Text Appeal

The voice coming from the kitchen the next morning is familiar. Though I sure as heck didn’t expect to hear it. But my favorite narrator, Andi Arndt, does amazing work. “Oh good,” I say. “You’ve reached the first sex scene.”

“Should I take notes?”

“I mean…there’s always room for improvement.”

Connor smiles and turns off the audiobook playing over the speaker from his cell. Music soon starts up instead. “Grandma recommended this one since the hero is a mechanic and all. She said Noor really enjoyed it and gave it a high spice rating. There was a lot of cackling while she explained in detail what that meant. I prefer not knowing what my grandmother’s friends find sexually stimulating.”

“Your life is very hard.”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“You don’t have to read my books, you know.”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

“Okeydokey.”

He’s standing in the galley kitchen only wearing a pair of worn-out jeans. Something is on the stove, cooking in a cast-iron frying pan, and it smells interesting. However, it’s the scent of coffee that lured me out of bed. He’s obviously been up for a while. I remember waking with him wrapped around me. Such a cuddler. But three rounds of sex and all the excitement and emotional turmoil of last night wore me out. The clock shows ten and I’m not surprised. Sundays were made for sleeping in.

His gaze runs over the tee I borrowed and down my bare legs. And there he stops and frowns. “Are you okay? You look like you’re walking funny?”

“I am not,” lies my lying tongue.

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

He raises his brows and stares at me for a moment. But eventually he turns back to the stove, pushing things around in the pan with a wooden spoon. A half-dressed man who can cook and make coffee is worth waking up for. This I know to be true.

I grab a cushion off the sofa to put on the stool at the end of the kitchen counter before sitting down. Hard wood doesn’t seem like such a good idea right now. Which is amusing since hard wood got me into this mess. So maybe the muscles in my thighs and calves and basically everywhere got a workout last night. Ava was right about him having an appetite. And I am only too pleased to be the one to sate it. But a break from sex for a half a day or so seems like a sensible idea.

Insert happy sigh here. The cushion is so soft on my delicate nether regions. Thank goodness for that.

Meanwhile, I look up to find Connor smirking like a fiend. “I could give you a massage if that would help? Or drive you back to your place so you could have a soak in the bath?”

“No, thank you,” I say primly. “And get that look off your face.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pours me a cup of coffee and sets the mug in front of me. Along with sugar and creamer, of course. “For you.”

“Thanks.”

The way his lips twitch. He is absolutely biting back a smile. What a jerk. “You kept telling me harder.”

“I know I did.”

“You were kind of insistent about it, if I remember correctly.” He scratches at the stubble lining his stupid handsome jaw. “Should I ignore you when you say that next time? When you ask me to go harder? For your own sake…”

“Bold of you to assume there’ll be a next time.”

His brows draw together as if he’s thinking deep thoughts. “Though beg is probably more accurate than ask.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Beg?”

“Would you prefer plead?”

“You’re an asshole and it’s too early for this level of trolling. Come back after I’ve had my first coffee.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with all due seriousness. “I am an asshole. But I am a very happy one, if that counts for anything.”

I shake my head and do not smile. Or at least, not much. “The scratches on your back really bring out the color in your eyes.”

“Funny,” he says. “I was just thinking how pretty the bruise is that I left on your breast. Though the one on your ass cheek isn’t bad either.”

I snort and sip my coffee. “Do they match the ones on your poor face?”

“We do match. That’s a cute couple thing, right?” He grabs one of the waiting bowls and carefully serves a heaping spoonful of whatever he’s been cooking. The bowl, along with silverware, is placed in front of me. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“I am. Wow. What is this?”

“It’s just a hash of bacon, sweet potato, peppers, onion, kale, zucchini, and fried eggs.”

“Thank you,” I say, picking up a fork. “That’s a lot of vegetables.”

He returns to the stove to serve himself. “I figure you’re going to need them to keep up with me. Stamina is important. I assume no hot sauce for you?”

“You assume correctly.” I spear a cube of sweet potato with my fork. It comes attached with a piece of kale. Not something that features anywhere on my list of top thousand things to eat. But there’s no way I’m insulting Connor after he went to the trouble of cooking for me.

