Page 26

Kia and Sullivan decided on a mélange of activities for their first social media shoot.

They’d invite friends to the Tennis Skort, where they’d challenge each other to a cooking competition.

That would be social media gold. At the end, Kia would whip out one more dish—her signature dessert—and on top would be a ring.

The ensuing engagement speech and congratulations would fuel her socials for a week.

Actually, Kia was looking forward to creating some unsponsored content. She was not going to propose to the woman she’d had a crush on since she was twenty (even if it was a fake proposal) with a can of Fizz Bang in one hand and the ring stuck in a Pronto Pup.

Sullivan had asked Opal to just happen to bring the She-Pack to the Tennis Skort, and, all the way from Paris, Kia’s cousin’s girlfriend had rallied her burlesque troupe.

They would also coincidentally be there.

Mixing with the rugby team and the burlesque troupe would look fantastic on Kia’s diverse, colorful, fun-loving socials.

Now they were sitting in a booth at the Tennis Skort, which gave a serious I-met-my-wife-playing-softball vibe, and waiting for Sullivan’s friends to show up.

Naturally, Opal and Nina would be there.

Sullivan and her besties didn’t do everything together, but they were tight.

It was sweet. Kia hadn’t see that side of Sullivan in school.

She socialized with everyone in the program and dated several of the guys, but she didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d have bestie ride-or-dies from childhood.

It was nice getting to know her better. She liked the real Sullivan even more than the version of Sullivan she’d idolized in school.

The server checked on their drinks—Megan Rapinoes with Bombay Sapphire gin—and they ordered a second round.

Sullivan looked like she needed it. She kept looking around and wincing when anyone pulled out their phone for a picture.

Next to their table, a trio of women took a dozen selfies and laughed at the outtakes.

“We should probably…?” Kia asked tentatively.

“I guess that’s what we’re here for.” Sullivan’s whole body sighed.

Kia leaned toward Sullivan, trying not to sniff Sullivan’s freshly washed hair. She had no right to think about how good Sullivan smelled or how wonderful it would be to snuggle under Sullivan’s arm, to lean against her, to feel the curves hidden beneath her masculine clothing.

She took a quick selfie and started typing the caption.

“Aren’t you going to take a thousand more to make sure I’m smiling right?”

“You always smile right.”

Kia kept typing. Sullivan looked over her shoulder.

“You don’t care that my mouth is open and I’m not wearing lipstick?”

“You never wear makeup.”

“But I look washed out in the picture.”

“Do you want to borrow a lipstick? We can redo the photo.”

Sullivan’s sudden insecurity made Kia want to hug her. Where had that come from? Why did gloating, boastful, irresistibly charming Alice Sullivan disappear when the camera came out?

“No,” Sullivan said cautiously. “I don’t care, but I’m not photogenic. I thought you’d want to get a better picture.”

Sullivan was so photogenic Kia’s phone was swooning.

“You look like one of those hot, queer influencers who make a million dollars wearing jeans.”

Kia felt herself blush. She’d just called Sullivan hot. Again. She might as well run with it. She captioned the photo, Kickin’ it with my boo. Damn, you’re fire, girl! And you make me so happy. Here’s to the best chef I’ve ever met. She added some emojis and showed it to Sullivan.

“ The best chef. ” A smile spread across Sullivan’s face. “You finally admitted it.”

“The best chef I’ve met .” Kia elbowed her. “I didn’t meet myself.”

“Little brat,” Sullivan said under her breath.

The way Sullivan said it—with grudging admiration and a hint of affection—made Kia feel more special than a million likes from her fans.

A cheer went up as someone scored something on a TV mounted above the bar.

Kia spotted Nina striding through the door, looking out of place in her suit.

Opal followed wearing a rugby jersey and looking like she’d been born in a sports bar.

A pack of women in similar striped shirts followed her, splitting off in fours and fives to move tables together and get beers.

“That’s Opal’s rugby team. They just finished a match,” Sullivan said.

The smell of sweat and mud confirmed that.

A moment later, Nina and Opal took the seats Sullivan had saved for them.

“This is lovely.” Nina’s tone said it was not.

“She doesn’t understand sports,” Opal said. “I have tried to explain them to her.”

“ All of them.” Nina cast Opal a baleful look.

“Hello, Kia,” Opal said, her ready-to-smile face held in a neutral expression.

If she could just get Opal and Nina to like her.

Hadn’t Sullivan grumbled something about Opal trying to set her up?

If Opal liked Kia, she might decide Sullivan should date Kia.

