Making Up for Lost Time

Published: 1998

Characters: Jamie Onassis, master chef

Valkyrie Valentine, home repair expert

Setting: San Francisco and Mendocino, California

The eighth is for eternity.

Previous Frosting on the Cake stories:

“Hacksaw Pastry” in Frosting 1.

“Happy New Year Too” in Frosting 2.

Cookies and Kisses

(December, 25 Years Later)

“Holiday cookies. Doesn’t matter what the holidays mean to you—it’s gotta include cookies, right? Valkyrie Valentine here with your Wednesday Wish List. Mika L, from Vancouver, Washington, wants a quick and easy holiday cookie recipe, the kind she can make a lot of and then put in the freezer. Mika? Your wish is fulfilled with Seattle Spice Ginger Cookies. Simple to put together. With a little bit of technique, they’re nearly foolproof.”

Val paused to gift everyone with her megawatt smile, but Jamie had long realized it was also to take a deep breath.

Lifting first one finished cookie and then another, Val continued, “Roll them small and they’re delicate on a holiday tea tray, adorable wrapped in a gift bag, and suitable all the way around the whole year, if you ask me. Practical, because you can pull them out of the freezer any time, warm gently, and they’re terrific. Roll them large for chewy and soft cookies that are fantastic as ice cream sandwiches with vanilla, chocolate, or even orange sherbet as filling.”

She tipped one cookie directly into the stage light. “Plus, I’m not lying—they sparkle. Everyone ready? As always, because we want to make sure we have all the ingredients and don’t leave anything out, let’s start with the meest en, I mean mice en plast—Well, shit.”

Jamie tapped the recording button to stop.

Clearly annoyed with herself, Val flicked the side of her head with her forefinger. “Mumble mouth idiot.” She made bop-bop-bop noises with her mouth followed by a motorboat bilabial fricative and finished off with exaggerated smoochie lips accompanied by a drawn-out repetitions of kewww.

Jamie was unsuccessful smothering her laugh. She weathered Val’s annoyed look with a sunny one of her own. “You want me to stop when you flub, right?”

“Yes. I’ll go back to a good spot and start over from there. When Abshir gets back, she’ll splice the takes together. I want to get the recording over with so I can cover the herb garden before the next storm.”

December weather in Mendocino was so often foggy and wet that Jamie was cheered by the thought of spring. “I’m looking forward to the fresh basil already.”

“Bring me pesto-avocado toast in bed?”

Jamie’s mouth was already watering at the thought and not entirely because of the food. “You know I will.”

“Oh, and a countdown at the top—don’t say ‘action.’”

Everything Jamie knew about being behind the cameras came from watching the technologically savvy Abshir work with Val. Feeling self-conscious, she kept one finger on the Record button and used her other hand to indicate five. “Okay, five, four…” with her hand counting down. She mouthed, “three,” pressed the red button, and continued the countdown with just her hand. At the silent zero she pointed at Val.

Val launched again into the introduction while Jamie’s gaze darted between Abshir’s laptop screen and the four monitors that showed the four camera feeds. The laptop screen was an array of pulsating meters and controls she’d been told to NEVER EVER touch, with the exception of the video recording button.

Abshir had left her usual meticulous instructions, and Jamie hoped to prove herself not the hopeless tech noob she undoubtedly was. Val’s home studio bristled with all the cameras and lights it took for her to film the forty episodes a year of her television show Simplicity to meet Warnell Communications standards for broadcast.

While running the Waterview Inn and keeping it a strong part of their small-town community, Jamie had followed the massive shifts in the media landscape that had affected Val. A couple of decades ago, she’d started as a writer for a home and garden magazine, then moved in front of the camera with a regularly scheduled Sunday night hour-long do-it-yourself remodel show called A Month of Sundays. The magazine had faded away, taking with it Val’s column that combined recipes, repairs, and home decor projects. Val’s pivot had been to Simplicity. What she used to write she now performed as a half-hour weekday show.

It had been a huge success. Jamie was on the show’s credits as Food Consultant—and seeing it never failed to give her a little thrill. When Warnell had syndicated Simplicity outside the US markets, Val had used the extra money to build a home studio so she could film Simplicity without being away for weeks at a time.

At first, running the tech side of the studio had been simple. Raw footage was sent to Warnell producers who used the same personnel as always to cut and fit the footage to its time slot. But over the years, as magazine and broadcast revenues plummeted, Warnell had changed up their agreements with content producers like Val. Instead of the hired front-end face of a show Warnell produced, they wanted independent creations that came to them finished.

