“You have a gift,” Chef Laurent says, looking genuinely impressed. “This competition you are preparing for—you will do very well, I think. You understand not just ingredients but how they work together, how they build upon each other. That is the mark of a true chef.”
Kiera’s cheeks flush pink, and she ducks her head. “Thank you. That means a lot, especially coming from someone with your talent.”
“Bonne chance,” he says, shaking her hand. “And please, come back anytime. I would love to cook for you again.”
After he leaves, Kiera turns to me, and there’s something in her expression—joy and gratitude mixed with something that looks almost like pain.
“You arranged that,” she says. “You called ahead and set this whole thing up.”
“I wanted to help you prepare.” I reach across the table and take her hand. “And I wanted you to hear from a professional chef that you’re talented. That you have what it takes.”
She looks down at our joined hands, and I see her throat work as she swallows. “Thank you,” she whispers. “This was...this was wonderful. The best learning experience I could have asked for.”
We pay the check and head out to my car. The night air is warm and salt-tinged, and the parking lot is lit by old-fashioned street lamps that cast everything in a golden glow.
Kiera stops beside the passenger door, and when she looks up at me, there’s something wistful in her expression. Something that makes my chest ache with anxiety.
“Are you okay?” I ask, because I can’t not ask. Not when she’s looking at me like I’m something she’s about to lose.
“I’m fine,” she says, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She climbs into the car before I can press further.
The drive back to my house is quiet. Kiera stares out the window at the darkness, and I can feel the walls going up again. Brick by brick, shutting me out.
When we arrive at my house, we settle onto the couch in the theater room like we have every night this week. But tonight feels different. Charged with something I can’t name but makes my skin prickle with unease.
I pull up the final two episodes ofLegend of the Blue Sea, and Kiera curls up against my side. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, trying to memorize the feel of her against me.
The show unfolds on the screen—the mermaid and the human navigating their impossible love. In these final episodes, the mermaid is running out of time. Her ability to stay on land is fading, and she knows she’ll have to return to the ocean. She knows she’ll have to leave the man she loves.
There’s a scene where she watches him sleep, memorizing his face because she knows these moments are limited. A scene where she holds him close and tells him how much he means to her without explaining that it’s goodbye.
I feel Kiera’s breathing change beside me, becoming shallower. When I glance down, I see tears sliding down her cheeks.
My first instinct is to tease her about crying over a TV show. But something stops me. Something in the way she’s holding herself, the tension in her shoulders, the way she’s gripping my shirt like she’s afraid to let go.
The show continues, the two lovers separate, but then she comes back and they have a happy ending. It’s a good ending, satisfying and it shows the couple married and about to have a child.
The credits roll, and Kiera is fully crying now. Not quiet tears but real, shoulder-shaking sobs that make my heart crack.
I turn off the show and gently pull her closer, turning her to face me. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
She won’t look at me, her hands coming up to cover her face. “I’m sorry. I’m being ridiculous.”
“You’re not ridiculous.” I brush her hair back from her face. “Talk to me, Kiera. Please.”
She takes a shaky breath and finally meets my eyes. “You’ve been wonderful,” she says, and her voice breaks on the word. “This whole time, working with you, it’s been a dream. Better than I ever imagined. You’ve been so patient and kind and supportive, and I—” She stops, pressing her lips together.
My stomach drops. I know what’s coming. I can feel it in the air between us, heavy and inevitable.
“But I can’t do this anymore,” she continues. “I have to quit. I have to break up with you.”
The words hit like a physical blow. “What? Why?”
“It’s for the best.” She pulls back, putting distance between us on the couch. “For both of us.”
“That’s not an answer.” I reach for her hand, but she pulls away. “Kiera, talk to me. What’s really going on? Did I do something wrong? Is it my mom? Is it?—”
“It’s not you,” she interrupts. “You’ve been perfect. That’s the problem.”
