24. Noa
NOA
The door clicks open and suddenly we’re two magnets with reversed polarity, repelling to opposite sides of the freezer with physics-defying speed. My back hits the shelving so hard that several pints of experimental cacao-Earl Grey tumble to the floor.
“There you are!” Stella hobbles in, followed by the entire crew. “We’ve been looking everywhere for–” She stops, taking in the scene: Aarti smoothing down her shirt, me frantically trying to tuck the curls back under my hairnet, both of us pink-cheeked and breathing like we’ve just run sprints.
Marcus the Sound Guy’s eyebrows climb all the way toward his receding hairline.
“So cold!” I blurt.
The entire crew stares, puzzled by my exclamation.
Aarti tries to save me. “We were locked in. We’re freezing.”
Madge claps her hands with theatrical urgency.
“Glad you’re not dead! Let’s get you some blankets from the medic.” She herds everyone toward the door and shoots Aarti a look. “We need to get the workstation footage before we lose the afternoon schedule. Noa, you’ll give us the grand tour of your lab setup?”
My legs feel like jelly as I lead everyone to my station, hyperaware of Aarti trailing behind with the others.
We kissed. We actually, finally kissed .
And it was even better than all my fantasies combined.
My lips still tingle from the cold and the heat of her mouth, and I have to grip the edge of my workbench to steady myself.
“So, um, this is where the magic happens.”
Aarti chokes. Okay, poor word choice, but I forge ahead despite my whole body buzzing with the secret knowledge that the magic has actually relocated to the freezer.
“I’ve been working on synthesizing Aarti’s sensory memories from our shoots–”
“Noa has an incredibly unique process. Tell us,” Stella prompts, always quick to sense I’m flailing. “How do you translate experience into flavor?”
I pick up a small jar of pale orange cubes from my station, hands only slightly trembling.
“Take the sound shoot. Aarti’s upbringing as a first-gen Indian kid in LA oscillated between memorizing Tupac on the school bus and Bollywood dances at parties, so I decided to start with a flavor that could meld two worlds together.”
I pass out my handmade candies to the crew, knowing that in mere seconds I’ll have to navigate the minefield of giving one to Aarti, too.
“I began with the most SoCal note I could find, sun-burst orange, then folded in marigold essence, classic in Indian sweets. After the climbing shoot, I spun that combo into crystallized rock candy for texture. Our Taste shoot revealed that basically all of her go-to food trucks led with heat, so I dusted the candy with Tajín and chaat masala until it hit that perfect sweet-spicy snap.”
I hand Stella a cube, then turn to face the inevitable.
I quickly drop a sample into Aarti’s outstretched palm, avoiding contact in order to prevent any city-wide electrical outages.
I watch as she pops it into her mouth, hoping to catch a glimpse of her reaction.
Her eyes widen as the candy melts on her tongue. Her tongue…
I shake my head in an attempt to clear it like it’s an Etch-a-Sketch. Get. It. Together.
“It’s incredible,” Aarti says, and when I look up, she’s staring at me with such intensity that I completely lose my train of thought. “When did you even find the time?”
“I… um…”
She tilts her head slightly, the ghost of a smile playing at her lips. The same lips that were just on mine, that were just–
“What about the Sight shoot, when you scanned everything?” Madge disrupts my whimsy.
“I’m holding onto that one for last. The final look is the most fungible aspect of the whole process, although I did get some textural ideas from that outing, too.”
Aarti holds her hand out again and my brain glitches, at first thinking she wants to hold mine, before I realize she’s requesting another sample.
“Right! Yes.” I knock over a beaker on my way to offer her more candy. “Sorry! That was just… sugar water.”
Aarti steps closer, ostensibly to examine the equipment, and I catch her scent–that nutty perfume mixed with something else now, something that makes my stomach flutter. Would that I could infuse an ice cream with her pheromones…
“How do you decide which memories are the most… delicious?” Aarti asks, her voice perfectly professional, but her eyes doing something else entirely.
“I…” My brain malfunctions. She’s looking at me like she wants to devour me, right here in front of everyone, and I’m supposed to explain flavor chemistry? “I look for the moments that feel most essential to who my… subject… is. The subject’s identity.”
“Mmm,” she hums. “You’re really talented, Noa.”
Aaaand I have to grip the counter again.
The next twenty minutes are torture. Every question she asks, every intrigued noise she makes, sends electricity through my body.