That meant another pivot—Val had become her own producer.

The pandemic changed everything again. A Month of Sundays couldn’t be produced because of the travel and contact, and Warnell had no interest in ordering more episodes even though people were eager to spend their spare time on renovations. They still wanted Simplicity, but who knew for how long?

On top of that uncertainty, all the messaging they sent Val about audience metrics was focused on competing with social media and grabbing youth attention. While Val could tok a tik with the best of them, at nearly sixty she was one of Warnell’s oldest on-air talents. Val—ever a realist—saw the handwriting on the wall. Warnell Media could drop her completely, so she needed to invest in her own brand and name recognition beyond television. Hence, the casual Wednesday Wish List videos and livestreams that belonged entirely to Valkyrie Valentine.

Through all of the change, Val had been able to hire remote contractors to edit and generate the projects meant for Warnell’s broadcast. The hard part had been finding someone to be in-studio for the more casual recordings. Abshir, who lived a few miles north in Fort Bragg with her family, had mad skills with tech and was the answer to Val’s prayers. This week, however, Abshir was in Mecca with her grandfather to complete Umrah. That left the tech side to Jamie.

“Hit Record and touch nothing else,” Abshir had said. “Once to turn on, once again to turn off.”

“It’ll be easy,” Val had assured her.

Nerve-wracking was what it was. Jamie could taste and identify four different peppers in a broth, but when Abshir had arrived for her initial interview and asked if she could adjust a focus-directional-thingy-whatever, both she and Val had gone “Ooo” at the result that looked one million percent the same to Jamie.

Takes all kinds, Jamie reminded herself. Val went “Ooo” over the difference between Belgian and Venezuelan cocoa the same way Jamie did. When asked the secret of their long relationship, Jamie always said, “We like the same chocolate.”

Though she had Jamie stop recording a couple more times, Val hit her stride when it came to making her usual salt-and-pepper-wavy-hair-bright-flawless-skin-flirty-eye-sexy-flannel-shirt-competence-come-to-momma love to the camera. Jamie still didn’t know how Val made that kind of magic, but she was grateful every day that the charm was all hers to enjoy in person.

“Okay, let’s pause, and I’ll do a little clean up and get ready to sample and plate. You could join me for that bit, if you want.”

“I am not camera ready.” Jamie gestured at the dried stain from sloshed marinara sauce from the lunch service. The Waterview kitchen was closed for dinner in the off-season except Fridays and Saturdays, and that had given Jamie the freedom to cover Val’s Wednesday afternoon recording session. She would be very grateful to leave all the tech to Abshir next week for the biweekly livestream event.

“Fine.” Val pouted at her. “I’ll finish up then.”

“Five, four…” Jamie pressed Record again, pointed at Val, and rested back on the chair to watch her adorable wife take a sizable bite of the cookie and melt over the taste. It wasn’t an act—Jamie had helped fine-tune the recipe and the chewy cookies with a little crunch at the edges and sugar topping were flat-out addictive.

“Thanks for joining me this week,” Val said to the camera. She took another bite from the cookie in her hand. In a cookie-crumb voice she continued, “Sorry, they’re so good I can’t help myself. Next week I’ll post a demo for quick and affordable guest room fixes for those of you expecting overnight visitors this holiday season.”

After about three seconds of holding her stage smile, Val relaxed. “And we’re out. Thank you, honey. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Jamie made her way around the long table where Abshir had carefully arranged the equipment. Stepping over the color-coded cables taped carefully to the floor, she joined Val behind the staged kitchen counter. It was on wheels, presently locked, so it could be rolled to one side in favor of Val’s demonstration workbench or the crafting table. Leaning against it, she eyed the platter of sparkly copper-hued ginger cookies. The aroma of cinnamon and cardamom, so warm and gently sweet, reminded her that lunch had been a couple of hours ago. “Am I going to be paid in cookies?”

“Well, if all you want is cookies, okay.”

Jamie promptly helped herself to one nearest to her. It was no longer warm, but that hardly mattered. She’d swallowed a second chewy, spicy bite before she brushed a crumb off her lips and asked, “What else could I get?”

Val blinked far too innocently. “Use your imagination.”

“I’m going to get that anyway. Later. But I’d definitely take a kiss right now.”

