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Sullivan looked at her, one eyebrow raised. For a moment, Kia’s whole world was Sullivan’s blue eyes. Then Sullivan put her arm around Kia and kissed Kia’s forehead.

“You’re on. Babe. ”

Sullivan had forgotten—and in another way she could never forget—the way the air in the kitchen changed when she and Kia concentrated.

Sullivan barely noticed Deja dancing around taking video.

The noises of prep and line cooks still making orders for the bar faded.

It had been like that at school. Only Kia was real.

She was the only one to beat. And how the fuck was Sullivan going to beat Kia when most of her ingredients came from a deconstructed Bloody Mary?

“Is that a sauce or a soup? I can’t tell,” Kia teased.

Sullivan glanced up.

“Eyes on your own plate, Jackson.”

The words I missed you almost left Sullivan’s mouth. Then she lost herself in her cooking. She didn’t realize she’d been talking to the onions she was chopping until Kia called out, “Are the onions giving you shit, Chef? I’ll kick their ass for you.”

The onions had made Sullivan tear up, and she wiped away a tear with the sleeve of her shirt.

“I am dominating these onions.” Sullivan chopped defiantly. To the onions, she said, “Don’t think I can’t cry through a hundred more of you.”

“You tell ’em, Chef.” Kia blew her a kiss.

It had always made her feel special when Kia teased her. Kia had never teased anyone else in school. Sullivan had once asked her why. Kia had answered without hesitation. Because I like you best.

Half an hour later, they stood at either end of the bar. Their presentations were immaculate. Sullivan’s tiny cups of Bloody Mary gazpacho lined up in front of her. Kia’s stuffed Bloody Mary chicken wings standing at attention.

The bartender picked judges from the audience.

A server who’d been filming them in the kitchen bit into Kia’s chicken.

“It’s so good!”

Five judges tasted the food. Two picked Kia. Two picked Sullivan. One claimed there was no way they could choose.

“Who’s going to break the tie?” the bartender asked.

Half the audience volunteered.

“Kia can judge,” Sullivan said. “Babe, come over here and taste real food.”

The crowd gave a collective “Ooh.”

“Kia can’t be a fair judge,” someone called out.

“She can when she tastes my sensuous gazpacho,” Sullivan said.

They had had so much fun in school. Why had Sullivan walked away from that?

“You’re going down.” Kia drew out the word down .

A bar full of U-Haul lesbians got the double entendre. Kia shrugged. The crowd parted to let Kia stroll toward Sullivan.

“Just try my gazpacho, babe.” Sullivan pushed the last cup toward her.

The crowd pressed them together. Someone knocked into Kia.

Instinctively Sullivan put a hand on Kia’s back to steady her.

But the crowd jostled them, and her hand landed on the curve of Kia’s ass.

Soft and firm. Sullivan’s mind stalled like it did when she read a long list of measurements, the letters and numbers knocking up against each other until 12 t became 21 T .

A vision of Kia naked in her bed filled Sullivan’s mind, the softness of Kia’s body in repose, light brown skin against white sheets, legs sprawled open. She snatched her hand away.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out before she remembered they were in love.

“Babe, you can grab my ass any time you like.” Kia smirked at Sullivan and made a grabbing motion.

“I did not grab —”

“Whatever. I don’t mind. You can do it again.”

Sullivan blushed so hard she felt like her cheeks might catch on fire like an ill-fated bananas Foster. Kia bumped her hip against Sullivan’s.

“Don’t dish it if you can’t take it.” In a softer voice, Kia added, “This is fun. I really am happy to be here with you.”

Had her full lips always been a little higher on one side, making her look mischievous?

The sounds around them had once again faded away until Kia projected over the crowd, “Now I will decide the winner.” Kia made a ridiculous show of licking her lips as she tasted Sullivan’s gazpacho. “I’m afraid to say, Sullivan’s got it. Nice job, Chef.”

“You’re going to let me win?”

“No.”

Just like in school. They always knew whose dish was best. And despite all the smack talk, they were too good to each other not to admit it.

The crowd cheered.

“But you only won that round,” Kia said, half to Sullivan and half to the crowd.

