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away.
    I walked up to the cage. Sean took a knee and his face was right next to mine.
    The chain-link fence sliced his gorgeous features up, but the man I was looking at wasn’t broken. No, he was more whole than ever.
    And so were we.
    With the whole crowd watching and roaring, I clasped his fingers through the fence, pressed my lips through and kissed him.
    It tasted like metal and sweat and blood. I’d never serve the flavor up in a dish, but it was one I could get used to.
    It tasted like victory.
     

CHAPTER SIX
     
    “Ms. Williams, tell us what you’re presenting.”
    Part of me knew that this room was nowhere near the size of an arena. It had three small kitchens, a few rows of tables for some audience and the judging table before me. It couldn’t be bigger than the first story of our house.
    It still felt like I was in a damn coliseum.
    The head judge twitched his dark mustache. “Ms. Williams?”
    “Uh, sorry,” I said. “Sorry. Cooking haze.”
    “I can definitely how that would happen,” the woman to his right said. “That’s a hell of a kick you put in here, girl! I already smell it.”
    She was the local celebrity: Shaunda Jones of the KRDC nightly news. I focused on her and began to speak.
    “Judges, what I have for you today is a Detroit style gumbo, with a side of jalapeño cornbread and biscuits.”
    “Detroit style gumbo,” the third judge said. He was a teacher at the local culinary institute. He wore a tweed suit and looked mildly offended.
    “It’s my own take on a Southern classic,” I said. “I replaced the pepper sausage for a milder but richer German garlic bratwurst and added some other spices to thicken the soup.”
    The words sounded solid. I’d presented before Sean one last time, and he’d had me knock out all the technical stuff.
    “We have two breads,” the head judge said. “Why?”
    He tried to look serious, but he had a big, red face, and a body to match under his chef’s smock. Of all the three, he was the one I most wanted to win over. He ran his own three star restaurant in Detroit. If I impressed him, maybe I could get into his kitchen next summer.
    “I wanted a place to store all the heat I’d removed from the soup, so I put it in the cornbread,” I said. “The biscuits work as a palette cleanser. They present two different textures that both work well with the soup.”
    “Hmph,” he said and dashed out a quick note. He glanced at the other judges. “Alright, shall we?”
    “I think you’ll enjoy it.” I almost sounded confident.
    The three dipped into the gumbo. The reactions were predictable. The instructor scrunched his face up and peered deeply into the bowl before reaching for another bite. The TV reporter made exaggerated slurping sounds and shoved a biscuit into her mouth.
    The chef simply looked thoughtful. He took a few more bites, then started scratching out notes.
    I couldn’t bear to watch. I just wanted to go huddle in a corner and wait to be called in, but there were cameras on me. Local news only, but still.
    “Hey.”
    I turned toward the whisper. Sean had gotten up by the front table and stood there arms folded. He had on his suit, which I’d told him was being overdressed, but he looked confident and that made me feel it, too.
    “You’re going to need an agent after tonight,” he’d said as we drove to the show.
    “Chefs don’t have agents.”
    “Then you’ll be way ahead with me.”
    “I don’t see how hiring a MMA fighter as my agent is gonna help me, whether he’s a champion or not.”
    “You think they’re going to argue with a guy with a body like this?”
    I chanced a look from the wheel to see him flex in the suit. It broke through my tension and I laughed. “I think I’d still take Troy if I ever needed an agent.”
    He shrugged. “Your loss.”
    “Besides, even if I win, I’m not going to drop out of school this semester. I still need to head back in two weeks.”
    His voice sank a bit. “No, I didn’t