“I’m so sorry,” I breathed, trying to rein in my laughter. “My grandma only has gluten-free recipes, and I didn’t want to follow any of those.”
“So what did you do?”
“Um. Well, I had it mostly made before I realized I had used gluten-free flour. And it was still really runny, so I found some fresh ground wheat flour and added it to the batter. It didn’t taste too bad when I tried it. But it definitely got thicker and heavier the longer it sat here.”
A smile broke across Dusty’s face and it was not at all unpleasant. “So, you used gluten-free flour and wheat flour? Together?”
I bit my lip. “Um...it’s possible that’s exactly what I did.” Awesome. It was my job to feed him and I already screwed up the easiest meal known to man. “I’m so sorry. I’m sure we have some cereal around here if it’s bad.”
He shrugged, turning back toward the stove, taking the pancakes off the burner one by one. “I’m not picky. Anything drenched in syrup can’t be that bad.”
“Well, you seem like the type to eat it and suffer in silence. Then I’ll feel terrible. Let me just grab you some cereal.” I reached for the pan of flat rocks, but he waved me away.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m a bachelor. I promise I’ve eaten worse things than anything you could make. Besides...I kind of want to be the first person in history to eat a gluten-free whole wheat pancake.”
I covered my face with my hands, trying to block my laughter—and his. “I’m sorry! I saw I had used gluten-free flour and panicked.”
“It’s all good. I’m excited to try it.”
“Your confidence may be your downfall.”
Dusty grabbed a plate off the open shelves in the kitchen and covered it with paper towels before taking the bacon out of the pan and onto the plate. I took the water/sugar mixture off the burner and added maple flavoring.
“Homemade syrup, huh? Just like your grandma’s?”
I smiled shyly. “I’m hoping the syrup will mask the taste of whatever we just put on our plates.”
“How areyourparents?” I asked while passing him a plate. We both filled them up with leaden pancakes and bacon. I couldn’t help smiling as he completely drenched his pancakes with syrup. I motioned him toward the table and we sat next to each other, me at the head and him to my left. I shifted slightly so my legs would not brush up against his.
“Good. They still live in Eugene. My dad hires himself out doing tractor work for whoever needs it. It keeps him busy. My mom still does hair in town. I have one little sister in college and one about to graduate high school.”
I only remembered meeting his parents a couple of times as a kid, but they had always been warm and friendly. I had never met his sisters. As a kid, he had just shown up on the ranch and I didn’t question it. Now, as an adult, it was a puzzle piece as to why he was there at all.
“How did you come to be working on Grandpa’s farm in the summers as a kid? You were so young, and it wasn’t like your parents were just down the road.”
He took a bite of his bacon. “This is the part of my history that’s a bit deplorable.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Suddenly, I’m very interested.”
He laughed. “When you live in a small town, you make friends with whoever is available. The kids I made friends with weren’t the best influence and we were always getting into trouble. When my mom caught us all smoking out back behind the house one day, she immediately called Susan and asked about me living on their ranch for part of the summer. At that point, my dad still worked in construction, so he didn’t have anything at home to keep me busy. And I was only twelve, so too young to get a job in town.”
“How did your mom know my grandma?”
“They were neighbors growing up. Susan had been like a second mother to my mom and they kept in close contact.”
“And how is your smoking career now? Did my grandpa’s ranch cure you?”
“Short-lived. I was choking on the smoke too much the first time to get a good feel for it.”
I laughed and took a bite of bacon. If nothing else on this plate worked out, bacon dipped in maple syrup was the stuff of dreams.
I noticed that Dusty had only eaten the bacon so far as well.
Motioning to his plate, I asked, “What’s the matter? Are you chicken?”
“I plan to fill up on bacon first in case the pancake thing goes south.” He looked at my plate. “Or maybe I should make a new plan…until the chef tries her own food, I’m off the hook.”
I smiled and took another bite of bacon. “I think I like the first plan.”
