Create a similar story with title, different names of characters, location set and please keep the lesbian details.
Cure for Insomnia 
According to her family, Karla Hernandez spends far too many hours working in the lab. A dedicated research scientist, she has contributed to a drug that could vastly improve the quality of life in diabetic patients. Her quality of life, however, could use some help. 
She thought she would sleep better when she finished grad school or her post-doc, but launching a cutting-edge clinical trial isn’t helping. So when her eleven-year-old niece approaches her about participating in a school science project about insomnia, Karla agrees. Finding a girlfriend was not the conclusion she had anticipated, but Karla is not one to deviate from protocol—especially not when the judge at the science fair has some ideas about helping to cure her insomnia. 
All research requires troubleshooting, but Karla isn’t prepared for the complications that threaten to shut down more than her love life. Does she need to find a new project or dig in deeper to her professional work? Or will putting faith in her niece’s research project be the key to her ever elusive sleep? 
This is from the opening chapter of the book. Karla has had a difficult time getting away from her work as a research scientist to attend her niece’s science fair. 
Antonia glared when she saw me. “So happy you could make it, Dr. Hernandez,” she whispered. Rosa was running through her project with someone, her expression anxious. I felt terrible when Rosa saw me and visibly relaxed. 
“Hi. I’m the research subject,” I said, in case the man was a judge. I didn’t know if they made themselves known or tried to blend into the crowd. As Rosa continued explaining her experimental method, I leaned toward my sister. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when it started. I ran into all sorts of problems trying to get away from work.” 
Antonia waved off my excuse which was somehow worse than the punctuality lecture I usually received from our mother. “This is the first person to ask questions,” she said. 
“Judge?” I whispered.
“What do I know?” Familiar taunting edged her tone.
“What would you do differently next time?” the man asked. He was tall and lanky 
and wore running shoes with his loose-fitting suit.
From what I’d researched about how the judging worked, the question positively 
identified the man as one of assessors. A knot of anxiety formed in my belly, but I was impressed with Rosa’s poise as she discussed trying multiple methods to cure my insomnia. Rosa concluded that she either needed more time to gather data or needed to omit one of her experimental arms, so she could dedicate a week to trying two of the potential remedies paired. 
I knew from my own poster presentations how hard it was to keep it succinct and as clear as possible when the curious wanted to know more about my work. It had taken me a while to learn to keep my mouth shut, thereby masking my insecurity and making me appear confident and collected. All of this seemed to come naturally to Rosa, who appeared at ease with the man now offering his thanks. After he left, I swept her up in a hug. 
“That was a judge, wasn’t it?” Rosa asked. 
“Probably, and I’m so, so impressed with how you answered all his questions. Keep doing that, and you’re going to knock their socks off!” 
A group of students stopped to ask questions, taking Rosa’s attention again. As she explained her project to cluster after cluster of attendees, I realized how little she needed me. I scanned the nearby projects, listening in on some of the students. The boy to the right clearly had no idea what his parents had done for his effects-of-an- oil-spill project. His setup with a huge tray of water with oil floating on top amid coated bath toys looked great, but he had trouble discussing both his method and the relevance of his project. When asked about recent oil spills, the kid’s silence and his parents’ tension spoke volumes about who actually had the investment in marine wildlife. 
I could see myself being a judge for the event sometime. I itched to walk around the hall and see more projects and hear the young scientists talk about their work. 
Across the aisle, a gorgeous woman in a tailored suit and heels caught my attention. My body zinged with the probability that she was a judge. Her attire made her stand out as loudly as her actions. She took a seat in the student’s chair, putting her at eye level with him, and listened as if the child was the only person in the auditorium. I appreciated the length she went to make the student comfortable. To be honest, I appreciated a lot more. Every aspect of her screamed professional. Her wedge-cut black hair accentuated her slender neck and flawless jawline. Her features were delicate but her expression sure and strong. When she reached out to shake the student’s hand, I felt the urge to offer my own. 
The woman stood and turned, reading the projects on Rosa’s side of the aisle. I watched as the woman’s gaze went from the flawless project next to us to Rosa’s project before stopping on me. Caught staring, I should have looked away, but I couldn’t. Warmth flooded my chest as if I knew the woman, yet I was sure I’d never seen her before. She moved in my direction, every step accelerating my heartrate. Only when she was directly in front of me did the woman’s gaze drop to Rosa. A wide smile graced her face as she gestured to Rosa’s chair. 
“May I?” 
Rosa nodded vigorously, as tongue-tied as I was. She nudged the chair toward the visitor. 
The judge, because surely she was a judge, tucked her perfect legs to the side, a picture of elegance. “Tell me how you chose this particular project.” She had an accent that I couldn’t quite place. The cadence and pronunciation suggested that English was not her first language. 
By now, I had heard Rosa’s answer many times and was accustomed to nodding politely when Rosa pointed me out as the research subject. This time when the questioner’s eyes turned to me, my body reacted again. I cursed the person who had decided that judges would not wear name tags and myself for not removing the elastic I typically used to keep my hair out of my face. My thick black curls would have covered the blush creeping up my neck. 
“Not being able to sleep sounds terrible,” the woman said. “What did you find?” 
Though her question was directed at Rosa, her eyes stayed on me. She frowned sympathetically as Rosa explained that the suggested remedies of melatonin and meditation grew less effective. Next was the question about what Rosa might have done differently, but instead of giving the answer she had for the whole afternoon, Rosa went a completely different route. 
“If I did this as a project in the future, I’d try to find more people who have trouble sleeping and compare how the treatments work, but for my aunt, I just have to find someone to sleep with her.”