Recipe for Persuasion

by Sonali Dev

DJ started to count down the last ten seconds.

  Ashna drizzled the saffron milk onto the four spoons of doce de leite just as Rico arranged the mango at the center of each plate.

  “And your time is up!” DJ shouted, the strain coming through in his usually calm voice.

  The chefs and stars stepped away from their dishes, covered in sweat and breathing hard. Ashna’s heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest. It took her a moment to realize that she had stepped back and into Rico. Her back pressed flat against his chest as she sagged into him.

  His hands stroked up and down her arms.

  He seemed to realize that he was holding her just as she realized it. It took him a moment to let her go and for her to step away. Every part of her buzzed with life.

  When she finally gathered the courage to look at him, she found him watching her, the intensity in his eyes far too familiar. Dragging her gaze away from him, she took in their plates. Hope rose from the very depths of her. All she wanted was for the judges to not hate their dish.

  “You did it,” Rico said close to her ear, and goose bumps danced up the back of her neck where his breath fell against her skin.

  She had. She’d done it.

  When she meditated, there was this moment that her body fell away, when the weightless essence of her started to spin. Coming out of it was always disorienting, like pulling on clothes but being at a loss for what they were. This felt exactly like that.

  For the first time, she wanted to be here doing this one more time, then one more until the end. She had cooked.

  She

  Had

  Cooked.

  A whoop escaped her, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, laughing.

  “This is actually really good,” the director judge said when Rico and Ashna stood before the judges for their comments. “It’s hard to make tapioca pancakes that aren’t chewy or tough, but these are soft and light. The coconut mixed with the cashew gives a lovely depth of flavor.”

  “This doce de leite is perfect.” The food editor judge said. “That saffron you added at the last minute is exactly what we’re looking for in this competition. You’re the mentor and we want you to teach your mentee how to elevate their flavors. This saffron does that.”

  Ashna felt her smile all the way in her heart. “My grandmother makes a rice kheer with coconut milk and saffron and she garnishes it with mango. Tapioca has that same starchy blandness as rice, so I thought it would be perfect.”

  The judges all nodded, thrilled with her answer.

  Then the chef judge, whose job it was to be the bad cop, poked at the pancake with a fork. “But this is the second time you’ve made doce de leite on this show. The saffron was a great twist, but I’d suggest showing us a little more range if you want to go all the way. Work together to figure each other’s flavors out. That’s what this is about. Don’t rest on your laurels.”

  His meaning was clear. He was accusing them of trying to get by on the strength of their popularity. That made Ashna angry. Their dish was really good. Unlike the other contestants’, it had no flaws. It was actually the best thing made that day. There were no words for how that felt.

  “I’m proud of the food we put out today,” she said. And being able to verbalize it was like wrapping the cloak of the accomplishment she was feeling tighter around herself.

  “I am too,” Rico said behind her. “We reached across a great distance in terms of style and culture and blended it perfectly to honor both. I think the world needs a lot more of that.”

  “Another perfect shot from Frederico Silva!” DJ said.

  Everyone including the judges came to their feet clapping and the smile across Ashna’s face stretched her cheeks so wide they hurt.

  When she stole a glance at Rico, he was soaking up her smile, her joy, as though he’d been starved for it. If ever he’d made an effort to hide his feelings around her, she knew he’d given up that fight.

  “You two have great chemistry and this dish speaks to that,” a judge said worshipfully. “Just give us more.”

  “More. More. More,” the audience chanted and Ashna felt Rico’s hands squeeze her shoulders, warm and triumphant.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Watching other people hug Ashna had become a particularly painful experience. Not that Rico didn’t understand their need to do it. He watched Jonah throw his arms around her with a sensation in his chest that fell somewhere between agony and hope.

  It had been two weeks since Ashna had defeated, with a flaming vengeance, the demons that had been eclipsing her cooking. They had survived two more eliminations (if their staggering audience votes could be called surviving). Last week they had made a picnic basket of sandwiches, and yesterday Ashna had helped him turn out the perfect persimmon and mango tart that paired with Sonoma wines they had been assigned.

