Page 7 of A Recipe for Romance

The craft servicestable groaned under the weight of untouched gourmet snacks. Kelsi leaned against it, absently twirling a carrot stick between her fingers as she scrolled through the day's footage. Likes and comments flooded in, each notification sending tiny sparks of satisfaction through her.

But her mind wasn’t on her follower count for once. Instead, she kept replaying a moment from earlier—Drew’s face when he tasted that sumac-spiced dish. The way his eyes had met hers, something unreadable passing between them. Was it curiosity? Annoyance? Whatever it was, it lingered.

“Well, well,” a smooth voice interrupted her thoughts. “If it isn’t our resident social media sensation.”

Kelsi looked up to find Evan Reeves standing in front of her, tall, blonde, and oozing confidence. His smile was the kind of perfect that belonged on the cover ofGQ. She straightened, suddenly aware of the carrot stick still dangling from her hand.

“Oh, hi, Chef Reeves—Evan,” she corrected quickly, dropping the carrot. “I was just reviewing some footage. Your demonstration was a big hit with the viewers.”

Evan’s smile widened, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Between you and me, I think having someone as talented as you behind the camera definitely helped.”

Kelsi felt her face warm. “Oh, I don’t actually operate the cameras. I just—”

“Create the content that keeps people hooked,” Evan finished for her, leaning in a little closer. “Honestly, what you do? It’s the future of culinary entertainment. All this old-school, stuffy cooking show stuff? It’s dying. You’re where it’s at.”

Kelsi blinked, unsure how to respond. She wasn’t used to this kind of attention, at least not in person. “I—I guess.”

A shadow moved in her peripheral vision, and Kelsi turned just as Drew appeared, his jaw tight, his eyes stormy.

“Chef Carlson,” Evan greeted, not stepping back from Kelsi. “We were just discussing how food media is evolving. Kelsi’s leading the charge, of course.”

Drew’s gaze flicked between them, a darkness in his eyes that made Kelsi’s pulse quicken. “I think,” he said, his voice low and controlled, “we should focus on the actual cooking. This is a culinary competition, not a popularity contest.”

A spark of irritation flared in Kelsi’s chest. She straightened, meeting his glare head-on. “With all due respect, Chef Carlson, why can’t it be both? Good food deserves to be seen and appreciated by as many people as possible.”

“Exactly,” Evan chimed in, his hand casually landing on Kelsi’s shoulder. “Kelsi gets it—cooking is as much about the story as it is about technique.”

Drew’s jaw tightened as Evan’s hand lingered too long on Kelsi’s shoulder. His fingers curled into fists, but his voice stayed even. “Is that so? Let’s see how long those tricks work in a real kitchen.”

With that, Drew turned and stalked off, his broad shoulders tense, radiating frustration. Kelsi’s heart pounded in the wake of his exit, conflicted. His attitude stung, but there was something in the way he’d looked at her—no, at Evan’s hand on her—that made her pulse quicken for reasons that had nothing to do with professional pride.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Evan squeezed her shoulder before letting go, the warmth of his hand lingering. “Some chefs just can’t adapt to the changing times. But you and I? We’re the future.”

Kelsi nodded, though her thoughts were elsewhere, following Drew’s retreating figure. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Hey,” she turned back to Evan, a new idea forming. “Would you mind if I got a quick video of you explaining that molecular gastronomy technique? My followers would love it.”

Evan brightened immediately. “Absolutely. Let’s do it.”

As he launched into an explanation, Kelsi filmed him, but her mind wasn’t on the video. It was back with Drew, wondering how someone so talented could be so dismissive. What was it he couldn’t see?

Later that night, Kelsisprawled on her couch, laptop balanced on her knees. She’d spent hours editing the day’s footage, but her finger hovered over the ‘post’ button. Something felt off.

The video was good—better than good. It showcased the contestants’ skills, Evan’s charisma, and even caught moments where Drew’s facade cracked, revealing glimpses of the chef he must have been before. But something was missing.

Sighing, Kelsi shut the laptop and padded barefoot into the kitchen. Her gaze landed on a stack of her mother’s old recipe cards, stained and dog-eared with years of use. She picked one up, running her fingers over the faded ink.

“Add extra cinnamon if you’re feeling sad. The warmth helps.”

“Granny Smith for tang, Honeycrisp for sweetness. Life’s about balance.”

Tears pricked at her eyes, and suddenly, she knew what the video lacked. Heart. The story behind the food. The love.

Kelsi rushed back to the laptop, fingers flying as she reworked the entire video. This time, she focused on why the contestants cooked, what food meant to them. She wove in interviews, showing the way Drew’s eyes sparked when tasting something truly innovative, pairing it with Evan’s flair for presentation.

By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, Kelsi hit ‘post.’ She collapsed into bed, exhausted but exhilarated. This video wasn’t just content—it was a love letter to food and the people who made it.

As sleep tugged at her, her phone buzzed with a notification.

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