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“Thank you,” she said.

She held my gaze for one quiet beat.

I wanted to kiss her right there with gravy on my hand and cameras running.

Instead, I set my plate on the tasting table.

Caprice stepped in, back in producer mode. “Final plates are down. We’ll get the judges’ reactions hot, then beauty shots. Nobody breathes aggressively near the egg yolk.”

Ed lowered his camera. “Why would I breathe aggressively near an egg?”

“You’re a mysterious man, Ed. I plan for variables.”

Joelle stepped forward with her fork. “I’m judging before the butter collapses.”

The tasting should’ve been the easy part. We’d cooked. Plates were down. I’d done what I came to do.

But watching Sunny stand on the other side of that table while three people lifted forks felt worse than waiting on a weather call during lightning season.

Joelle tasted Sunny’s griddle cake first. Her lashes lowered for half a second. “The cornmeal has real texture. The peach is bright but not candy. The bacon keeps it from turning into dessert.”

Sunny’s shoulders dropped by a fraction.

Ed took a bite next, grumbled, and then took another. “I hate that this works.”

Sunny smiled. “That’s been my business plan from day one.”

Caprice tasted last. “This is camera gold. It’s pretty, it’s understandable, and it tastes like summer showed up wearing lipstick.”

“Caprice,” Joelle said.

“What? That was food commentary.”

“It was something.”

Then they moved to mine.

Joelle cut through biscuit, egg, and gravy in one bite. She chewed, nodded once, and looked annoyed. “That biscuit is excellent.”

“Thank you.”

“I wanted it to be drier.”

“It isn’t.”

“I noticed.”

Ed took a bite of potatoes and bacon with enough seriousness for a land survey. “This is what breakfast-for-dinner should do. It makes you want to sit down and stop talking.”

“Please eat more,” Caprice said.

Ed pointed his fork at her. “I mean everyone else.”

Caprice tasted the biscuit. Her attention moved from my plate to Sunny, then back to me.

I braced.

“Oh, that’s irritating,” Caprice said. “Flint, who told you to become marketable?”