“If everyone could start making their way closer to the stage,” Mabel continued, “we’re about to begin our annual Taste-Off! Three categories, three chances to argue with your neighbors about food, and absolutely no throwing forks—yes, Joyce, that means you. Get ready! Judges vote for Sweet and Savory, but the crowd picks the overall favorite!”
Applause and laughter rippled through the park.
Cara and I got to work.
I diced onions while she chopped carrots and celery, the rhythm familiar, putting me at ease. Olive oil warmed in the pan. Garlic hit heat and bloomed instantly, the smell wrapping around us like an old song. She nudged the salt toward me.
“You’re doing great,” she said quietly as she slid chicken into one of the pans.
“What if she doesn’t?—?”
“She will,” Cara said. “I know it.”
The Taste-Off buzzed around us—music, laughter, the clink of sample cups and forks. Piper’s bakery booth was already swarmed with people watching her work. It was all pink banners and sugar-dusted chaos and Piper doing exactly what she did best. Across the green, Graham’s setup gleamed. Crisp linens. Plates arranged like art.
He caught my eye and nodded once. Confident. Assured.
He expected to win.
I turned back to my table, telling myself I didn’t care, telling myself I wasn’t watching for signs of Eliza every thirty seconds.
The crowd shifted.
A murmur ran through the park, attention tugged toward the entrance. I looked up without meaning to.
Eliza stood right inside the lights.
No apron yet. Coat open. Pretty coral red dress. Boots. Her hair was loose around her shoulders. She was beautiful, and I hoped she was still mine. Our eyes met, and for one suspended second, everything else fell away—the noise, the booths, the competition.
She walked straight toward me.
“I’m here,” she said, breathless, stepping into my space. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”
I didn’t answer. I just pulled her gently aside and into my arms.
“You okay?” I asked quietly, searching her face.
Her eyes shone. “I will be. If you can forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” I answered immediately.
Her breath caught—not sharp, not panicked. Relieved. Like something heavy had finally been set down.
“Nate,” she whispered.
I leaned in, slow enough to give her time to pull away, close enough that she could feel the choice in it.
She didn’t hesitate.
Her hands fisted lightly in the front of my apron as my mouth met hers—soft at first, familiar and careful, like we were both making sure this was real. Then she kissed me back, deeper this time, surer, and the noise of the park faded into nothing.
The cheers, the music, the clatter of dishes—all of it disappeared until there was only her, warm and steady, and finally in my arms.
When we pulled apart, her forehead rested against my chest, her smile small and certain.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Now I’m ready.”
I smiled, thumb brushing her jaw.
