Amazingly, lamb chops were also Baba’s favorite thing. He had a near-perfect recipe. He had considered his recipes his life’s work. Ashna knew she should be angrier at Baba than she was, but the only emotion she felt when she thought about him was sadness.

She also knew she couldn’t follow his recipe. Not today.

“What’s the matter, meu amor?” Rico said.

“I’m fine.” She put a cast-iron grill pan on the stove. “What do you remember most about what your pai put in his lamb chops?”

“I think it was basically salt, pepper, and garlic.” He squeezed his eyes shut and focused so hard that not dropping a kiss on his earnestly pursed mouth was the hardest thing. His eyes opened, bright with memory. “Of course. Mint.”

“That’s perfect. Since we’re allowed only five tools, simple is good.”

“My mãe always made rice and potatoes with it. How about we make lamb chops and a biryani-style pilaf?”

Ashna blinked. Since when was Rico such a foodie?

He shrugged but his lips tugged to one side in his crooked smile. “What? I live in London. Of course Indian is my favorite cuisine.”

Tossing an onion at him, she asked him to start chopping, and put the rice to boil.

Then she turned to the lamb chops. The automatic reflex to follow Baba’s recipe to within an inch of its life rolled through her. But when she ignored it, the need to hyperventilate didn’t follow. Next to her Rico was fully tuned in to her body language, dividing his focus between following the instructions she threw out and the job at hand.

As he’d talked about his father’s chops, she’d imagined exactly how she wanted them to taste. An overtone of garlic and lemon and an undertone of mint. The rice would be simple, in keeping with the Brazilian tradition, but she’d liven it up with fried onions, cashew nuts, whole black cardamom, cloves, bay leaves, and cinnamon stick. All she wanted was to create something that tasted like Rico’s childhood, combined with their future together, and it felt like she was flying.

Just like with her teas, she knew exactly what she wanted to taste and she knew exactly how to layer ingredients to coax out those flavors, those feelings. It was her and that alchemy and Rico’s hands flying to follow instructions and help her make it happen.

“There’s another thing we have to make,” she said. Rico raised a brow as he stirred rice into the spice-infused butter. “I want to make tea. A festive chai.”

He smiled, heat intensifying his eyes.

Really? Talking about tea turned him on? Wasn’t the universe just full of good news today.

Smiling from under her lashes, she looked around at their two used pans. “Focus, Rico. We don’t have any more utensils to use.”