We work together, side by side, ignoring Joe completely.
We’re a disaster—but a synchronized disaster.
“TIME’S UP!”
Daisy throws her hands in the air, victorious.
She’s produced an asparagi-and-oyster risotto with a chocolate-chili reduction that looks like a Michelin chef’s fever dream.
We present…
Well.
Sad asparagus.
Poorly opened oysters.
And something that resembles spicy, slightly burnt fig jam.
The judges arrive.
Big Bob devours Daisy’s entire plate and asks for seconds.
“Divine!”
Then they reach us.
Mrs. Gable peers at the food, then at Cohen.
“Young man,” she says, adjusting her glasses, “I hope you kiss better than you cook asparagus.”
Cohen winks.
“Mrs. Gable, I promise my best skills aren’t usually on a stove.”
She giggles like a schoolgirl.
Tina tries our dish.
“Mmm. Interesting. Spicy. Very spicy. And… do you two know what you just cooked?”
Cohen and I exchange a look.
“Food?” I offer weakly.
Tina cackles.
“Oysters. Chili. Chocolate. Figs. Asparagus. Honey. Sweethearts, this mystery box was made entirely of aphrodisiacs!”
The room explodes into snickers.
Lucy turns beet-red.
My face catches fire.
Cohen’s grin turns slow and sinful.
He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me flush to his side.