I stumble through explanations of extraction methods and emulsification techniques while she watches me with those dark eyes, occasionally biting her lip in a way that she must know is going to make me spontaneously combust.
Finally, mercifully, Madge calls wrap and steers Aarti and me toward a waiting van.
“Great work today, you two,” she says, and I swear there’s a knowing glint in her eye. “The car will take you back to CBT.”
We slide into the backseat, and the second the door closes, Aarti turns to me.
“I–”
She’s interrupted by three other crew members hoisting their bags into the pass van.
We sit in silence beside each other, knees knocking with each bump of the road, neither of us resisting the current drawing us together.
Somehow, no one else in the vehicle takes notice of the gravitational anomaly occurring in the backseat.
Maybe we can exist peacefully on our own little planet after all.
We walk through the CBT doors and are greeted by Claire.
“Dailies time!” Claire trills, turning toward the elevator.
“Dailies?” I ask Aarti.
“The unedited footage from set.” She looks to Claire. “But hopefully a little edited by the time my eyes get to it?”
“Of course,” she smiles.
We hop out of the elevator to a floor I’ve yet to see. It’s a long dark hallway lined with closed doors.
“Spooky,” I mumble.
“Editing bays,” Aarti tells me. “Where the movie magic happens.”
Claire guides us through a heavy door which thuds shut behind us. A woman with thick bluelight glasses sits in front of a computer screen.
“Hey, y’all, take a seat.” We sit in the row of folding chairs behind her. “I’m Sheena. Usually the shorts editor, but so excited about this segment!” She extends her hand toward me.
“I’m Noa.”
She nods politely, but as soon as my giant face appears on the screen above us, I realize she probably already knew that.
At first, watching the assembly edits, as Sheena calls them, isn’t so bad. The banter from our LA driving shoot feels fun and natural, and even our awkwardness on the portable scanner day plays like a deliberate bit with how Sheena spliced it together.
Footage of the rock climbing shoot is when my stomach drops.
Seeing all of myself on screen, squished into that harness, falling extremely short of any athletic prowess, is not something I was prepared for.
I haven’t been on camera being active like that since my early teenage track days, recording myself for scouts.
My now-adult body has me reeling. Does my ass really look like that in shorts?
My boobs are ginormous , like two additional boulders on camera.
Mere hours ago, Aarti was worshipping my body and I’d never felt more like a goddess.
I feel a pit of shame in my stomach at how easily my self-confidence can be shaken.
“What do you think?” Sheena turns to face us and I realize I’ve just zoned out through the remaining footage. I’m pretty sure it’s not my opinion that matters, so I stay quiet.
“You’re so quick,” Aarti tells Sheena with genuine appreciation. “I’ll make some notes and send them over?”
“Sounds good!”
Sheena waves us out and I feel like my feet are sinking through the floor. Aarti gives me a long look.
“What’d you think?” she asks.
“Honestly? It was… weird.” I try to brighten my tone. “But um, that’s, like, a me problem!?”
A look of concern spreads across her face.
“We don’t have to use any footage that makes you uncomfortable,” she reassures me.
“Thanks, yeah, no, I mean… I don’t want to be difficult,” I fumble as she pushes the down arrow for the elevator.
Aarti’s brow furrows, but before she can press me, the door dings open and Gretchen Gordon appears, tablet in hand like it’s superglued on.
“Ladies,” she says. “Just who I wanted to see.”
We step in and the doors close.
“Sheena sent me the dailies,” Gretchen continues, finally gracing us with eye contact. “Your chemistry is… compelling.”
“Thank you,” Aarti manages, her voice impressively steady. “We’re committed to making this collaboration work.”
“I can see that.” Gretchen’s lips twitch. “I’m eager to see how Dr. Hart channels all this raw material into a pint.”
“Absolutely,” I squeak. “I think it’s all about–”
“Excellent.” She cuts me off. “ Variety called. Their cover story fell through–that Hadid cousin was caught sellin’ white-label Shein as couture–and I told them you two would make the perfect replacement.”
The elevator feels airless.
“The cover?” Aarti’s voice pitches up slightly.
“The cover. Shootin’ tomorrow.” Gretchen prepares her exit. “Diane will send the details. Try not to look like a deer in headlights when the flash goes off, Dr. Hart.”
She slips through the hardly-open elevator doors with her typical abruptness, leaving us in stunned silence.
“Holy shit,” Aarti breathes excitedly. “This is huge. A seal of approval from Gretchen!”
She beams at me and I conjure a weak smile in return.