Anderson, Anderson. Reena wracked her brain. She grinned when she remembered. “Tic Tac ears!”

Shayne laughed, returning to the table. “I’ve seen him three times this week. And not just booty calls either. We had lunch today. Lunch. A brightly lit, fully clothed date at one of those corporate grain-bowl situations downtown.” Shayne sighed happily. “He is the absolute sweetest man I have ever met. He’s like saltwater taffy, all sweet and innocent, and … squishy. I hate corrupting him, but he is starved for a little corruption.” Shayne smiled wistfully. “Anyway, at lunch he told me something very interesting, Reena.”

Crap. About the contest, no doubt. Maybe the deadline was extended. Reena had no intention of telling them that she and Nadim had made a video while drunk. She had done a great job of putting that whole episode out of her mind. “Yes, about that contest, it’s just not something I’m interested in doing.”

“No interest at all?”

“None.”

Shayne smiled. “Okay, then maybe you can explain to me how your name ended up on the list of finalists?”

Holy shit. Reena’s hand shot to her mouth.

Marley grabbed her arm. “You entered? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t enter!” Reena said.

“Then how are you a finalist?” Shayne asked. “Cooking videos don’t just make themselves.”

Reena winced. “I’m not a finalist! Tic Tac Ears is mistaken.”

Shayne shook his head. “Nope. At lunch Anderson told me he saw the name Reena on the list of finalists. He remembered your first name from when I asked him about it. I got him to double-check the last name when he was back at work, and yup. Reena Manji. Of course, I swore to him I wouldn’t tell you, but here we are.”

Reena cringed. “There’s no way … We didn’t enter the video …”

Shayne looked at her with a wide grin. “So, you did make a video then? We need details. Who was your husband?”

The sound of bagpipes filled the room. Reena had a text. She put down her chicken and wiped her hands before checking it.

Nadim: I’ve been sneezing all week. Thank you.

Crap. He did remember she existed. She ignored the message and put her phone facedown near her plate.

“Honestly, Shayne,” Reena said, “it was silly. I was drunk when we made the video. But I can’t be a finalist. I didn’t actually enter it … ” Then again, she didn’t remember much from the end of the evening.

Another text. She flipped the phone over to look.

Nadim: And I have a newfound love of gin gimlets. You are rubbing off on me.

Reena couldn’t let this go. “One minute, guys, I need to answer this.”

Reena: World consumption of gin has risen steadily for the last couple of years. It is predicted it will surpass bourbon as the hipster’s drink of choice. So, not my fault.

Nadim: And the cold? You going to take responsibility for that?

Reena: It’s cold and flu season in Canada, and your African/ British immunity is not prepared for hard-ass germs. Also not my fault.