  Ashna’s French training meant pastries were Rico’s new weakness. They still hadn’t made it to the top of the scoreboard with the judges. Mostly because Disney Danny cooked like someone who had been covertly training to be a chef for years and was at least as good as his chef, but also because Rico had put too much mayo on the sandwiches and chopped the fruit like an amateur, which, hello, he was. Ashna’s reaction had been to tell the judges that as far as she was concerned Rico had already proven his knife skills. Another viral moment.

  P. T. Cruiser had been the second star to be eliminated. The street food challenge had felled her when the undercooked beans in her chili dog had almost taken out a judge’s fillings. Lilly, who cooked like a southern grandma, had been eliminated last week. Inexplicably, Ashna had teared up.

  Today, in an unexpected move, the judges had announced that they could not fairly eliminate one of the three remaining contestants, so Rico, Song, and Danny, and their chefs would be competing in a three-way final.

  Jonah left Ashna to come to Rico and informed him that the internet was overwhelmingly delighted that #Ashico had made it to the finals.

  “There you are!” Song jogged up to Rico, as soon as Jonah moved on, and threw her arms around him, hugging him a little too hard, and then holding on.

  They were in the lounge and Ashna was talking to China.

  Song threw a look at Ashna that lacked its usual warmth. “You were spectacular today. Can you two go a little easy on the rest of us?”

  Rico caught a flash of something too close to hurt in Ashna’s eyes when she saw Song hanging on to his arm.

  Was Zee right? Did Song think Rico had feelings for her other than fondness and friendship?

  Did Ashna?

  China and Ashna walked up to them. Granted, she was Ashna’s friend, but the look China threw Song was filled with all sorts of shade. It made Song cling harder to Rico.

  “Good job today, all of you,” China said with a stiffness he hadn’t seen her display before.

  “Thank you,” Song said, mirroring China’s stiffness before letting go of Rico and sauntering off.

  “Well then,” China said, turning to the two of them with her warmth reinstated. “You were both spectacular! To literally no one’s surprise.”

  She waved them over into her office, possibly to avoid any perceived favoritism. Although, whatever had just happened did not help that cause. Usually the set had a cozy familial feel with many of the producers, chefs, and celebrities being old friends and longtime colleagues. Plus, the network was seeing the highest ratings in its history, so no one cared much about who showed Ashna and Rico favoritism.

  China shut the door behind them. “You two are single-handedly—well, double-handedly? Does that sound dirty?—making my career take off! Have I said thank you?”

  Ashna came the closest he’d seen her come to beaming and it killed him a little bit. After watching her in the kitchen these past few challenges, it was going to be impossible to accept anything but right-out fierce joy from her.

  “Actually,” Ashna said in that playful way you had to know her to recognize, “it’s been . . . it’s been .
. .”

  “Fun?” China said, even as Rico thought it.

  “Yes, it has. It’s been so much fun! Also, Curried Dreams has a waiting list for reservations. So, I should be thanking you!” She threw Rico a sideways, albeit guarded, glance. “Both of you.”

  It was a scrap, but it made him want to run a lap around a stadium, especially now that his knee didn’t feel like exposed nerves. Turns out, Trisha was the genius Ashna claimed she was.

  Over the past two weeks they had fallen into a rhythm—a rhythm that resembled a tango and kept him up at night with yearning, but a rhythm nonetheless. They had somehow become a real team, building each other up, relearning each other, compensating for each other’s flaws, spotlighting each other’s strengths, and making some delicious food.

  “I told you so!” China said. “There’s one more thing I think I might need thanks for.” She threw a speaking look between Ashna and Rico.

  His nemesis, the famous Ashna blush, spread up the column of her neck, and across her cheeks in a slow ruthless burn.