“That is actually what I had in mind. You’re clearly the gutter-brain in this relationship.”

“And who might I have learned that from?”

Val wrapped her long arms around Jamie’s waist. Up close the layer of stage makeup and heavy eyeliner was more apparent. Jamie had gotten used to it, but she still struggled at times, feeling like dowdy vanilla next to vibrant saffron.

Val nuzzled her ear. “If you’re insinuating that I’ve corrupted you, I’m going to remind you of who painted who with chocolate all those years ago.”

Jamie arched her neck in response to the warmth of Val’s lips. “I am not responsible for my actions when you wear a tool belt.”

Laughing, Val kissed Jamie lightly and followed it with a deeper kiss filled with memories of all the kisses that had come before this one.

She sighed when their lips parted. “How do you take my breath away every time you do that?”

“Scoot up onto the counter and I’ll demonstrate again.”

“Why, Ms. Valentine, how you do talk.” Jamie complied and spread her knees so Val could stand between them. Upstairs there were no sauces on the cooktop or cakes in the oven. There was time for kisses. Time to enjoy the warmth in Val’s deep violet-blue eyes.

“Talking isn’t what I have in mind.”

She cupped Val’s face. “I love you.”

Val’s soft sigh was Jamie’s favorite music. Their lips met again, this time opening to each other for familiar, intimate exploration. Val tasted of ginger and cardamom—Jamie supposed she did too. Her senses were filled up in the very best way.

She was delightfully unsure how much time had passed. All she knew was that Val’s hands had slid under her shirt to massage her lower back.

She was considering perhaps unbuttoning Val’s shirt when Val murmured, “We’re burning through the electric bill leaving these lights on.”

“I suppose.” She pushed Val back. “I’ll see you later.”

“You can count on that, you sexy thing.” Val made her way to the tech table and the studio lights went out. “What’s for dinner?”

Jamie blinked in the abrupt dimness. “I’ve got chicken cacciatore to heat up and fresh broccoli.”

Val wrinkled her nose. “Broccoli? Do we have to?”

“Broccoli is the price we pay for chocolate cake.”

“There’s chocolate cake?”

“Maybe.” Jamie waggled her eyebrows.

Val kissed the side of Jamie’s mouth, then brushed her lips along the curve of Jamie’s earlobe. “There are always the best kinds of rewards for your chocolate cake.”

“In that case, let me shut off the laptop and we can get the broccoli out of the way.” Abshir had been adamant that all Jamie had to do now was close the laptop, and so that’s what she did.

* * *

Val swept back the curtains to let in the bright light of a rare sunny December morning for coastal northern California. She knew from the buttery, succulent aroma of tomato and spinach omelets wafting up to their third-floor suite that Jamie was already in the inn’s kitchen feeding the paying B&B guests and locals.

“Heaven on earth,” she murmured as she let the sun warm her face. Mostly it was because Jamie was here. But not only that.

Last night, with Jamie’s satisfied breathing under Val’s ear, she’d had a moment of grumpiness. Nearly sixty and having to reinvent herself all over again. She enjoyed the video and livestreams. She hadn’t knocked down a wall in far too long, though.

She ought to have fallen happily asleep, grateful that all of her body still worked, for the most part, and that Jamie’s body still appreciated some particular moves after all these years. But instead of embracing contentment and happy snores, she had lain awake wondering why the renewal order for more episodes of Simplicity hadn’t yet been signed.

It’s just business, she’d tried to tell herself, but it was also her life. She might have worried awake all night, but Jamie had snortle-snored, and it still made Val laugh. The tension had broken and finally, she’d slept.

Overslept, even.

After a quick shower to rinse away all the smells that had been so sexy the night before, she pulled on work jeans and a boxy blue sweatshirt. Tired of the blowout mane she wore for the camera, she tied it all back in a ponytail. She’d promised Liesel she’d walk over the two blocks to see if she could figure out why the burners on her stove had stopped working. Even in her seventies, Liesel was independent, but she confessed the issue had her stumped.

As she skipped down the stairs, she checked her phone. It was a banner day for hackers, it seemed, as three people on her trust list had forwarded a video with the caption “IS THIS YOU?” She knew better than to click on the link.

She dropped a kiss on the back of Jamie’s neck on her way to the toaster. Six slices of sourdough bread from a bakery in Fort Bragg had popped up as if volunteering to be part of her breakfast. She forked them onto the cookie sheet where Jamie would add them to plates.

