The final episode was being shot live today, an effort by the network to leverage the show’s tremendous success. After spending all morning talking to her mother—about the past but mostly about the future, because Shobi was this tornado of forward movement—Ashna had left for the studio. Then she’d changed her mind and rerouted her ride to Rico’s hotel.

Her heart raced as she went to the front desk and asked them to call him. The person who had stormed in here yesterday feeling irreparably ugly, that wasn’t the person who smiled at the receptionist today.

Only, this new person was an idiot, because she hadn’t considered that Rico might not be there waiting for her. He wasn’t in his room.

It. Means. Nothing. She told herself as she said thank you and sped out of the hotel only to find that the rideshare time to destination was half an hour, because the street to the hotel was clogged up with traffic. If she called a car she would be late.

She started walking. It was a forty-minute walk to the studio. What had she been thinking coming here before the shoot? If she had remembered to ask Rico for his number, this wouldn’t have happened.

When she got to the studio, Rico wasn’t there either. Worry started to bubble inside her and she went to see if China knew where he was. She heard a scrambling behind the door when she knocked.

Inside, Song was sitting on China’s couch looking preternaturally cool, except that her hair was disheveled.

“Do you know where Rico is?” she asked, because Song and China were both frozen in place.

Song jumped up and flew at Ashna. “Don’t worry, he’s almost here.” There was an odd excitement in her eyes, even more than her usual enthusiasm. A weird sort of joy glowed from her.

“You know where he is?” Ashna asked, confused.

Song wiggled her brows and bounced on her heels. “Yes,” she squeaked, “and I’m going to explode with excitement.”

What on earth did that mean? Ashna looked at China—still uncharacteristically speechless—for an explanation.

“I have to go touch up my lipstick,” Song said with a look at China that Ashna could only interpret as heat.

“She’s not interested in Rico,” China said the moment she left.

“Oh,” Ashna said, recognizing China’s tone. It was possessive. “Oh!”

China beamed at her. “Um, yeah. Lots to tell you.”

Ashna beamed back. “Rico’s not interested in her either. And um . . . I have lots to tell you too.”

With matching squeals they hugged each other and Ashna rushed to the green room.

In another twenty minutes Ashna was waiting at their kitchen station by herself, red chef’s jacket on, hair in a bun, red lipstick, bronze eye shadow, her usual. Only, today she felt resplendent and madly excited.