The only place the livid energy inside her seemed to have manifested itself was in what the judges declared “abject underseasoning.”

This made Ashna smile. When she looked at Rico, he was having the same reaction. For one quick meeting of their eyes, the ridiculously overdramatic statement joined them together with shared humor. His lips tilted up on one side. For the first time since they’d lined up to hear the challenge, she took a full breath.

Even though Ashna felt like she’d made the perfect cliff-dive into the ocean as the tide ebbed, the judges’ focus wasn’t on the chefs today. It was on the celebrities. They were the ones being tested for skill level without the assistance of their chefs. Rico had made an omelet stuffed with Portuguese sausage and peppers and served it with baked beans. Or attempted to.

As for his skill level, well, there wasn’t any in evidence. His omelet (a generous label) was at once burnt—giving it a rusty color not commonly observed in nature—and uncooked—making it spring a watery leak when a judge pierced it with a fork.

Turned out eggs, much like memories, were unforgiving.

Naturally, the man was entirely unruffled by the judges’ candor as they described every detail of his failures with flourish. He laughed, from a deep, unshakable place inside him. “May I suggest cleansing your palates with the masterpiece my chef just presented you with.”

His chef didn’t mean to blush, really she didn’t, but she stuck up her chin and acted as though warmth weren’t suffusing her face as the audience went crazy.

Thankfully, all the stars were in the same cooking boat—more invested in the audience than the food—and the neglect meant that their omelets fell roughly into three categories: burnt, raw, and in Rico’s case, partially burnt and partially raw. It made for a quick and lighthearted judging round that didn’t require Ashna to say another word to Rico before she made her escape.

By the time Ashna was headed home her brain was so snarled up, there was no untangling it. The rideshare driver maneuvered the car onto High Street. India and China’s building was a few minutes away. If India hadn’t been off at her yearly yoga retreat, Ashna would have stopped by. She couldn’t remember the last time she had needed one of India’s yoga and meditation sessions so badly.

The idea of seeing Rico again tomorrow made the bats flap in her stomach with renewed fervor. They had taken up permanent residence in her rib cage, hanging by her lungs, ready to start flapping at the slightest excuse. There was no chance of her and Rico being voted off tomorrow. As if Rico’s heroic dive at the knife weren’t enough, his self-effacing charm in front of the judges today had made sure they had undisputed audience support.