“You can do it,” he whispers. “I believe in you.”

“Connor…”

“God, look at you, being so brave. It brings a tear to my eye, it truly does.”

I laugh and put the food in my mouth. The food is perfectly cooked and seasoned with garlic and lime. It is fucking delicious. “You’re a good cook.”

“Thank you.” He sets down his fork and picks up his cell. “Do that again. I’m going to take a picture. It feels like an important occasion.”

“You don’t think maybe you’re blowing this out of proportion?”

“Not a chance.”

“Sheesh. What’s with all the laughing and talking, Connor. I thought you were supposed to be surly and quiet.”

His smile wavers. “You want me to be quiet?”

“No,” I say adamantly. “I want to hear everything you’ve got to say.”

“You do, huh?”

I nod.

“Thanks, Blue.” The warmth in his gaze is wonderful. Waking up to a morning like this, to a man like him, is magic. I would not be angry if it happened more often. Like all the time.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. I clear my throat and say, “You cooked, so I’ll clean.”

“Yeah,” he says, looking at the pan and chopping board and all the rest. “I am not going to fight you on that.”

“Smart man.” My face hurts from smiling. He watches me in silence for a moment. Long enough for me to ask, “What?”

“Nothing. I just…I like that you’re here.”

“That’s handy. I like being here.”

“Good,” he says quietly.

I stab some more food with my fork and get busy eating. It really is delicious. Even with the kale. Connor eats standing up. Leaning his denim-clad ass against the kitchen counter with his bowl and fork in hand, he has a big smile on his face while watching me eat. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this relaxed and happy. Getting laid is good for the man.

As for me, being railed by him has made my heart lighter than it has been in a long time. I’m content with the state of my little corner of the world. This could just be us hooking up and scratching an itch. Or maybe our fake dating is morphing into something real. I don’t know. But I refuse to overthink this. Much. Guess we’ll just see where it takes us.

“Get that idiot grin off your face,” says Ava. “You look ridiculous.”

“Hello to you too.” The sun is high in the clear blue sky when I fetch my straw sunhat out of the Jeep. Along with an extremely large iced coffee. Sometimes it just takes a few hours and multiple servings of caffeine to wake up. Such is life. “Looks like we got the last two parking spots within a mile.”

“The town picnic is always popular. Where’s Connor?”

“He dropped me at home and went to run some errands for Martha and his mom.”

She nods.

A cool summer breeze rustles the leaves on the nearby trees. Maple, ash, and oak are all here. Come autumn the colors will be amazing, and I fully intend to see them. Someone’s playing live jazz in the park. That, along with the chatter of many people, fills the midday air. The fairgrounds are next to the state park that takes up most of the point. And the whole town seems to be here.

“Morning, Riley,” says Katja with a smile.

She’s wearing a red romper and black army boots. Her pale blonde hair is piled high on her head. My own choice of a simple, floaty, sky-blue sleeveless cotton mini dress with a pair of designer sneakers seems boring in comparison. As for Ava, she’s rocking a ruffled sheer beige maxi dress with matching bra and shorts underneath. All the drama. She looks great. But Katja is on a whole other level.

“Stop staring at her,” hisses Ava. “It’s bad enough in Europe when she gets recognized. I don’t need it happening here too.”

I sigh. “I’m sorry. She’s just so beautiful. It’s like looking into the sun. My eyes are dazzled.”

“Danke,” says Katja in her German accent. “Ignore her. Lack of sleep makes her extra bitchy. But don’t believe her for a minute, I adore being objectified.”

“Sorry,” I repeat.

“Love me for my mind.” Katja gives me a wink. “I am going to go find this Nicole you’ve been telling me about. Maybe she’ll let me borrow a guitar.”

A young man with an impressive moustache and a llama walks past. Not something you see every day.

Ava gives him a nod. And then sees the wide-eyed looks Katja and I are giving the animal. “Kiss a llama is always popular,” she says. “Of course, it’s not as big as the competitions. We’ve got pie eating, sandcastle building, kite flying, and oyster shucking. Along with all the music and arts and crafts contests. But kiss a llama has its fans.”