“Two of those slices are yours,” Jamie informed her.

“You are such a good woman. You want one?”

“I’ve already had breakfast.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Jamie’s quiet laugh was pleasing. “Yes, I want one.”

“Jam?”

“What do you think?”

“Jam it is.”

Jamie’s hands were busy with one of the sauté pans, so Val held out the slathered toast for Jamie to take a bite. Some of the peach jam got on her creamy cheek. It was not unattractive.

“Whoops! I’ll take care of that.” Val swooped in to lick it clean.

“I think you did that on purpose.”

“How could you think such a thing?”

“It’s not like we just met.” Jamie scattered a pinch of dried herbs on the contents of the pan.

“I swear if I knew how to sing I’d be belting out ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Morning’ on my way to Liesel’s.”

“It is rather glorious out there, isn’t it?”

“After a glorious night.”

Jamie looked smug. “It was, wasn’t it? Here, flip this for me. I need two things from the walk-in.”

Potatoes O’Jamie, it looked like. Cubed Yukon Golds that had been sprayed with olive oil and roasted, then sautéed with thinly sliced mushrooms and caramelized onions. Come to mama, Val thought. “Did you already salt these?” she called out.

“No,” came the clear reply. As Jamie emerged from the walk-in refrigerator, bag of baby spinach and block of cheese in hand, the Inn’s phone rang. Jamie lifted the handset to her ear and said in a cheerful voice, “Thank you for calling the Waterview. How can I—oh hi, Liesel.”

“Tell her I’ll be there in about ten minutes,” Val suggested.

“Val will be—what do you mean I’m on the Internet?”

Focused on her task, Val slid the golden, sizzling potatoes out of the skillet and into their chafing dish and lightly salted them.

Jamie whirled around to gape at Val. “What do you mean I’m on the Internet kissing Val? Oh. My. God. Do we—do we talk about broccoli and chocolate cake?”

Oh no. Val wiped her hands and fished her phone out of her back pocket. A couple of taps later she opened one of the emails she’d thought was a hacker video and read the whole message. The production assistant at Warnell had added below the URL, “Val, this was accidental, right?”

They hadn’t been only recording last night.

They’d also been livestreaming. All the flubs and her occasional cussing would have been broadcast to the fan club, and of course many fans would have tuned in after they got a notification that a broadcast had started. They saw all the flubs…and Jamie.

Kissing and sexy foreplay talk with Jamie.

What exactly did we say?

Jamie disconnected the call with an agonized gasp. “What did I do wrong? I did what the instructions said. At least I tried to.”

Val took a deep breath. “Okay, this is embarrassing—”

“Oh, you think so?” Jamie asked with mock incredulity.

“—But if I remember what we said, it was mostly lovey-dovey. And thank goodness we agreed that beds are more comfortable than countertops.”

Jamie clapped a hand over her mouth as her face crimsoned.

Val thumbed open her phone and tapped the preset to search for her name in social media over the last twenty-four hours. “Hey, hey, well, we’re an adorable lesbian couple caught smooching in the kitchen. Foodie TikTok is using CookiesandKisses as the hashtag.”

She scrolled down the results. Some of the headlines and tags were more graphic. “Let’s see. ‘Val Valentine fans get a behind-the-scenes eyeful.’ This one’s cute—‘No lesbian bed death here!’ A bunch of ‘Sapphic Snogging.’ And there’s ‘Sexy talk sizzles in boo-boo lesbionic video.’” She stuck her tongue out at the phone. “Ugh—lesbionic? Who says that these days?”

Jamie uncovered her mouth to let words out all in the tumble. “What is Warnell going—what will they think? It wasn’t on purpose—I didn’t know what I was—could this endanger your contract for Simplicity?”

“The whole world knows we’re a couple. Okay, here’s someone who thinks it was a clever marketing ploy, not a mistake, but there’s nothing in it that’s bad for the Warnell brand. Or mine. Quite the contrary—and the shares and views are going through the roof. Okay, this stitch is kind of ouch. ‘Seniors sexy talk gives us all hope.’ Seniors? Maybe, I guess.” She flicked the screen to see more views. “I thought Sixty was the New Forty, but whatever. Wanna watch it?”

Jamie shook her head vehemently. “If I don’t watch it, then I can pretend people don’t know how we kiss.”

She flashed her phone at Jamie. “This influencer thinks we’re a great how-to for chemistry.”

“I don’t think this is as funny as you think it is.”

