know who they’re messing with,” Kia ventured.

They’d been a team in school. That’s what their classmates didn’t get until their kiss. They only wanted to beat each other after they’d beaten everyone else.

“What are we going to do?” Kia asked.

“Call Nina,” Sullivan replied. “She lives for this stuff.”

That afternoon, showered and out of her gardening clothes, Sullivan arrived at Nina’s condo on the twenty-fourth floor.

Inside, floor-to-ceiling windows owned the room.

The view of Portland commanded attention.

A Vietnamese silk orchid graced the dining table.

Sunlight gleamed off deceptively low-end kitchen appliances.

Nina did not cook. Nina was already seated at the end of her oyster-gray sofa.

“Espresso?” Nina gestured to her Nespresso machine. “Don’t panic,” Nina said before Sullivan could speak but definitely after she’d started to panic.

Kia arrived a moment later. She looked so overwhelmed.

Sullivan wanted to put her arm around her again.

The way Kia had sunk into her when she’d hugged her in her RV had made Sullivan feel protective and appreciated.

There was a thank-god-you’re-here quality in the way Kia melted against her.

How could Sullivan not be a tiny bit happy that this beautiful woman wanted her there?

“Don’t worry. This is what Nina does,” Sullivan said.

“So I’ve got good news and slightly… inconvenient news,” Nina said before Kia had settled onto the sofa.

Nina could be dramatic, but she never overreacted, which meant her idea of inconvenient might be Sullivan’s idea of end-of-my-life-as-I-know-it. Wait. That had already happened. Something worse. Something inconvenient like falling off a cliff was inconvenient.

“Good news. I read the complaint, and it’s bullshit. They’re saying you entered into a fake marriage to secure a land deal, which you did.” Nina paused to sip her espresso. “But that’s okay. Everyone’s marriage is fake, and it is always about the money.”

“That’s—” Kia sat down at the far end of the sofa on which Sullivan was quietly panicking.

“Not true?” Nina said. “You understand food. I understand love and law. The beautiful thing is that it’s okay. Nothing says you can’t marry for money.”

“What do we do?” Kia looked at Sullivan. “I am so sorry.”