“My problem is you coming out of the Bois in the middle of the night like a serial killer.”
Sullivan folded her arms, looking aggrieved but still looking like a dapper 1920s naturalist. Kia had always imagined Sullivan would sit around her house in men’s silk pajamas or a smoking jacket. The button-down and tattoos weren’t quite what she’d pictured, but they still fit. The sight filled Kia with delight, like a fangirl getting a behind-the-scenes glimpse of her on-screen crush.
“Your address isn’t online,” Kia said. “Not even on Been Verified.”
“Ohthatdoesn’t make me think I’m going to end up in an oil drum in a storage unit somewhere.”
“I had to talk to you. I only knew where you lived because you walked away through the woods. It was like the forest opened up for you. Mean trick. It didnotopen up for me.”
“I own a restaurant. The hours—when I am there, coincidentally, because I am the executive chef—are posted online.”
“But you’re closed tomorrow, and Tuesday. We only have a week. Try it.” Kia pushed the Rice Krispies treat closer to Sullivan.
“A week to do what?” Sullivan sat back.
The plan had almost made sense when Kia saw the provision in the charter. Now it made about as much sense as suggesting they conjure up a genie.
“To get married.”
“I think you hit your head. Let me check your pupils.” Sullivan began to rise.
“Wait. Listen. I don’t want Mega Eats to buy the Bois. You don’t either. If you marry me, I become legacy, and I can buy the Bois.”
“I don’t want you to buy the Bois.”
“But I’m better than Mega Eats.”
That hurt. The only thing she had to win over the woman who’d driven her to be the best, whose blue eyes she’d dreamed about, whose strong hands she’d watched, longing for Sullivan to touch her the way she massaged her lacinato kale, whose teasing friendship had made the practice kitchen feel like home, was the fact that Kia wasn’t a union-busting monster corporation who might be deliberately mixing plastics with their meats but no one knew for sure because they settled their lawsuits with gag orders. But just because Kia’s plan was crazy didn’t mean she hadn’t thought through her argument.
“I looked at your website,” Kia said. “You’re smuggling pepper into the country so it won’t go on a container ship.”
The Pepper Trail was a program where tourists—who were going to travel anyway—returned with spices, thus eliminating the need to ship them by sea.
“You know it’s not making abigdifference for the environment, but it’s makingsomedifference,” Kia went on.
“It’s not going to makeanydifference,” Sullivan said bitterly. “It offsets about as much carbon as not running my air conditioner for a day.”
“But every little bit counts, right?”
“Says the woman with the plastic forks.”
“Yes, we’re going to use plastic forks. And yeah, biodegradable would be better. Metal would be better. But the restaurateurs I’m bringing in can’t afford that kind of stuff. Do you know how much more expensive biodegradable plastic is? I know you don’t want me here. And I’m still cutting down the trees, and I’m still putting in a food pod, but Mega Eats will cut down the trees and dump piles of trash in your front yard to get you to go. I’ll leave you alone.” Kia closed her eyes, her exuberance fading back into shivering. “A lot of people are counting on me.”
“No.”
“I know you hate Taste the Love Land, but your other option is Mega Eats.” Kia set each word down with the finality of a checkmate. “You and me… we don’t like to lose. We never did. I want this land. And if Taste the Love Land moves in, it’s a quirky Portland thing next to your restaurant. If Mega Eats moves in, they become an anchor store for everything you hate, and you will be in their way. And they willcrushyou.”
Kia had been so focused on her pitch, she hadn’t noticed Sullivan’s shoulders hunching in and her arms tightening around herself.
“But I’ll leave a green space around your house. You can havea say in the plans. But we have to do something tomorrow. There’s a three-day waiting period to get married. If we sign the paper on Monday, that gives us the three days, plus a day to register my bid on the land.”
“There are animals that live here and nowhere else.” Sullivan looked very tired and very sad.
Kia wanted to put her arms around her. But according to Sullivan, she was ruining her life, so that wouldn’t be comforting.
“At least one,” Sullivan said. “The miniature Oregon tree snake. It’s so beautiful. It’s like this thin green ribbon that’s come to life. It’s magic.”
“Snakes! Save anything but snakes.” They were the definition of toxic with their beady eyes glinting, their scales glistening. “Uh. Gross. The way they move. Totally unnatural,” Kia said, shivers intensifying. “Wait, does that mean there’s a regular Oregon tree snake?”
