“Don’t mind if I do, sugar.” She settles into the chair with graceful ease, as if every seat were designed specifically for her comfort. “I was just exploring the park and thought I’d sample the local fare.”
Why, hello there, handsome,Cupcake purrs in Chip’s direction, batting her perfectly groomed eyelashes.Don’t you look dashing in this rustic setting? Very rugged outdoorsman chic.
Chip puffs up with lots of orange fluffy pride.Why, thank you, beautiful. I’ve always thought I had a certain frontier swagger.
I watch this interspecies flirtation unfold while trying not to laugh. Nothing says professional business meeting like your cat hitting on a poodle with better grooming habits than most humans.
“So,” Savvy begins, “I have to say, I’m absolutely loving Maine. Y’all have some seriously attractive men up here.”
“The scenery’s not bad,” I agree, thinking about a certain detective with storm-blue eyes and biceps that could probably bench-press my entire theme park. “Thinking of extending your stay?”
“Maybe permanently.” She grins, and there’s mischief in her eyes. “I mean, what’s Tennessee got that Maine doesn’t? I can’t say I miss the humidity, but I do miss my mama’s unsolicited dating advice.” Her entire countenance falls for a second.
“Well, Maine’s got lobster, blueberries, and apparently a thriving market for Southern charm,” I tell her. “You’d fit right in.”
“Plus, the local law enforcement is particularly... thorough,” she adds with a wink that suggests she’s been paying attention to more than just the symposium schedule.
Before I can figure out how to respond to that without blushing—or threatening her with a fork to steer clear of extremely hot detectives—our waitress approaches, a college-aged girl wearing a fringed vest and the expression of someone who’s heard “Yeehaw!” approximately seventeen thousand times today.
“What can I get y’all?” she asks, slapping down menus with enthusiasm that lets me know she’s counting down the minutes until her shift ends.
I flip open the menu and immediately understand why my daughters have been less than impressed with our culinary offerings. We’re talking standard theme park fare with a Western twist—chili cheese fries, buffalo burgers, something called a Gold Rush Wrap that probably contains more preservatives than actual gold.
“Actually, can you give us a few minutes?” I tell the waitress. “We need to discuss some... culinary business matters first.”
She shrugs and wanders off to terrorize another table, leaving us alone with our culinary crisis.
“Actually,” I say, closing the menu and lookingat Savvy, “can I pick your brain about something? My daughters aren’t exactly thrilled with the food here, and I thought it was fine, but apparently, my dietary standards need recalibrating.”
Savvy’s eyes light up with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for discovering buried treasure. “Oh honey, you want my honest opinion?”
“Hit me. I can take it.”
She picks up my menu and studies it with the intensity of a surgeon examining X-rays. “Well, sugar, this food is... mostly fine. Adequate. The kind of thing that fills you up without making you remember why you bothered eating in the first place.”
“Ouch. But fair.”
“What you need,” she continues, warming to the subject, “is food that stops you dead in your tracks. Food that makes people drive three hours just to get a taste. Food that shows up on social media with captions full of heart-eye emojis.”
She’s making my mouth water,Chip observes.Keep talking, fancy lady.
Everything makes your mouth water,Fish replies dryly.You salivate over dust bunnies if they’re shaped right.
“Take this menu, for example,” Savvy says, spreading it out between us. “Buffalo burger? Boring. But what if it was a grass-fed beef burger with buffalo sauce made from locally sourced peppers, topped with house-made blue cheese and crispy onions, served on a brioche bun baked fresh this morning?”
My mouth actually starts watering. “That does sound better than ‘burger with stuff on it.’”
“And these chili cheese fries? Please. How about loaded potato wedges with three-bean chili made from scratch, topped with aged Vermont cheddar and scallions grown in your own garden?”
Now I’m definitely interested,Chip says, eyes glazing over with foodie lust.
“You’re making me hungry, and I just ate,” I tell her. “What about the other vendors? The outdoor stuff?”
“Oh honey.” Savvy leans forward with the expression of someone about to deliver a sermon on the Mount of Culinary Excellence. “Where do I even start? Your corn dog stand is serving frozen corn dogs that taste like cardboard wrapped in sadness.”
Harsh but accurate,Fish observes.
Yeah, but even sadness tastes pretty good if you put enough mustard on it.