“Huh.” I nod. “What’s its breath like?”

“Not good.”

“That was a fine-looking llama,” says Katja. “I have to admit, I am tempted.”

Ava is busy retrieving something from the back seat of the car. It’s big and unwieldy and wrapped in a towel. “Riley, where’s your chowder? We’ll go up together. They’ll be just about ready to do the tasting.”

I put on my sunglasses. “Where’s my what?”

Katja pauses.

“Your chowder,” says Ava again.

My brows go up. “I was supposed to make chowder?”

“You didn’t make chowder?” asks Katja with a frown.

Ava is not happy. “Joyce said they told you about the cook-off. How Denise runs it every year and it’s very important to her.”

“They did,” I say. “But I didn’t know I was supposed to enter.”

“Shit,” swears Ava. “You really didn’t make chowder?”

“No.”

Katja sighs. “She didn’t realize, Liebling. Go easy.”

“But how the hell do you think you’re going to win over Denise if you don’t take part in her chowder competition?” asks Ava.

“Wait. Who said I want to win over Denise?” I ask. “After dinner the other night and the scene at the café yesterday morning, staying far away from her sounds safest. And while it would be nice if we got along, since when do I really care if Connor’s mom likes me?”

Ava turns to Katja and says, “She hurts my head. It is actually aching now, and she did that.”

Katja winces.

“Riley, are you or are you not with Connor and planning a future with the man?” asks Ava, setting the pot down on the sidewalk. “Because if you are, you need to get in tight with his mother.”

“I tried. But she doesn’t want to know me.”

“Try again. Because I am telling you, she’s worth it.” Ava rubs her temples. “Look. My parents were a disaster who loved having public shouting matches and got divorced when I was twelve. It’s a big part of why Connor and I got together. We were both going through a whole heaping shitload of trauma—along with facing gossip and prejudices in a small town, which is its own special sort of hell. The point is…he and I both have damage. It’s why we fall back on certain behaviors and bad habits. For instance, I choose safety over a real relationship because I am afraid of getting hurt.”

Katja gives her a small, encouraging smile.

“Connor made everyone happy but himself. He always had to look like the town’s favored son. It’s why he kept taking me back. Because everyone loved the idea of us being together.”

He already told me this. But I sip my coffee and keep my mouth shut.

“And Denise is scared of change. She’s terrified of it. Of what harm someone new and unknown might do to her and her family,” she says. “But it was Denise who cared for me and cooked meals for us while my mom was killing herself working two jobs to pay the bills and my father was busy with his shiny new bride who was closer in age to me than him.”

“You really love her, don’t you? Denise?”

“Yes. I really do.”

“Why do you want to help me?” I ask.

Ava turns to Katja and frowns her heart out. Then she turns back to me and says, “He smiles when he’s with you. Okay?”

“Okay. You’ve certainly thought all of this through. Everyone’s issues and everything.”

She laughs. “Don’t imagine I have untold depths. I’ve just been in therapy forever. I don’t want to think about how much money I’ve spent trying to get my shit worked out. But it took me until now to be ready to change things.”

“Maybe,” says Katja softly.

“You didn’t fly halfway around the world for a maybe. And I am trying.”

“I know you are.” Katja gives her a gentle smile. Then she says, “Ava told me she loved me a couple of weeks ago and then freaked right the fuck out and ran back here to the safety of her hometown and ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh,” I say with much wisdom. “Ouch.”

“She doesn’t need to know all that,” says Ava. “Riley, answer me. Are you going to try again with Denise or what? Because Connor and her might butt heads, but I’m telling you, that family is tight. Do you really want to sit across from her at the weekly dinner with things the way they are now?”

“It’s weekly?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.” I groan. The things a fake girlfriend has to do. “Okay. Yes. What do I do?”

She picks up the pot of chowder and shoves it at me. “I worked so fucking hard on this. You better be worth it.”

It takes me a second to understand. “You’re giving me your soup?”

“Yes. You spent all day yesterday with me making the stock. But the recipe was mostly your idea, and you did the bulk of it yourself. I just gave you a little advice now and then. Wink wink.”

