The morning sun shone brightly down upon the ocean by Santa Monica Pier. Its light glistening off of the ocean blue, scattering into a shattered prism of colors and shapes. On the edge of the water, trailing a hand across the surface of the retreating waves, Dana knelt, gazing into the far-off horizon.

It had been a week since shed finally come out to her mother. A week since shed become a famous face. A weeka week since shed last had a glimpse of Lara passing the tennis court during her Subaru shoot and felt the hole in her heart widen. She missed the warmth of Laras embrace. Her laugh, her playful smile. The way eyes the color of endless sky could gaze into her soul and fill it with love and affection. Sometimes during training she would find herself distracted by a flash of red hair in the distance and wonder if it was really Lara or just her imagination.

Sighing, she picked up a seashell and threw it carelessly into the distant sea. Watching as it sailed through the air and land with a wet plop, swallowed up by the white foam of incoming waves.
There was only one way to find out.

***
Lara hovered between the various cooking stations of the kitchen, tasting, rejecting, and approving meals. The aroma of freshly prepared tomato, basil, and rosemary mixed in white wine drifted to her nose as she passed one of her helpers sauting mushrooms. Pausing, she watched the slow tantalizing shimmer of blue flame over red fire before nodding in satisfaction and moving on. She could feel the sweat trickling down and tickling the nape of her neck as she worked vigorously to keep things in order and handle the late afternoon crowds. The country clubs kitchen was a stormy, busy mess today. Not that it was so much better under normal circumstances, but the head chef had quit in a fit leaving them stranded with a banquet for one hundred and thirty to prepare for. Egos had been bruised and skills had been tested and with no small amount of debate, management had ordered her to temporarily take over. When the realization had hit her shed panicked. It amazed her what they expected of her; She had no idea what she was doing. Okay, maybe not exactly no idea, but it definitely would have been easier if Francois –the head chef– had been supervising instead of her. At least then all she would have had to worry about was her own station, not the whole entire kitchen.

Giving the room another once over, Lara noted the efficiency with which everything was finally being taken care of. The dishes being produced looked as fresh and amazing as they should be. With a final satisfactory nod, Lara left the kitchen to change into a fresh apron. The one she had was impossibly splattered with hush puppy batter, grease and other mysterious sauces.

Probably unsavable she thought as she worked the combination on her locker, trying to keep forbidden memories at bay. The air had the lingering taste of sweat and jasmine and closing her eyes, she struggled not to acknowledge the presence of the person whom it belonged. Unbidden she felt the phantom caress of a hot, sweaty hand as it tucked stray hairs behind her ear. The gesture so familiar, and so real, she could almost feel the weight and texture of strong, work worn fingers brushing her flushed cheek. Shaking her head to clear it of the intoxicating haze, Lara slammed her locker closed and turned.

A startled oomph sounded from her lips as her body came in contact with another, nearly knocking them both to the ground. Straightening, she felt the apology she was bout to deliver die on her lips as she drowned herself in Danas stormy blue gaze.