I hate to admit this, but the ice cream is ridiculously delicious and I may or may not have bought a few gallons at my local grocer to inhale all by myself. I’ll never tell Burke that because it will give him a big head and we just can’t have that.
My heels click as I walk down the hall to our kitchen at the end of our warehouse. Thanksgiving is tomorrow and I want to drop off the dish I made for our company dinner that will happen in just a few hours. We will be closed for the next four days to give our employees ample time with their families, and we always host a pot luck just after close which is early today.
I turn the corner and see Burke rushing to clean the stainless steel in a rush. A line of dishes are lined up against the back counter, ready for people to dig in at a moment’s notice. When I enter the kitchen, Burke looks up with panic on his face.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll be out of here shortly. We had a problem with a batch and I was trying to make some more before the holiday. One of the stores was hoping to have it by today and it doesn’t look like I’ll get the order filled.”
My feet take me to the counter where I place my dish with the others, then join Burke at the work space.
“Did you get it all done?” I ask him as he continues to wipe everything down.
“Not quite. But I know you all are having your dinner soon, so I don’t want to be a bother anymore.” He shakes his head and I can tell by his flushed cheeks and sweat lined forehead that he’s upset.
“Burke,” I say his name but he doesn’t stop. “Burke. It’s okay.” I reach out and put my hand on his, putting a halt to his frantic motions. “We’re not eating for another couple of hours and we won’t be in here. This is just the staging area.”
His eyes are glued to my hand on his and I grow self conscience and pull it away like I’ve just touched fire.
I’ve softened to him over the last few weeks that he’s been here. I already had a friendly relationship with his girls, and his grumpy demeanor seems to be fading more and more. Mine may be melting a tad bit as well, making me more tolerable.
“Well I’ve gone well past my time, so I’ll get out of your wa–”
“How much do you have left to make?” I stroll slowly towards the cabinet that holds towels and aprons and grab my favorite one.
“Uh I-um about, uuh…” he fumbles with his words and when I look up after tying the apron on, his eyes are glued to me.
I look down and chuckle slightly as I know the apron catches most people off-guard, but it sums up my personality perfectly. It’s of a woman with dark hair pulled into a 50’s style do and wearing tiny shorts and crop top while standing by a grill with aspatula in hand. A large steak is sizzling on the charcoal grill and it says, “I like my meat juicy.”
I don’t wear this outside of the kitchen and every person who has seen it just laughs. I’m a smartass and my jokes are of thethat’s what she saidvariety.
“What?” I ask, sliding up next to him and grabbing the paper sitting under his palm.
“That’s a…very unique apron. Was it a gift?”
“Sure, to myself. Is there something wrong with it?” My eyes scan the paper with measurements and ingredients listed.
He’s never shown me his recipe as he guards the secret, and I’ve never asked. I have no intentions in taking his idea. Like I told him, I’m not a thief and this is my being helpful.
“N-no. It’s just not what I would expect from someone like you?”
“Someone like me?I repeat and come to a hard stop at the door of the freezer. “That’s a rude thing to say.”
He shakes his head as if trying to get all of his marbles back into place. “No. I didn’t mean…I would’ve taken you for a plain color. Maybe black or white. Definitely not something likethat.”
I pull the large door open using all my muscle, and walk inside. “I’m not a stick in the mud like I’m sure you assume. I do have a sense of humor.”
Burke follows me in and stands at the door. “My girls have told me as much. What are you doing?”
With a large case of peaches in my hands I tell him, “Helping you fill your order. We have a few hours, so let’s get it done. I’ve never made ice cream before, so you’re going to have to tell me what to do. But I’m quite good at following instructions and pick things up easily.” He examines me from head to toe and reaches out to take the peaches from me. “I promise not to steal or memorize your recipe. I’m only here to help.”
He looks at me like he doesn’t quite believe what I’m saying, but gives in. “Grab that milk,” he says, jutting his chin at the large gallon on the shelf.
I do as he says and follow him out. He sets the peaches down and uncovers a large box like machine that I know is the churner. He begins assembling it and I walk around the kitchen, opening cabinets and looking for the remaining items on his list. We made sure to give him ample space to store his ingredients so that he wasn’t hauling everything back and forth.
We work together, mostly in silence, as he instructs me what to do. The smell of fresh peaches makes it feel like summertime and not Thanksgiving, and a song gets stuck in my head. I hum as I chop up pecans and dump them into a bowl.
“What’s that?” Burke asks, breaking my concentration.
“Huh?” I stop the motion of my knife and look up at him.