“Are people really going to believe we were hanging out being friendly yesterday?”

“You two are going to make them believe it,” says Katja with a proud smile.

Ava’s face lights up. “We sure as hell are. Now keep up, Riley. We don’t have much time and you need to learn about the contents of this pot so you can answer the judges’ questions.”

Denise looks over the top of her reading glasses at me. Facing off against the Chowder Queen wasn’t on my list of things to do today. But here we are. Her gaze returns to the tablet in her hands. “You and Riley are entering together?”

Ava nods. “Yes.”

“Which would explain why the chowder is in your mother’s pot, I suppose?”

“Riley did most of the hard work herself. I just stuck my nose in now and then. But I think you’re going to be impressed. She shows a lot of promise.”

“We’ll be the judge of that, dear.” Denise sighs. “I can’t say I understand why you would team up with someone when you won all on your own just a few years ago. Your competitive spirit always seemed stronger than that.”

“What can I say,” says Ava, “it was time for a change. This was a great excuse to bond with Riley. Your son has always had great taste in women so it shouldn’t be such a surprise we’ve become friends.”

Nothing from Denise.

But Ava isn’t finished yet. “As for the contents of this pot, I like to think I inspired Riley.”

“She’s my chowder muse,” I confirm.

Denise is not convinced. Not even a little. She sniffs in my general direction before turning back to my partner in soup-making crime. “Very well, Ava.”

Yeah. The woman is not pleased. Not with me taking part in her cook-off. And definitely not with Ava siding with me in any way, shape or form. Her coral-pink lips have settled into a straight, unhappy line. Such severity. Given the plethora of things I’ve been lying about lately, this should be simple. But for some reason, my anxiety is at an all-time high. Never has soup mattered more.

The twelve other entrants have already been assessed and stand waiting to find out the winner—along with our audience consisting of just about everyone in town, apart from Connor. Though his absence might be for the best. I’m not sure if it would be better or worse if he were watching.

Whatever. I can do this. And I never thought I would say this, but I am not about to disappoint Ava.

Pots of chowder line the long table under the carnival tent. And the rich scents of corn, seafood, and cream fill the space. A vivid and varied soundtrack plays in the background. From the folk band covering Joni Mitchell, to the thrilled screams of people on the carnival rides, and one particularly upset small child screaming about dropping their ice cream. But Denise’s focus is absolute. She has me in her sights, and then some.

This is not going to be easy. If only I’d had more time to talk about the recipe with Ava and memorize the ingredients.

“Why don’t you tell us a little about your chowder before we have a taste,” suggests Noor. Thank goodness she’s one of the judges this year. When the head chef of a local restaurant caught a head cold, she was a last-minute addition to the panel and I couldn’t be happier.

Jamal from the bakery, the third judge, gives me a friendly smile. But he’s ruthless when it comes time to dip a piece of crusty bread made fresh this morning into a pot. There’s a reason why Ana Rosa from the bank is still giving him side eye. He all but grilled her over the use of ghee as opposed to olive oil in her quinoa and cauliflower creation. Who knew fats and oils could be so contentious?

“Yes,” says Denise. “Riley can explain the dish to us since she did most of the cooking.”

Ava nods her head in acquiescence. It’s nothing we weren’t expecting.

“It would be my pleasure.” Shoulders back, tits out. “Sourcing the butter for the roux was the first step. I wanted to get the base just right so we could build something wonderful.”

Jamal grunts in approval.

“Finely chopped onion, celery, and half a bulb of garlic came next. Then I, um…”

Denise glowers at me without blinking.

“Um…”

Her dislike of me is sort of impressive. And she still hasn’t blinked.

“I…”

“You wouldn’t believe how we fought over what kind of potato to use,” says Ava. Saving my ass for the second time today. “I said Yukon Gold. But Riley was adamant that it had to be Russet.”

“Why?” demands Denise.

My smile is weak. “Well…they’re, um, so starchy.”

“Why does that matter, darling?” asks Noor with a supportive smile.

“I grew up in the desert. Mom didn’t make a lot of hot soups. But I would read about them in books about characters who lived by the sea. When they talked about eating chowder, I would always imagine it as this thick, warm, nourishing hug, you know?”

