Page 11 of A Fine Line
Even I can’t take myself too seriously on that end. From day one Crew and I both made it our missions to take each other down. And not in a fun, sexy way.
“You threatened to poison me yesterday.” He pointed out.
“Yeah and now I wish I actually did it,” I crossed my arms, the doughnut bag following my movement. “Maybe it would fix your crabby attitude.”
Crew ignored me, his hand wrapped around the handle of the buttered pan, swirling it around in circles until everything is covered. He reached to his right for a cutting board, pulling out two large sticks of celery and dicing them lightning fast. His knife cut across the vegetable with such speed and accuracy that it was like watching Marie Curie explore uranium's rays.
Funny…he diced the celery. He didn’t just chop it into small slices. But he had tiny cubes of he was sliding from the cutting board to the pan, they landed in with a sharp sizzle. My eyes zeroed in on his every movement, cataloging the knife he was using, how long the celery sat in the butter before he lifted a hand to grab a bottle of unlabeled seasoning. I breathed in deeply through my nose as he scattered it onto the pan. Paprika,salt, pepper, a touch of brown sugar, garlic and onion powder definitely. Something else too…what was that?
I looked down at the celery that was changing in color as it soaked in the spices around it.
“So, do you dice those that way for texture or…?”
“No, it’s to release the fragrance so they combine together more- wait a second.” He turned from the grill in front of him and narrowed his eyes. “You’re spying on enemy lines.”
“What?” I laughed. A clearly fake one judging by how high pitches and squeaky it came out. “What are you talking abou-”
“The competition.” He snapped his fingers as if to say ‘eureka!’ I added it to the list of icks that I used to keep me cold at night when the thoughts of Crews body lurked their way in. “You can’t think of an entree, so you’re going to steal something from me.”
Shit.
My heart rammed against my ribcage, battering around the walls. Truth was, last night in all of my wonderful excitement- and vast overconfidence- I made the mistake of not reading any fine print on the Food truck competition flier. But there, in not bold enough lettering, said all entrees and desserts had to be original recipes. Original. Meaning I couldn’t just throw together a memorized fancy version of your basic chicken alfredo. Which was a big, big problem.
Naturally, as a lover of black and white instructions, I am excellent at following a recipe. Give me any recipe, no matter how challenging, and as long as I have all of the details and I understand the chemistry, I’ll nail it. Every time. In baking at least. Don’t get me wrong, I can cook. I made a good meat loaf. And pulled pork. And chicken dressing. But that’s about it. Basically, anything that I hadn’t watched my nana make weekly on the farm growing up was out of my wheel house.
So I did something I was never a fan of, but in all areas of science was required. I experimented.
I ran to the closest corner store, stocked up on some basics, and decided Winnie 2.0 is an excellent cook who can learn to have fun and experiment with food. And I really did try. It turned out that pulled pork meat loaf was horrible. Not my fault.
After spending hours in my kitchen, I came to a conclusion at two am. I was going to do whatever it took to get that competition money. Even if it meant doing the unthinkable- going to Crew Wells. Not for help, of course. I wasn’t that desperate. For theft though, yes. I was merely going to ‘borrow’ one of his many, many, original recipes for the competition and boom, never use it again.
Turns out he was smarter than I gave him credit for, picking up on it so fast. I fained a gasp, clutching my pearls that weren’t there. “I was not, besides if I was-”
“You are.”
“IF I WAS, it wouldn’t even matter, it’s not like you signed up.” I scoffed.
Crew smiled. And for most people maybe this would be a good sign. But Crew Wells smiling at me meant something lurked around the corner of it. He was luring me in with the promises of puppies and candy in a white van, I could feel it.
His smile grew further as he sense my concern. “I did sign up. Yesterday actually, so if I were you I would worry about yourself and start figuring out someone else to rob.”
My heart picked up even more. No doubt my blood pressure levels rising higher and higher. Crew signed up? He can’t, he can’t sign up. It’s going to ruin everything.
As much as I hated Crew, not even I can ignore how good he is in a kitchen. I may have desserts down to a science but Crew takes cooking and makes entrees that people literally would sing songs about. I hear praise around him all day every day, and I know for a fact his mom is an incredible baker. My ex roommate once tried a piece of her coconut cream pie and said she wouldliterally sell her soul for just one more bite. The knowledge of that mixed with the fact that he is already an excellently talented cook…I can feel my dreams shifting into the wind. My chances of moving home are diminishing one by one. I’m losing it.
“Why would you sign up?” I ran my fingers through my hair, only they get caught in my flower claw clip, causing it to slip out of its hold. I’m too psyched out to fix it. “Why, why would you…you don’t need the money.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You have a 6 figure set up, I am working out of a beat up trailer. You are clearly doing just fine.”
“Are you nervous, doll? Cause I’ll win?” he smiles
He was winning. And he knew it, cocky little…
I ground down on my teeth. “I don’t get nervous.” My racing heart disagreed but I tell her to hush.
His smirk grew like he knew everything going through my head. “Then maybe you should go back to your own truck and find something original to make.”