Finally taking full notice of Jamie’s storm-cloud face, Val said, more seriously, “I’m super glad we remained clothed.”

“My hair was a mess, and my mouth was full of cookies.”

Val wanted to add, “And my tongue,” but thought better of it. Jamie had never yearned for the spotlight. She was probably going to be the person most upset by the gaffe. Not that Val was happy her fans had discovered how often she said “shit” when things went wrong.

Her cell phone rang. She took one look at the name and braced herself. “It’ll be okay,” she said to Jamie before she accepted the call.

* * *

Sure, Val thought this was all so funny. Had the marinara on her shirt been visible? Had she said aloud any of the words that had been running through her head as Val kissed her?

Val was saying, in her most silky voice, “Why hello, Sheila. How is the CEO of Warnell Media doing this fine morning?”

Ugh. Sheila Thintowski. Jamie had never liked the woman. When she’d taken over Warnell from her father, the mood of the company had shifted—or at least it seemed to Jamie. Maybe it was simply market forces and not Sheila’s doing. Still.

“Of course it was an accident. It’s looking like a happy accident, isn’t it? I think the settings from the last session were still in place, which was a livestream, and it didn’t get updated when we recorded yesterday.” Val seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “I did it without my usual technician and didn’t check the settings. My bad.”

Jamie took a deep breath. It was Val to the core to take responsibility. Maybe it was possible some setting had been left on—it did let her off the hook for the massive flub.

How am I going to face anyone? Liesel had seemed shocked. She’d also laughed, but the shock was there. Of course Liesel had spent too much of her life closeted in the military, and public displays of ardent affection were not something she was entirely comfortable with.

Sheila’s tone seemed highly excited, but what else was new? Jamie couldn’t make out the words.

Val hmphed. “It only went out to Wednesday Wish List subscribers, but someone must have captured it.”

She was going to spend the rest of her life wondering who’d seen it and if any odd looks she got were because of ginger cookies and long, languid kisses.

“That’s probably best. Don’t engage directly. It’ll blow over, and nobody seems very shocked. They see much more revealing accidents on any social media platform.”

Sheila said something emphatic, but Val cut her off. “I know TikTok has a quick shelf life, but it’s trending on Insta too. Facebook attention can drag out for days. There’ll be people who don’t see it until next week. This kind of thing will have a long, long tail. Wait until queer media gets a hold of it.”

More tinny voice.

Jamie shook herself out of her shock and plated the potatoes with the omelet and carried it from the kitchen out to the local who stopped in several times a week. She’d turned on the dining room’s center fireplace to shake off the morning chill, and the handful of diners had settled near it. It had seemed as if the morning would be a calm one—lazy even.

She stifled a groan.

Len, his gray hair in its usual wild tangle, was watching something on his phone but quickly put it down as Jamie approached.

Crap-on-a-biscuit. She set the plate in front of him, saying, “Potatoes extra crispy the way you like.”

“Thanks.” He wouldn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Anything interesting on the web today?”

“Uh—”

“You saw the video.”

“Yeah. I always watch Val. She’s our local girl made good. Yes, uh, it was really interesting.” He added hurriedly, “Interesting the way she’d stop when she made a mistake and start over.”

Val would be pleased to hear that she was considered a local girl. It had only taken twenty-five years. “It was supposed to be edited before anyone saw it.”

“Of course.” After an awkward pause, Len added, “Those cookies surely did look good.”

“I’ll tell Val you thought so.”

She held her head up until she was safely past the kitchen door. She banged her head against the nearest cupboard. Oh. My. God.

Val, silkier than ever, was saying, “I’ve got reach into multiple demographics, and this proves it. So get the Home and Garden Digital exec to send me the renewal contract for Simplicity already. I agreed to the terms three weeks ago.”

Jamie kept walking until the walk-in freezer door was closed behind her. She’d always liked the cold for a minute or two—it was very focusing.

It had been perhaps three minutes before the door opened. “You don’t need to hide. It’s not a scandal.”

“The customers will all see it.”

“Not all.”

“But I won’t know who.”

“You don’t know who’s read your cookbooks either, and it’s kind of the same thing, isn’t it?” Val held out her hand. “I’m sorry it happened, sweetie. But it’s fine.”

Jamie left the chilled air of the freezer and warmed her hands on the front of the oven.

“Sheila said she was going to make sure I got the Simplicity renewal. That way they can ignore the Cookie Incident, as she called it, and bury it with a renewal announcement.”

