Lina beams. “I know. They’re for the Autumn Festival tomorrow.”
The kitchen door swings open and Rae walks in like a woman on a mission—with half a forest caught in her scarf.
“Perfect! We’re already celebrating? Because I have news. I found us the extra kitchen help we need for the holiday season!” she announces, bright as ever.
Lina groans, setting the piping bag down. “Ugh.I’mthe kitchen help.”
“No, you’re the head chef,” Rae says with an eye roll. “We still need extra hands for when you’re traveling, on vacation, or—oh, I don’t know—off on a quest for the perfect food coloring.”
Lina squints at her. “We already have people who cover for me.”
“Those chefs are going to be busy,” Rae counters, crossing her arms as a strand of red hair falls onto her forehead. “You’re getting help. Non-negotiable.”
I sip my Prosecco, amused and relieved that—for once—I’m not the subject of the argument.
Lina turns to me, then back to Rae. “Sloane is still distressed over her new client, who istop secret,” she says, stressing the words dramatically.
I know she hates that I'm hiding something, but she’s hiding something too. She hasn’t been the same since she got back.
And we’re all total gossip gremlins. Welivefor juicy details.
Rae laughs, then pins me with her adoptive-mom stare. “Speaking of top secret—where’s Ivy?”
Yes, Rae is helping me matchmake her daughter. Adorable mother behavior.
“Shouldn’t you know?” I tease. “She’s your kid.”
“You’re her best friend, Sloane. You should have a tracker on her.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
We look at each other for exactly one second before bursting into synchronized laughter.
“She’s probably with Cam,” we say at the same time. Lina groans dramatically.
“No one tells me anything anymore! Who’s Cam now?”
Rae snickers, grabbing a cookie. “It’s not our fault you just got back!”
She gives Lina a look—yeah, Rae has noticed something’s off too.
“I was away for work! And you could’ve updated me instead of sending me Leo memes!”
She tosses the towel on the counter, pretending to be offended… then cracks up because Ivy’s cat memes are impossible not to laugh at.
I take another sip—too fast, maybe—and Lina narrows her eyes at me.
“Sloane, I swear, if you start telling me about your imaginary crushes in your operetta voice again, I’m filming you in 4K.”
Well… they’ll need more storage soon.
Yes, my best friends have a shared drive of photos and videos of me tipsy across all four seasons.
They’re terrible friends.
“It won’t happen,” I lie.
Because the truth is… my brain is still stuck on Cohen Becker.
On the way he looks at me, the way he challenges me, the way he single-handedly destroys years of professional discipline with one stupid smirk or one teasing comment.