“You’re telling us you want to fondle the soup?” Denise gives me a long look.

“I wouldn’t use the word fondle exactly.”

But Jamal comes to my rescue. “Don’t be so literal, Denise. I agree with her. There’s nothing like a good dense chowder and Russets will give you that. You just have to be aware of the amount of stock they absorb and account for it later.”

“Exactly.” I sigh with relief. “Thank you, Jamal.”

Ava rewards him with a winning smile.

“Let’s keep going,” says Denise in a snooty tone. “I see you’ve added seafood, Riley?”

“Yes,” I answer. “Small shrimp and smoked salmon.”

“It’s a wonderful blush color.” Noor inspects the contents of the pot with care. “What’s created that?”

“Fresh chopped tomato and, um, tomato paste?” It sounds like a question. Not what I intended.

Ava nods discreetly.

“We’re running out of time,” announces Denise. “Skip ahead to the seasoning so we can do the tasting.”

My mouth is as dry as can be. “Of course.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Connor easing his way through the crowd. He pushes his sunglasses back up on top of his head. A little line is embedded between his brows. Worry or wonder, or I don’t know what. But his gaze jumps between me, his mom, and Ava. I would have texted him if there’d been time. Told him his ex had talked me into attempting to win over his mother.

His gaze meets mine and a small, calm fake smile settles on his face. He’s getting good at this shit. Guess we both are. Makes me wonder if lying about soup is a bigger or smaller sin than faking a relationship?

Noor clears her throat.

Right. I need to focus. I look down and take a deep breath. “The seasoning includes salt and pepper, bay and basil, capers and brine…though they’re not really seasoning, are they?”

“Doesn’t matter,” says Ava. “Keep going.”

“And, um…oh shit.”

Denise’s cool gaze drops to an icy glare. Apparently, profanity at her cookout is not okay. Not even a little.

The information is lurking somewhere inside my brain. I just have to find it. “There was, um…”

Ava, meanwhile, is mouthing something. It looks vaguely like the word fuck. Though I doubt that’s what’s intended. But it definitely starts with the an F. All three judges are watching and waiting. I can feel the growing impatience and concern. Which is when it occurs to me.

“Fennel,” I shout like a wild woman. “It’s fennel!”

Denise’s eyebrows just about jump right off her face.

“Sorry,” I say in my best inside voice. “Herbs are just so exciting, you know?”

No one answers. Though several children in the audience are now giggling.

“I, um, I thought a lot about the addition. The added flavors of licorice from the fennel and of course the accompanying lemon for serving and what that would give to the dish. Ava and I talked about it, and we decided we wanted the taste to have layers. For the dish to be rich, but also familiar and comforting.”

Nothing from Denise. But she picks up a ladle and a little bowl and serves herself some. Noor and Jamal both follow suit. One by one, they each taste the concoction. There’s a lot of lip smacking going on. Much care and thought goes into the process. Then the judges wander off to a quiet corner of the tent to discuss things.

“I told you to write notes on your hand,” hisses Ava.

“Did you see how close Denise was watching me?”

She straightens her sheer maxi dress and checks on her hair. It’s slicked back in a ballerina bun. “That was a prize-winning pot. But I doubt we’ll even place.”

Connor tips his chin. I give him a wave. There are about a million questions in his eyes and fair enough really.

“Do you hear that?” Ava cocks her head. “Katja’s singing. She must have talked Nicole into letting her go onstage with her.”

“Go if you want. I can handle things here.”

She shakes her head. “This won’t take long.”

“So. I did what you said. When does Denise start to love me?”

“Did you really think it would be that easy to replace me?” Ava stares at me down the length of her nose.

“Not exactly what I’m trying to do.”

“If you say so.” She smirks. “Showing an interest in what she loves will help. It’s just going to take time.”

We both watch the judges conferring with their heads together. Then a moment later they seem done. Denise doesn’t look happy, which gives me hope. Given the effort Ava obviously put into her pot, she deserves some recognition. The three judges return to the middle of the long table.

Denise gives the crowd a brittle smile and says, “We’ve made our decision. The winners are…”