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Reese
“Well? What do you think?” I sat opposite Rafe inside a booth at my restaurant, just as the lunch rush started to die down.
Rafe licked his fingers with a satisfied smile, taking his sweet time for no other reason than he knew it would torture me. After sucking each digit clean, he made use of the moist toilette that came with his half rack of rib and chicken platter.
“Do I taste pineapple in there?”
I nodded excitedly at the mention of my favorite topic, barbecue sauce. The Tulip County cook-off was exactly six weeks from Saturday, and I had a title to defend. Not the big title - not yet anyway - but just a little thing called ‘The Best Damn Sauce in Texas’ award, thank you very much. And I needed something new and original this year.
“Yeah,” I told him. “Rum, pineapple juice, and unsweetened coconut flakes, along with all the other usual suspects.”
Rafe leaned back in the booth and patted his rock-hard midsection that was the result of a combination of his work as the Fire Chief and the time he spent in the gym.
“You’re too good to me, woman. I’d add a pinch of something spicy and smoky, to bring it out more in the meat. Otherwise, it’s perfect.”
“Thanks.” Who would have thought that Rafe, the guy every girl in school wanted, and me, the girl everyone ignored, would become friends as adults? As a pair, we were about as unlikely as they came, but he’d been a good friend over the past few years. “Worth the free food?” I teased, jotting down a few spices to test out later.
“Worth the anxiety that it might taste terrible.”
I laughed, not caring if we drew stares. Or more gossip. “When was the last time anything I made tasted terrible?”
He leaned in and flashed that handsome smile that had three different tables of women lingering in hopes of capturing his attention. “I’ve got two words for ya, Reese: pickle juice.”
I groaned at the reminder. “It was on trend, I had to try it out.”
He shivered dramatically, face twisted into a scowl. “I still regret it, but otherwise, you have not disappointed. Keep it up.”
“Thanks. And you’re awful smug for being one of the last two Hometown Heroes standing. I would’ve thought you might be a bit more… worried.”
Eddy, Betty, Elizabeth and Helen ate lunch here a few times a week and they were always good for a laugh, not to mention the lowdown on all Tulip gossip.
Rafe shrugged, but he couldn’t hide the tension that showed around his eyes. “Nothing I can do about what they’re up to. All I have to do is not fall for any of their tricks.
“That easy?”
He laughed nervously and slid out of the booth. “I didn’t say that. I just said it was all I had to do.”
That pulled another laugh from me and I stood, too, cleaning the table as a big group of tourists stepped inside. “Well, good luck to you, and be safe out there.”
“You don’t have to say that every single time, Reese.”
I looked up with a frown. “Of course I do.” It was terrifying being close friends with someone with such a dangerous job. In a way, I pitied the woman who fell for Rafe. “See you tomorrow.”
He gave a casual wave, dropped an unnecessary tip on the table, and strolled out of my little restaurant with a smile plastered on his face. That was Rafe in a nutshell, totally unaffected by people’s view of him. I envied that about him, because until a few years ago it was pretty much all I thought about.
These days, the only stress in my life was Reese’s Famous BBQ. My very own barbecue joint, where I was responsible for the quality, the taste, and the way the business was run. Whether it succeeded or failed was totally up to me—and that was just how I liked things, perfectly within my control.
“Hey, Maven. I’m back, so let me know what you need.”
The twenty-year-old part-timer flashed a beaming smile and nodded. “I need to refill a few things, if you don’t mind handling the counter?”
I nodded and we switched spots. The restaurant was small, only able to sit fifty-four people at full capacity, and that was perfect to me. I didn’t need long lines and reservations, not when I had a steady stream of customers who loved my food.
It was exactly what my Aunt Bette had always taught me: Good food was the key to running a good restaurant, and the rest of it was just accessories. It was too bad her health and memory were failing because she would have gotten a kick out of working with me behind the counter. Painting the perfect amount of sauce on the ribs and adding another pinch of salt to everything, because she was convinced I skimped on the salt just to mess with her.
