I grabbed the buttered rolls, my hands moving mechanically. “The buttery texture of the lobster pairs perfectly with the tangy dressing. It’s truly a classic combination,” I said, my tone eerily steady. “Do you remember where you were when you tried your first lobster roll, Lare?”
He launched into some embellished tale. At least half of it was scripted, the details twisted for the audience, and Leo performed perfectly, like he always did.
Another ping.
Kenzi: Two more weeks, babe, and then we won’t have to put up with the Lunatic anymore. Just think—our show, our rules.
Leo had been working on the contract negotiations and the syndications. He was the one talking with our agent…the lawyers.
Leo turned to check the recipe. He saw the message and practically dropped the knife.
He reached for the iPad, fingers smudged with cilantro and lime, fumbling to swipe away that damning evidence. In his rush, he knocked the screen flat on the table, faltered again, and then grabbed a tea towel and tossed it over the screen, aiming for nonchalance.
Too late.
I had already seen Kensi’s last message:
Kenzi: There she goes again. A little heavy with the mayo, don’t you think?
Heavy with the mayo?
Was she seriously insulting my cooking now? It was the perfect amount of mayo! I mean, I may not understand the ins and outs of our negotiations, I may look a little frumpy in my apron, but I always, always used the right amount of mayo in this recipe!
The buzzing in my ears grew louder.
But I still caught Leo’s little dig. “Careful with the mayo, Luna.” His condescending voice carried across the airwaves. “We don’t want to go too heavy.”
My blood turned cold.
He parroted Kensi’s words like nothing was wrong, like I hadn’t just seen my entire reality crumble in real time.
Another ping, and this time we both heard it. My gaze locked on Leo, who was starting to look a little…panicked.
I wasn’t wrong about what those messages meant. It was exactly what it looked like. Leo…and Kensi…
I couldn’t explain what happened next, then or now. It was like I wasn’t me, but I was still me. The lights seemed to dim, and blood roared in my ears, drowning out the director’s voice and every other sound on the set. And yet, I was weirdly, eerily calm.
The bowl of creamy filling was in my hands, lifting up high, higher. There came a half-hysterical thought: How’d that get there?
And then, live on air, I dumped the entire thing over Leo’s head. Chunks of lobster and spicy sriracha dressing cascaded over his chef’s hat, dripping down his face and his coat in sticky chunks. Filling even clung to his eyelashes as they blinked furiously. Between the lime juice and the spices, I hoped it stung.
Leo grabbed the tea towel and swiped it down his face. Lobster sauce clung to the edge of his collar, and his jaw flexed like he was working hard not to explode.
And then he gave me that look—the one that made me feel about ten inches tall.
“You are such a Lunatic,” he snapped, the nickname twisted into something sharp. He’d used it before, always with a half-laugh, like it was cute. Like I was the joke. But this time, there was no humor—just venom.
Then, just as quickly, he pivoted. His expression crumpled, like I was the one who’d betrayed him. “God, Luna…what is wrong with you?”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Something inside me locked up.
Maybe I had gone too far. Maybe I was the one losing it. Maybe all of this was my fault.
But then he looked at me—really looked at me—and I saw it.
Not fear. Not confusion.
