“Beans?” Wyatt interrupts, making the word sound like a curse.
Callie looks up from her list. “Yes, beans. Chili has beans.”
“Real chili doesn’t have beans.”
“Real chili absolutely has beans.”
“Says who?”
“Says anyone with functioning taste buds.”
And just like that, we’re in the middle of our first official team argument.
“Texas chili doesn’t have beans,” Wyatt says firmly.
“We’re not in Texas,” Callie points out.
“The principle stands.”
“The principle is stupid.”
“Your face is stupid.”
“Did you just ‘your face’ me? What are we, twelve?”
I step between them before things escalate into actual violence. “How about we compromise?”
“There’s no compromise in chili,” Wyatt says.
“There’s no compromise in your attitude,” Callie shoots back.
“Actually,” Boone pipes up, “we could make two batches. One with beans, one without.”
“That’s cheating,” Callie says.
“That’s smart,” I correct. “We hedge our bets, appeal to both crowds.”
“The judges will hate it,” Wyatt says.
“The judges will love having options,” I counter.
Callie considers this for a moment, then nods. “Fine. Two batches. But I’m in charge of the one with beans.”
“And I’m in charge of the one without,” Wyatt says.
“What about us?” Boone asks, gesturing between himself and me.
“You’re in charge of not burning anything down,” Callie says.
“That’s a lot of responsibility,” I tell her.
“Think you can handle it?”
“Pretty girl, I can handle anything you throw at me.”
The nickname slips out before I can stop it, and an adorable pink tinge washes over Callie’s face.
“Don’t call me that,” she says, but there’s no heat behind it.
