Ashna beamed back. “Rico’s not interested in her either. And um . . . I have lots to tell you too.”
With matching squeals they hugged each other and Ashna rushed to the green room.
In another twenty minutes Ashna was waiting at their kitchen station by herself, red chef’s jacket on, hair in a bun, red lipstick, bronze eye shadow, her usual. Only, today she felt resplendent and madly excited.
There were three stations left. The auditorium seating had been doubled, for “surprise guests,” China told her cryptically.
Rico, Song, and Danny were the stars competing in the final today, but the eliminated stars and chefs were in the studio audience. Lilly, Tatiana, and P.T. stopped by to say hi. Danny was “centering himself” in the green room. The man had become obsessed with winning. Ashna was sure the network was going to pick him up as a regular.
Then, just like that, the temperature in the room changed. Something shifted inside Ashna. She heard his steps behind her and smelled his scent, and her entire nervous system spun into eddies like pinwheels exploding in the sky.
“Hi,” he said next to her.
She braced herself and turned to him. “It’s five minutes before we start shooting. Everything all right?”
“Not at all,” he said, his heart in his eyes. “I’m ruined for life.” He slipped his hand into hers behind the countertop and more fireworks went through her. “You look happy. Things go okay with your mom?”
“I’m so happy, Rico. She’s . . . there’s so much I didn’t know.” Hiding her hope was impossible, so she didn’t even try.
He dropped a kiss on her cheek, forgetting all about the cameras.
“Now that our missing star is here,” China announced, “let’s get started. Today we have a secret audience. They’ll be watching you, but you won’t know who’s there.”
“Fabulous,” Rico whispered. “More people we can’t get rid of.”
The producers had decided to get downright sadistic. They announced, with some glee, that the work surfaces were being shrunk down to one small two-foot countertop. The crew made a big show of coming in and rolling away two-thirds of each kitchen station.
“We’re live today,” DJ announced. “There will be no audience voting. The judges will rank the runners-up and announce the winner.”
Danny El gave Rico a jubilant smile and Rico gave him a thumbs-up.
Their challenge was to make a holiday dinner in half an hour and in that restricted space. Display teamwork in those tight conditions. Ashna’s heart spasmed wildly every time their bodies touched, the memories of their night together a fire inside her.
Then DJ threw them their curveball. They could choose only five kitchen tools total to work with.
“Bring it on,” Ashna said to the camera, “because I’m nothing if not a minimalist.”
The first utensil they chose was . . . wait for it . . . a knife (insert womb-melting smile here), a ten-inch santoku, the exact same style that had started them off on their second chance.
“What did your family make for holiday dinners?” she asked, turning to him.
“Lamb chops. It was my pai’s favorite thing to make.”
Amazingly, lamb chops were also Baba’s favorite thing. He had a near-perfect recipe. He had considered his recipes his life’s work. Ashna knew she should be angrier at Baba than she was, but the only emotion she felt when she thought about him was sadness.
She also knew she couldn’t follow his recipe. Not today.
“What’s the matter, meu amor?” Rico said.
“I’m fine.” She put a cast-iron grill pan on the stove. “What do you remember most about what your pai put in his lamb chops?”
“I think it was basically salt, pepper, and garlic.” He squeezed his eyes shut and focused so hard that not dropping a kiss on his earnestly pursed mouth was the hardest thing. His eyes opened, bright with memory. “Of course. Mint.”
“That’s perfect. Since we’re allowed only five tools, simple is good.”
“My mãe always made rice and potatoes with it. How about we make lamb chops and a biryani-style pilaf?”
Ashna blinked. Since when was Rico such a foodie?
He shrugged but his lips tugged to one side in his crooked smile. “What? I live in London. Of course Indian is my favorite cuisine.”
Tossing an onion at him, she asked him to start chopping, and put the rice to boil.
Then she turned to the lamb chops. The automatic reflex to follow Baba’s recipe to within an inch of its life rolled through her. But when she ignored it, the need to hyperventilate didn’t follow. Next to her Rico was fully tuned in to her body language, dividing his focus between following the instructions she threw out and the job at hand.
As he’d talked about his father’s chops, she’d imagined exactly how she wanted them to taste. An overtone of garlic and lemon and an undertone of mint. The rice would be simple, in keeping with the Brazilian tradition, but she’d liven it up with fried onions, cashew nuts, whole black cardamom, cloves, bay leaves, and cinnamon stick. All she wanted was to create something that tasted like Rico’s childhood, combined with their future together, and it felt like she was flying.
Just like with her teas, she knew exactly what she wanted to taste and she knew exactly how to layer ingredients to coax out those flavors, those feelings. It was her and that alchemy and Rico’s hands flying to follow instructions and help her make it happen.
“There’s another thing we have to make,” she said. Rico raised a brow as he stirred rice into the spice-infused butter. “I want to make tea. A festive chai.”
He smiled, heat intensifying his eyes.
Really? Talking about tea turned him on? Wasn’t the universe just full of good news today.
Smiling from under her lashes, she looked around at their two used pans. “Focus, Rico. We don’t have any more utensils to use.”
“You get the ingredients. I’ll wash the pan we used for the rice.”
She squeezed his arm and got to work.
“That smells amazing,” he said as the chai came to a boil.
When she gave him a taste his eyes did things they should not be doing here in public.
“How are we going to pour it without a strainer?”
“Is a paper napkin considered a utensil?” Rico pulled one from a roll.
Well, someone would stop them if it was. Ashna placed a napkin on each cup, gave it a poke to make an indentation, and poured.
DJ started to count down the last ten seconds. Ashna finished tearing some mint and sprinkled it on the rice. Just as he called out “Time’s up,” Ashna stepped back and tossed the knife high up in the air.
The entire studio went silent, holding one long combined breath. The knife spun in the air, the sharp silver edge catching the light, and landed neatly back in Ashna’s hand.
The crowd went crazy.
Rico picked her up and spun her around.
As the food was being transferred onto trolleys to be taken to the judges, China announced that their families were in the audience again.
The one-way screens between the staging area and the audience were moved away and there they were: her family. Her uncle and aunt; Nisha and her husband Neel; Mishka; Trisha; Yash; and right there squeezed between Trisha and Nisha, Mom.