“So, trans fats are illegal. Deep-frying is a dead cooking language. We know that the old ways are terrible for you. Modern methods have pushed it all out. It’s never tasted the same as the old ways. Every cooking historian says that. The retro places, they’re just not that good. Until now.”
“So, trans fats are illegal. Deep-frying is a dead cooking language. We know that the old ways are terrible for you. Modern methods have pushed it all out. It’s never tasted the same as the old ways. Every cooking historian says that. The retro places, they’re just not that good. Until now.”
Penny looked up, the brightness in her eyes nearly uncontainable. “The Mars spices.”
Kin thought back to Penny’s dessert, all those nights ago. A rare balance of sweet and savory, something that required precision to truly bring it out. “The Mars spices,” he repeated.
“Everyone’s using it for desserts, for baking. Like my mum.” The words flowed out of Penny at a nearly incomprehensible pace. “But no, you could use it for entrées, too. The timing has to be perfect, but that blend, that flavor, it finishes the recipe. That’s what I’m gonna sell. That’s what will convince the bank. One taste and I know they’ll approve the loan.” Despite carrying a backpack on her shoulders, Penny threw herself at Kin, rapid-firing kisses at him until they lingered in one, her side filled with celebratory passion and his absorbing the sweetness before the great unknown. He held her, balancing the two of them on a dark path overlooking the Bay Area. Her laughter was broadcast out, head tilted back and hair swishing with the breeze. “We did it. We really did it. We saved Miranda and found my angle.” She let out a holler, one so pure and direct it might have been detected in 2142. “Let’s get home. I have a business plan to write.”