  Had he really thought he could put away feelings this precious? That they could be gone forever? For all the fragile peace they had managed to negotiate and all the feelings Rico could no longer deny, the hope that bubbled inside him was terrifying.

  “I’ll leave you two to catch up,” he said and without waiting for a response, he let himself out.

  “I can’t believe you did that!” he heard Ashna hiss the moment he left. “What is wrong with you?”

  China laughed. “What? I might have found someone to melt through the famous Ashna Raje ice.”

  The problem wasn’t the melting. All it took was for them to be in the same room and there were puddles all over the place, not a sliver of ice in sight. The problem was the ghosts of their pasts, and how much those ghosts had altered them both. The problem was finding each other around the ghosts, melted or otherwise.

  As he waited in the lobby for George, who was stuck in traffic, an alert he’d set up on his phone popped up. He’d been following something that had caught his eye about Yash Raje’s campaign. A small piece tucked away on Bloomberg about Yash’s long-term girlfriend had been nagging at Rico since he’d read it in the car this morning.

  He knew he should stop being obsessed with the campaign, given that the man’s cousin held the power to trample Rico’s heart again, and the more connections there were between them, the more it was going to hurt. Problem was, Yash was fearless. His stand on immigration, on health care, on the environment, it was a blast of unvarnished truth and brilliant policy, and Rico couldn’t help but get excited every single time he learned more.

  Except, there was something deeply disturbing going on with this girlfriend thing. Obviously, a bunch of conservative journalists were digging away at the story and softening the soil of public opinion with these seemingly harmless pieces with suggestive undertones hinting at salaciousness. Rico had never been wrong about preempting an oncoming scandal. He had to find out what was going on.

  Zee was right, being a know-it-all was definitely an affliction Rico suffered from. He dialed his mate and checked his watch. Tanya and Zee had to be back in London by now.

  “What’s wrong?” Zee said the moment Rico said hello.

  “Why does something have to be wrong? I’m just checking in to make sure Tanya didn’t decide to give you back after the honeymoon.”

  “You miss me. You want me back. Admit it.”

  Rico laughed.

  “How’s your lady love?” Zee asked.

  “She’s not.” That was the problem.

  “Does she know that?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about her anymore.” Except he knew. He knew more than he needed to know. “That’s not true. But there’s no going back. I have no idea how to go back.”

  “You know that season when you put Sunderland back in the Premier League? You were such a bloody pain about reviewing game footage. You had to identify why we didn’t make every single goal we missed. You were a beast about figuring out mistakes and making sure we avoided them in the next match. You were such a pain in the arse that we all wanted to kill you.”

  “And your point is?” Although he had a sense of where this was going.

  “Be the arse you are and figure out what went wrong.”

  Shit.

  “What? You just figured out your best mate’s a bit of a genius, didn’t you?”

  Rico had to laugh at that. “I’ve been an idiot.”

  “Apparently we’re all idiots. But my old woman tells me that when we see it we can fix it.”

  “She’s the genius, then. And a saint for staying with your ugly ass.” But they had to be right. Rico wasn’t sure how to figure it out, but he knew exactly where he could start.

  “Give my love to Tanya, okay?” With that he got off the phone.

  Then he dialed another number and put everything in place. For all the things he couldn’t figure out, there was one thing he had figured out, and he couldn’t leave it be. He went looking for China Dashwood again.

  “Rico!” China said when he let himself into her office. “Did you need something?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. I need a huge favor. You got a minute?”

  She was instantly all ears. As the star of her show, he could demand anything, but something told him that she was going to be protective of Ashna and he had no idea how this was going to play out.

  “Can you make up an excuse and let Ashna have your car again today? I know you had her take it home for you last week. I’ll have my driver take you home, or wherever you want to go.”

  She pushed a hand against her hip, no longer the eager-to-please producer. “What are you up to, Mr. Silva?”