“So maybe it was a good thing?”

“There’s no maybe about it.” Val lifted Jamie’s hands to her face. “However it happened, a little bit of viral video is good for me.” She kissed Jamie’s fingertips, then pulled her close for a smooch.

“Lord, they’re going at it again!”

Jamie sprang back with a gasp. “Jeff O’Rhuan! Wipe that smirk off your face or there’s no coffee for you.”

Her old high school mate and long-time fresh fish supplier did not wipe his knowing smirk off his face as he helped himself to a steaming cup. “My dad said it did his heart good, seeing old married people carrying on for once.”

At the same time Val exclaimed, “Old?” Jamie protested, “Carrying on?”

“You got another word for it?”

Val opened her mouth, but Jamie forestalled her with, “No comment. I have no comment now and never will.”

“And here I was hoping you’d be making a batch of those Ginger Kiss Cookies.”

“They’re not called Ginger Kiss…” Val’s voice trailed away.

Jamie rolled her eyes. “This is never going to blow over if you keep reminding people about it.”

Val batted her eyelashes and gazed at Jamie through them. When Jamie continued to glare, she added puppy-whimper noises.

She was not going to give in to Val’s adorableness. “It’s not funny, Val. I’m not the public person you are.”

“I know, sweetheart, but we can’t put the genie back in the bottle. Cat’s out of the bag. The dough has risen. The lumber’s cut.” She fluttered her eyelashes again.

Dang it—it was unfair how cute Val could be when she wanted. “And I should make the best of it?”

“Well, yes. You could put the recipe on the Inn’s website, cross out the old name, and handwrite in the new one. Wait for it to be discovered, and a whole lot of people will visit the site. Where they can also order signed Waterview cookbooks and merch.”

Jamie glowered. Next thing Val would want to add aprons that blazed forth LESBIAN KISSING HERE and they’d sell like hotcakes.

Val gestured like a magician manifesting gold. “Lemon meet lemonade.”

“There are things about the world I don’t care for,” Jamie muttered. There was at least one shop in town that would stock aprons like that. Dang it, I’m turning into Val. Which maybe wasn’t a bad thing, given how much she loved and respected Val. “But I guess this won’t be one of them.”

A throat was cleared behind them. “Might we order our breakfast?”

Jamie whirled to see one of the overnight guests lingering hopefully in the kitchen doorway. “Of course. I’m so sorry. A little distracted this morning.” Jamie ushered the guest back to the table where his husband was already seated.

“Understandable. You two, by the way, are adorable. We watched the whole thing twice.”

The waiting husband almost bounced in his seat. “I’m going to make those kissy cookies the moment we get home. I mean, if they’re really that good.”

“They really are. We’ve got some left from the demo—I’ll bring you a couple. Val and I worked on the recipe together. The cardamom in the sugar dust was her idea, though. Pure genius.”

She talked through what they wanted for breakfast and returned to the kitchen to start on a tomato frittata for two with a dish of olive tapenade on the side, slices of toast, and a shared slice of breakfast pie after, with coffee. When traffic was as slow as it always was in early December, she preferred being a short order cook for quick, fresh, and delicious basics to masterminding daily menus.

Jeff O’Rhuan had departed. Val was whisking eggs. “I heard the word frittata.”

“Five eggs, herbs—”

“And a dollop of milk, dash of white pepper, no salt until it’s done, yes, I know. Is this your last order for the morning?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t I help you clear up and we’ll go over to Liesel’s together and see to her pesky stove.” Her tone was a little wistful as she added, “It’s a beautiful morning out there. I’d love to spend it with you and forget all about the Internet.”

Jamie was pushing the frittata pan under the broiler when she said, “It’s not that I’m embarrassed that people know how much I love you, you know.”

“Honey, I didn’t think that was it, not even for a moment.”

She set the timer for a minute and forty-five seconds.

Val opened the hot water tap over the wash sink.

One minute and forty seconds.

Jamie sidled up behind Val and reached around her to turn off the water. “We could do dishes, I suppose.”

She felt Val laugh. “Or?”

“One minute and thirty-five seconds of making out on the back stairs.”

Val snuggled Jamie’s arms even tighter around her, and they shuffle-walked in tandem out of sight of any of the guests.

Just as Val’s lips were about to touch hers, Jamie murmured, “Good lord…”

“They’re at it again,” Val finished.