Page 9 of The Way We Touch
I got interested in hot peppers a few years back after watching a cooking show about them. I was fascinated by the heat scale, by where the spice is located in the fruit, by how long it lingers and where it appears on the tongue…
Then I was talked-slash-begged into chaperoning a four-day cruise with the high school seniors going from New Orleans to Cozumel, and while we were in Mexico, we visited a farm and learned even more about the different varieties as well as their health benefits and uses throughout history.
We got home, and I tested my first “Dylan’s Dare Dish” for the evening crowd. I made five gallons of spicy-pepper refried beans made with habaneros, which I used in a seven-layer dip. We sold out in an hour, and now I can’t go a week without a new Dare.
There’s always some lunatic begging me to up the ante, so I try to find a different hot pepper for each challenge. This week: ghost peppers.
“The recipe calls for an eighth teaspoon, and then it’s back in the freezer with this guy.” I finish grating and carry it to the utility sink where a tub of virgin coconut oil waits.
“Put a warning label on the bag.”
“I will.” I rub the coconut oil under my fingernails and on my hands and wrists. “Did you know ghost peppers kill the bacteria that causes stomach ulcers, and can even improve your heart health?”
“I know two people died doing the one-chip challenge.”
“That was a Carolina Reaper, and two people died drinking caffeinated lemonade at Panera Bread.”
“Your point?”
“The wait staff always tells them which pepper is in the dish and how hot it is.” I wipe the oil away with a towel before washing my hands with soap and water. “Nobody’s going to die. We’re expanding folks’s horizons.”
“You’re playing with fire, and I mean that in the most literal sense of the word.” Craig points as he grabs the tray of refilled salt and pepper shakers.
“Hey, love birds!” Allie Sinclair, my head waitress and newest bestie grabs her apron off the hook by the door. “You’re not quarreling are you?”
Allie is a cute girl about the same height as me with sparkling blue eyes. Her dark hair is shoulder-length, and her olive skin is tanned from the summer sun.
She moved here from New Orleans with her son Austin two years ago to be the new librarian at our old high school—or the new media specialist, as some people call her.
Newhope is so small, it didn’t take long for me to hear she was having trouble making ends meet on a school librarian’s salary, so I stopped by the office and mentioned how I sure could use some extra help at the restaurant. The rest is history.
It’s her second summer working with us here, and she’s the best waitress we have. She paid her way through college working in restaurants in the French Quarter, so she’s prepared for pretty much anything.
I always hate it when the summer ends, and she has to leave us.
“Of course not.” Craig breezes past her. “I never quarrel with my Clara.”
He’s referring to our days dancing The Nutcracker together.
Craig was also my ballet partner at the dance academy growing up, and every Christmas we were Clara and the Nutcracker Prince, except one year when the ballerina who was supposed to do the Arabian coffee dance got sick. We had to fill in at the last minute, and I loved it. Mostly because I adored that midriff costume.
“You two were so beautiful.” Allie sighs, grabbing the tray of refilled ketchup bottles. “I could watch those old videos all day on repeat. Did Mrs. Laverne talk to you about teaching ballet at the high school next year?”
My stomach twists, and I carry the glass bowl of ghost-pepper shreds to the stove. “Yeah, she said something about it.”
“And?” Allie’s eyebrows rise expectantly.
“I haven’t given her an answer.” I swallow the lump in my throat, plastering the fake smile I use whenever anyone asks me about ballet. “It’s been a long time since I danced.”
“I’m sure it’ll all come rushing back.” Craig is one of the few people who knows how much I lost when my ankle broke that summer and my dreams of becoming the next Gelsey Kirkland broke with it.
“Like my period did that time I tried to dance without underwear?” Humor is my shield against the past.
His smile vanishes. “We swore never to speak of that again.”
“What!” Allie yells from across the large, open dining area. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I press my lips together, fighting a laugh. “Time plus horror equals humor, right?”