  “I just need a ride somewhere and Ashna’s the only person who can drive me there.” He showed her his hands, palms up. “I don’t mean Ashna any harm. You have to see that. She needs this. I promise. She’ll love it.” At least he hoped she would. He just couldn’t see her this way anymore.

  China narrowed her eyes at him. “What makes you an expert on what Ashna needs? What is going on between you two?”

  He shrugged. “We’re paired up on your show.”

  Her whole stance was mama-bear now. No producer-pleasing-her-star in sight. “Thanks. That part I know.” She studied him with unnerving focus and he stared right back.

  Her hand slapped her forehead. “Holy shit. How did I miss this? This isn’t the first time you two are meeting, is it?”

  He didn’t answer that. That wasn’t his to tell. Ashna would tell her family and China in her own time, if at all. He just had to do this.

  China dropped into a chair, then jumped up again. A whole new wave of understanding suffusing her face. “That’s why you asked to be on the show. Oh God, you’re Frederick Wentworthing her.”

  He shouldn’t know what that meant but he totally did. “I’m half agony, half hope, Ms. Dashwood.” He tried to shrug, but she looked in his eyes and her whole face turned into a giant awwww.

  She pressed her hands into her face. “You can’t do that to me. You can’t quote Persuasion to me.”

  It was his mother’s favorite book. It’s where his name had come from. “Listen. I’m not going to force her to do anything. I’m just going to ask, and if she says no, I won’t pressure her. I promise.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re pretty sure she won’t say no?”

  “As I said, half agony, half hope. Now, can you please find her and tell her you need her to take your car?” It was the most childish thing, but he crossed his fingers as he dug them into his pockets.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ashna hadn’t been suspicious of China asking her to take her car home again. At least not until she found Rico sitting on the couch in the lobby on her way out. She tried to look away quickly when he caught her ogling him, again, but didn’t quite make it. Arousal so intense lit his eyes that for a moment her body forgot where it was and burned wit
h it.

  “What are you still doing here?” she asked, going to him.

  He rose, shrinking the huge lobby around her. “Waiting for my ride. George is stuck in traffic.”

  “How far is he? I can give you a ride, I have China’s car.”

  He looked far too surprised for such a simple offer, and suddenly she was embarrassed for offering.

  “You probably need to get home and rest that knee.” Her voice came out too soft, too invested.

  “Why do you do that?” he said, not bothering to hide the wave of emotions in his eyes.

  “Do what?” she asked, not bothering to hide her caginess.

  “Care with your actions when you’re trying so hard not to care with your heart.”

  Because I do care. Even though she wished she didn’t. “Can’t we just be decent to each other?” For the past two weeks, they’d managed just that, despite the giant unyielding force tugging them together. “Why does it have to be any more than that?”

  Because it was. And they both knew it.

  He shrugged, and dropped it, as always aware of exactly how much she could handle. “So the show. You’re killing it,” he said.

  Her cheeks warmed . . . her heart warmed.

  “Listen, Ashna, I was wrong about you and cooking. It’s obvious how talented you are. I understand now why you took it on. Those mango pies . . . they were . . . I can still taste them.” He’d eaten every last bite of the leftover tarts after the show.

  She tried to say thank you, but a strangled sort of sound came out of her. It had been a long time since she’d thought about cooking in terms of loving it or hating it, or even as a choice, but the joy her food gave him seemed to unsnarl how she felt about it.

  His hand came up, but it stopped before cupping her cheek. “What’s wrong? What did I say?” he asked. Or his eyes asked, because she wasn’t sure she heard his voice.

  Everything inside her leaned into the impending touch. He pulled away as though realizing just how bad of an idea touching her right now was.

  How badly she wanted him to touch her terrified her.

  How could she explain what was wrong when nothing made sense anymore? She had worked hard to keep her life organized, her thoughts in order. Questioning how she felt about food; missing the feel of a ball in her hand, obsessing over her mother’s intentions and words, these musings about what her life would have been like if this or that had happened were self-indulgences she had no time for.