With a sigh I close my eyes then turn to look at him. “To the grocery store to buy ingredients to make…something for this damn festival. We can’t really rely on you to come up with a winning dish. I don't want to poison all of the judges. That would not be a good look for the company. Be back.” I walk out of his house, letting the door close with a thunk behind me and straight to my car.
First it was CEO, now I’m Betty Crocker. How do I find myself in situations I don’t want to be in. I blame my brother.
I hum to the music flowing from the speakers of the grocery store as I shop through the aisles, looking for ingredients to make something new and exciting. There are only so many recipes one can make with pecans, and I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel of ideas.
My heels click across the vinyl floor and the wheels of the shopping cart squeak. Shoppers roam up and down aisles, filling their baskets with necessities, some arguing with their kids over junk food purchases. I give friendly smiles to those who greet me –strangers that I don’t care to interact with, but those who think they know me because of who my family is– but don’t engage beyond that. When I see someone who looks like they are going to approach me, I quickly pick up a package and pretend to study it. Or I begin scrolling through my phone, talking to myself about a non-existent problem. Most pass me by without broaching further conversation.
I’m distracted looking at a sale end cap when I turn the corner and slam straight into another shopper. Our carts crash with a loudksssh, and I startle, my ankles twisting when I come to a sudden stop.
“Oh gosh. I’m sorry,” a voice says while mine apologizes with, “Excuse me. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Rena? Hey. How are you?” I notice the young woman and smile that I don’t have to pretend to be nice to someone or come up with a reason not to speak with them.
“Hi Aster. I’m good. Are you shopping for a big dinner?” I look into her cart and see a litany of items.
Her eyes scan the items then connect back with mine. “No. Dad and I are trying out some new recipes. We’re on a new business venture so we’re–”
“Aster. Quit spilling our secrets to the enemy.” I look up to find the outrageously handsome face of a grumpy man with furrowed brown and narrowed eyes.
“Dad. I wasn’t spilling any secrets, and Rena isn’t the enemy.”
He struts over to where we stand, our baskets still stuck in wreckage, with a slow swagger that has me breaking out in asweat. Why is it that the people who despise most are the ones who crank up the heat?
“Don’t let her fool you. She is most definitely the enemy.” He stops next to his daughter and props his hands on his trim waist.
For a man in his…40’s?... he looks as fit as a man in his 20’s.BetterI dare say.
“Oh Burke. Do I intimidate you that much? I didn’t realize you were so soft. My apologies. I’ll try to be less successful." I arch my brow and challenge him with a small smirk. I can see his ears turn red with anger.
“I am neither intimidated nor envious of you. But I don’t trust you or your company. Every year you come to me with some bullshit offer to buy my company, and every year I turn you down. It’s insulting really, and makes me think you’re the one scared of me.”
I scoff and roll my eyes. I don’t even know why this man hates me so much, or I him, but the feeling has long been there and remains deep seated. My dad respects Burke, and I genuinely like his girls. They’re lovely and friendly and seem like the kind I could spend time with if I was younger. But there’s just something about him that makes my eye twitch.
“Well, it’s been nice chatting with you, but I must leave before I say something you’ll regret. Guess I’ll see you at the festival when I’m accepting our gold medal for the best new dish. I don’t even know if we have room for it on the shelf. We may have to buy a new one.” I know I’m poking the bear but he’s all roar and no maul.
My brain tells me he’s a bitter man, but my mind wants to know just what kind of mauling hecando. I shiver and squeeze my thighs together as I walk away with a little extra swing of my hips. This is simply a distraction tactic and nothing else.
It’s not!
6
BURKE
It’s been four days since my run in with Serena Leòn at the grocery store and my anger still has not subsided. She’s so arrogant and pretentious and smug and intelligent and gorgeous and…
My thoughts begin to wander and I want to smack them out of my head. The fact that I can think of that woman as anything but infuriating grinds my gears. I have to keep reminding myself that she’s the opposition and I must keep her at a thirty foot pole length.
Aster was very annoyed with me that night when we returned home. She thought I was too harsh on Serena, yet said nothing about the way she spoke to me. It was a typical girl power moment instead of staying loyal to her dad and backing me up. Apparently I’ve taught her to stand on her morals too much.
“Mmm. This is the most delicious ice cream I’ve ever tasted.” Maggie closes her eyes with a moan as she licks the spoon clean. “I never thought I’d love toasted pecan peach ice cream.”
Aster and I have worked for days trying out new recipes in between packing and moving her back home. Both have proved fruitful as both have been completed with much success.
After we decided we would do best with a dessert, we listed out all of the things we love but have yet to find in the perfect sweet treat. When she mentioned how much she loves peaches, we drove immediately to our local peach farmer, Loves Peach Farm. We –Austin Love and myself– agreed upon a great deal. Ten pounds of peaches in exchange for an equal amount of pecans along with a mention of his farm in our submission. It was a no brainer, easy yes from me. Anything we can do in lieu of hard cold cash is a win in my book.
So our prize winning submission into this year’s festival is the delicious Steele Love Toasted Pecan Peach Ice Cream, after Steele Nuts and Loves Peach Farm.Whenwe win the prize, half of the winnings will go back to Austin. He doesn’t know it, but I feel like I owe it to him. As a local farmer, I know the hardships of good and bad seasons. It’s the least I can do to help out a fellow farmer.
“Yeah? Good enough to win first prize?” I ask her as I watch Daisy practically lick her bowl clean.
