Bianca tore basil with exaggerated delicacy while glaring at him.
“Why can’t I cut it?” he asked.
“Because you’d dice it into oblivion.” She eyed the tomatoes. “You look a little too happy with that knife.”
“Ignore her, Walker. You are doing just fine. Janelle, put the wine down and drizzle olive oil over the tomatoes.”
Janelle kept her wine glass in hand and grabbed the olive oil. “It’s so simple,” she said. “You cut it, mix it, drizzle it.”
Mal nodded. “Simple is the point, but how many glasses of wine have you had?”
Janelle thought for a moment. “Mauve, I think.”
“That’s not a number,” Walker said, fighting a smile. For a moment, the cameras faded into the background, and it was just the four of them around a counter, hands moving, shoulders brushing. The low hum of the oven filled the pauses between words. Walker loved it.
He cleared his throat. “Hey. I know we joke, but this is cool. What you’re doing, Mal. I’m seriously going to watch your backlog. I think Ferdie will like food like this.”
“Don’t forget to invite us to dinner too, Walker,” Janelle said.
Mal nodded solemnly. “I couldn’t do this show without taste testers. You need some too, and here we are.”
“You’ll be my guinea pigs?” Walker asked, surprised.
“Premium guinea pigs,” Bianca said. “Top-notch quality, right here.”
The timer chimed. Mal opened the oven, and the kitchen filled with the smell of roasted lemon and crisping skin. The chicken was golden, edges caramelized. The potatoes had turned bronze.
Janelle gasped. “Okay. That smells illegal.”
“Rest it for five minutes,” Mal instructed, setting the skillet on the stove. “Patience adds flavor.”
Walker peered at the camera. “Write that down.”
They plated everything together. Chicken first, then potatoes, then a side of tomato salad with basil.
Mal turned back to the camera one last time. “This,” he said, “is what food’s about. It’s not perfection. It’s not fancy plating or knowing every technique. It’s inviting people into your kitchen, even if your kitchen has studio lights and a slightly judgmental taxidermied squirrel.”
“Extremely judgmental,” Bianca corrected as they all looked at the squirrel on the counter.
Mal smiled. “Make something simple. Share it. Burn a towel if you have to.”
Janelle raised her wine glass. “To not burning towels.”
“To crispy skin,” Walker added, practically drooling as he sniffed his plate. He raised his fork.
“To measuring on camera only,” Bianca said, raising her own fork.
Mal lifted his fork. “To friends.”
They clinked glass and forks together awkwardly, laughing as they dug in. The chicken melted under the knife. Janelle moaned dramatically at the first bite. It was a great meal.
On their lastnight in Hobson Hills, after dinner with Fernando’s family and a few additional Wilsons, they were ushered outside for what Eddie described as casual stargazing, which turned out to involve matching silver cloaks, tinfoil hats, and a telescope pointed toward the stars.
Abel brought folding chairs. Mateo brought a tuning fork in case the sky needed encouragement. What that meant was anyone’s guess. Gabriela passed around mugs of somethingwarm and cinnamon-heavy. The family’s dogs and cat ran around them for a few minutes before stretching out beside them.
Walker sat between Fernando and the taxidermied squirrel, which had been relocated outdoors for fresh air. He watched Fernando’s family argue gently about constellations. Iggy insisted one cluster was clearly shaped like a goat in a business suit, but Valentina insisted it was a dragon. Mateo started a speech about how Bigfoot and aliens were connected, solemn face one of a true believer.
Walker felt something unexpected settle in his chest. This family, well, the whole town really, was loud, strange, and completely unbothered by being strange. He wanted to stay there forever.