Deja kept her camera on them.

“What? Another round?” Sullivan sounded like a kid acting in their first play, but the crowd’s gasps said they believed the whole act.

“Yes,” Kia said. “I have another dish I want you to taste.”

Another “oooh” from the crowd. The bartender brought over a plate Kia had prepared in Sullivan’s kitchen. Her signature pear Rice Krispies treat, a ring planted prominently on top.

“This is my favorite dish in the world and the very best thing I can give you. And you are my favorite person in the world.”

She took the small plate in both hands and gracefully lowered herself to one knee.

Someone in the crowd squealed, “It’s a ring!”

“Chef Alice Sullivan, will you marry me?”

It was surprisingly hard to extricate a ring from a Rice Krispies treat, but Sullivan managed.

“Did she say yes?” someone whispered.

“Yes!” Sullivan projected over the crowd. She helped Kia up.

Kia hadn’t shown her the ring. She’d said it was a surprise. It was surprising. The ring screamed, I bought this at gay pride in Vegas . It was a large, emerald-green crystal set in a circle of smaller, rainbow crystals. It looked like you’d need an oven mitt to handle it.

From across the room, one of Opal’s rugby mates, called out, “Kiss, kiss.”

“I guess we covered this in our rules,” Sullivan said quietly. “If we get bullied by a rugger… I get to kiss you?” She left it a question in case Kia wanted an out.

“I always follow the rules, Chef.” Kia put her arms around Sullivan’s neck, looking up at her. “I’m a very rule-following person.”

Cooking a tursnicken at the Jean Paul Molineux School of Culinary Arts. Trudging through a stormy forest to ask a woman to marry her to thwart a multibillion-dollar company.

“You so aren’t, and I love that about you,” Sullivan said. “But maybe this time you should follow them.”

In that moment, Kia exuded an irresistible allure that captivated Sullivan completely.

The subtle, enticing scent of her perfume wafted through the air, the soft shadows on Kia’s face, accentuating the delicate contours, her eyes sparkling with an intoxicating blend of intelligence, humor, and passion.

Her smile was like a secret invitation, and Sullivan felt her heart skip a beat as she moved closer.

And it hit Sullivan like a match to sweet liquor: She wanted Kia.

She wasn’t just attracted to Kia. She wanted to hold her, touch her, comfort her, talk to her, laugh with her.

Suddenly it felt like she’d always been…

infatuated? Enchanted? Just a little bit in love with Kia Jackson?

If she rolled all the passion she’d felt for her hookups, her dates, and for Aubrey, she’d been picking up crumbs at the bottom of a bowl compared to the intensity she’d felt for Kia.

Kia pulled back just enough to cup Sullivan’s cheek.

She met Sullivan’s eyes, but she seemed to be looking beyond Sullivan at some future they might or might not have together.

She stroked Sullivan’s jaw with her thumb.

Sullivan was vaguely aware of the crowd going wild with enthusiasm. Kia didn’t seem to notice them.

“Kiss me, Chef?” Kia asked, and her expression was so earnest it brought tears to Sullivan’s eyes. To hide them and because she desperately wanted to… she kissed Kia Jackson again.

Sullivan touched her lips to Kia’s in a light but lingering kiss.

Kia’s lips were soft. Her hands curled in Sullivan’s hair the way they had all those years ago on the graduation stage.

Sullivan wanted to run her hands through Kia’s hair too, but a little voice in the back of her mind told her not to mess up such a remarkably symmetrical hairdo.

Instead she placed her hands around Kia’s waist, pulling her closer.

She let their hip bones touch. She rested her hands on Kia’s lower back.

If she’d sensed the slightest resistance on Kia’s part, she would have broken the kiss instantly, but Kia let out a soft moan of pleasure that filled Sullivan’s body with the colorful, bursting feeling of spring.

Still, when they pulled away, Sullivan whispered, “Was that okay?”

“Only if you say it was point six percent better than any kiss you’ve ever had,” Kia said, turning to capture Sullivan’s lips for one more second.

“Yes, Jackson,” Sullivan murmured. “It was more than point six percent better.”