Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ivy had not posted to social media in two days.
She stood in the middle of her kitchen, staring at the tripod as if it was a date she had stood up more than once and it was still phoning her.
The ring light leaned against the counter, unplugged, waiting.
Her phone sat dark in her hand, the screen blank, as if it was also waiting for her to decide who she was today.
Content creator? Chef? Girl who just won her first competition?
Girl who couldn’t stop thinking about the man who had kissed her in the middle of the street before she'd learned she'd won anything other than his affection.
Ivy set the phone down and exhaled slowly. She was not going to become one of those women who changed once she got into a relationship. She had a business to maintain.
"Okay," she said to her equipment. "We’re working."
She plugged in the ring light. Set up the tripod. Adjusted the angle of the camera until it framed the counter, the stove, and the window where the late afternoon light came in soft and golden.
She had ideas. Too many ideas. She could do a recap of the rally. A behind-the-scenes of the winning dish. A breakdown of the compote. A "we won" moment her followers would eat up.
She could.
She didn’t want to. Because every version of it included him. And she didn’t want to share Finn with anyone.
Not the way she usually gave things away. Not packaged, not clipped, not turned into something that belonged to anyone who tapped the screen.
She wanted to cook with him again. Just the two of them. No lights. No angles. No thinking about how something would look from the outside. Just—
Her phone buzzed. She grabbed at it, thinking it would be him. It wasn't.
"Hey, Roz."
"Hey, girl, hey. You owe me some serious T."
Before Ivy could answer, the doorbell rang. Ivy frowned, wiped her hands on her jeans, and went to the door.
"Eva."
Her cousin stood on the step looking as if she'd come straight from somewhere that had required her to be put-together. Her dark hair was half out of whatever it had been pinned into, and she was carrying a tote bag that clinked when she moved in a way that suggested she had brought provisions.
"I brought wine," Eva said, "and the good chocolate. Move."
Ivy moved.
Eva was through the door and setting the tote on the counter and pulling things out of it.
"Who's that?" Roz called from the phone.
"Eva, meet Roz," Ivy held up the phone. "Roz, this is my cousin Eva."
Roz, on the screen, looked Eva up and down with the attention of someone conducting a rapid assessment. Eva looked back at the phone with the attention of someone who recognized a rapid assessment when she saw one and was conducting her own.
"You brought the good chocolate?" Roz asked.
"Seventy percent dark," Eva said. "None of that milk chocolate nonsense."
"I like her," Roz said immediately to Ivy. "She can stay."
Eva set a bar of chocolate on the counter then pulled out a bottle of wine — the good kind— and set it beside the chocolate and looked at Ivy with her arms crossed and her head tilted in the way that meant start talking or I start asking questions. But Roz beat her to it.
"I was calling for a wellness check," Roz told Eva. "She hasn't posted in two days."
"I was busy winning a food truck rally," Ivy said.
There was a beat. Then—
"You what?" asked Roz.
"You haven't told her yet?" Eva took a seat at the island, already reaching for the corkscrew like she lived there.
"I was going to," Ivy said.
Roz made a sound that was somewhere between a scream and a laugh. “Start from the beginning."
Ivy started measuring. It was easier to talk when her hands were doing something. The kitchen was her preferred confessional. She pulled the flour toward her. Reached for the sugar.
Eva had already migrated from the island to the counter without being asked.
She looked at the produce laid out — the tomatoes, the herbs, the things Ivy had pulled without a clear plan yet — and started sorting with the instinctive logic of someone who had grown up in the same grandmother's kitchen and learned the same rhythms.
"Cutting board?" Eva asked.
"Left cabinet, second shelf."
Eva found it without needing a second look. Ivy started measuring. Eva started prepping the produce. Roz filled the space with commentary from the phone, her voice bright and relentless and grounding all at once.
"So," Roz said, "you won. With him."
Ivy couldn’t stop the grin. "We won.”
"How does that feel?" Roz asked.
Ivy paused, spoon hovering over the bowl. She searched for the right word. "It’s my first first place."
"Wait," Eva said, looking up. "You’ve never won before?"
"I’ve come in second. A lot."
Roz hummed. "So. Was it hard to share it with him?"
Ivy blinked. The question hadn’t even occurred to her. "It didn’t feel like sharing. It felt like… building something together."
Ivy glanced down at the bowl, then back up, her smile softening without her permission.
"He makes me better." Ivy huffed a laugh. "He’s a great cook."
"Low bar,” Roz said. " What else?"
Ivy hesitated for half a second. "And a great kisser."
Eva set down her knife with the careful deliberateness of a woman who had decided this moment deserved her complete and undivided attention. She turned to face Ivy fully, elbow on the counter, chin in her hand, clearly waiting and expecting to hear more.
On the screen, Roz pressed both hands flat on whatever surface she was sitting at and looked directly into the camera. "I'm sorry. Can you repeat that?"
"I didn't stutter," Ivy said.
"She really didn't," Eva confirmed to Roz with the gravity of a witness giving testimony.
"Tell me everything," Roz demanded.
Ivy laughed, shaking her head as she tried to focus on the batter." There’s nothing to tell."
"That is a lie," Roz said.
"You don’t just casually drop ‘great kisser’ and move on," Eva added.
Ivy pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. It didn’t work. "He’s… steady. Intentional. He doesn't care about the spotlight. I mean he wanted the win because he wants to open a restaurant here and give back to the community. I think that's…"
"Admirable," said Eva.
"Not what you want," said Roz.
Eva frowned at the phone.
So did Ivy. "I want Finn to have his restaurant."
"But do you want to stay in Valor?" asked Roz.
"I…" Did she want to stay in Valor? She knew she wanted to be with Finn. She knew she wanted to be inside his embrace, receive his kisses, walk the rows of the farm with him, cook a new dish that's both savory and sweet and uses a ton of tomatoes.
Her phone buzzed again. The caller ID blocked out Roz's face. This time, the name on the screen made her pause.
Devon.
"Who’s that?" Eva asked.
"I know that sigh," said Roz. "It's Devon, isn't it?"
Ivy declined the call, restoring Roz's face on the device. "He came by yesterday."
"Of course he did," Roz said, her voice dry. "Let me guess. Another competition."
"He offered me a solo show."
Eva straightened. "Your own cooking show?"
"Twelve episodes. Option for more."
Eva shook her head immediately. "Don’t even consider it. Stay here. Work your truck, your socials, date the hot farmer."
Roz was uncharacteristically quiet. Her face was pensive on the phone screen.
"Roz?"
Roz exhaled slowly. "It’s a solo show?"
"Yes."
"And you’re the lead?"
"That's what he said."
Another pause. "I think you should consider it."
Eva turned on her. "What?"
"It’s not a competition,” Roz said. "It’s her voice. Her food. Her brand. Her work."
"She would have to leave," Eva said.
"For a few weeks," Roz countered. "Filming isn’t forever. She could go back and forth. People do that."
"Or she could stay and build something real here," Eva shot back. "This could be your reality. No competition necessary."
Ivy stood between her cousin and the phone. Her hands rested on the counter, batter half-mixed, heart doing uneven flips in her chest.
She could feel both arguments. Could see both futures. The one that made sense. The one that felt right.
She hadn't wanted to admit to herself that she was thinking about Devon's offer. Roz just said the quiet part out loud. What if Ivy could have both? What if she could have her own show and Finn? The best of both worlds.