Why not? Didn’t every chill, über-cool masc woman need a peppy femme on her arm?

What if they had fun tonight and went home tipsy enough to relax but not tipsy enough to blur any lines of consent?

What if Sullivan said, It’s been too long, and I need you, Kia ?

The what-ifs were going to her head faster than the gin Megan Rapinoes.

“I read the article you wrote for Portland magazine about health trends in soul food,” Kia said. “You were so on point.”

Opal really had been.

“You said there’s been this resurgence in chitlins,” Kia said. “Do you think we can sell white people on intestines?”

Opal didn’t get to answer, because a cohort of top hats, boas, and rainbow-striped suspenders had come in like confetti blown in on a breeze.

“My cousin’s girlfriend’s burlesque troupe. Okay, it’s showtime,” Kia whispered to Sullivan.

“Listen up, everyone!” Deja, dressed in a purple LET’S GET GOURMAZING T-shirt and orange bustle skirt, had hopped onto a chair. “I want to make a toast to two of my dearest friends. The amazing Kia Gourmazing and the James Beard Award–winning Chef Alice Sullivan from Mirepoix.”

“You won a Beard award?” That was huge. How had Kia not seen that online?

Sullivan shrugged as if it were nothing, and Kia swatted her arm gently.

“There they are!” Deja pointed to Kia and Sullivan.

A dozen cell phones pointed toward their booth. Kia felt Sullivan stiffen again. They were pretending to be in love. It made sense to take Sullivan’s hand. It’ll be okay. She expected Sullivan to flinch when she touched her, but Sullivan squeezed her hand back.

“These two have the best love story.” Deja described an unrequited love going back to the first day they met at school.

She alluded to circumstances that tore them apart which seemed like an extreme way to say they got jobs in different countries.

“When I saw them together again… Deja put a hand over her heart. “The way Chef Sullivan melts when she sees Kia and how Kia looks at her like she’s been dreaming about Sullivan every night for all those lonely years…”

Sullivan grinned at Kia.

“Really?” she whispered.

Yes. Really.

“Shut up.” Kia swatted at Sullivan again.

Deja went on. The crowd loved it.

“Did you tell her about the real us?” Sullivan asked quietly.

“Not yet. I feel bad,” Kia whispered to Sullivan. “I can’t tell her the truth. She’s so…”

“Talkative?” Sullivan said without taking her eyes off Deja.

“Yeah. I’m not sure she wouldn’t say, Even though they think the marriage is fake, I know they’re secretly in love with each other .”

Kia glanced at Sullivan’s handsome profile.

I was in love with you , she said in her mind.

It was hyperbole. She hadn’t been in love with Sullivan, but all those years of infatuation, respect, lust, and the fiery need to beat Sullivan at everything…

that added up to something love adjacent.

But their story wasn’t anything like Deja might imagine.

Despite the raucous crowd and the pleasure of Sullivan sitting next to her, their story was sad.

It was a story of unrequited… something and missed opportunities.

“Kia?” Sullivan asked as if sensing the turn of Kia’s mood.

“Deja will feel like a fool when she finds out,” Kia said. “We’re not super close, but she’s a great assistant. I’m an asshole.”

“With all this lawsuit bullshit,” Sullivan said quietly, “she’s safer if she doesn’t know. What if Mega Eats said she was an accomplice? You look out for people. That’s what Taste the Love is about, right? Looking after people?”

How could Sullivan know this was just what she wanted to hear from her?

This is what Kia had desperately wanted Sullivan to see when they argued in the woods.

I’m not Mega Eats. Sullivan released Kia’s hand and put her arm around her, pulling Kia a fraction of an inch closer.

Their bodies touched. Kia wanted to melt into Sullivan.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Now,” Sullivan said, “are we ready to do our thing?”

Kia stood up, pulling Sullivan with her.

“Thank you, Deja.” Kia waited for the crowd to turn to her.

“In honor of our time at school, I’ve invited Chef Sullivan to a cooking competition.

Right here. Do you want to settle this OG style?

” Kia put on a thousand-watt smile. “You. Me. Half an hour. Five ingredients that the audience chooses. Or are you afraid of all that ketchup and no sustainable pepper?”

Kia planted a light kiss on Sullivan’s cheek to soften the question.

The noise of the bar faded. She’d kissed Sullivan.

It was just a kiss on the cheek, but her lips had touched Sullivan’s face.

The sensation of Sullivan’s soft skin lingered on her lips.

Kia tried to face the crowd, but she couldn’t tear her eyes off Sullivan, searching for the micro-expression that would tell her if Sullivan minded.