“This is so much fun. Do you know how many people asked about the bar?”
“Lots, I hope. Come here.”
Without hesitation, she took a step toward me. I reached up, wiping powdered sugar from her cheek. “You’re supposed to serve your fancy French pastries. Not wear them.”
Her skin was so smooth. I imagined cupping that cheek with my hand, just before I kissed her. Turning away from temptation, I used the break to clean my grill.
“I was a little worried about them.” She sat on the folding chair beside me. I think it was the first time either of us had used it all day.
“Why?”
“I love them, and knew they’d keep well, but wasn’t sure if they’d fly with burgers and stuffed peppers.”
“Your dad always thought bringing your talents to O’Malley’s would work. Give the guy some credit for knowing his customers.”
“I guess. But it’s different out here.” She gestured to the crowded tents and food trucks surrounding us. With a clear view of the lake and dusk beginning to let the multitude of white bulb lights do their thing, the Flavor Fest could only be classified as a success. We were far enough away from the makeshift stand that the music wasn’t overly loud.
“Different than it would be, serving it in the pub, you mean?”
“Yeah,” she said, getting up as a young teen couple approached.
“Only one way to find out. Let’s get them on the menu as a special.”
“Excuse me.”
I looked up to find a reporter and her cameraman standing in front of me.
“My name is Krista Loomer with FLR News. Mind if we shoot a live feed from your booth?”
“Hell no. Just give us a sec to fulfill this order,” I said, cooking up two burgers. “Mae, want to take these and say hello to the local news?”
The next few minutes were a flurry of camera checks and Mae quickly re-braiding her hair. I could watch her do that all day, her fingers nimbly flying through the golden strands like she’d done it a million times before, because she had. Predictably, she applied lip gloss—Mae was addicted to it and kept them everywhere she went—looking as fresh as if we’d just started serving.
“So are you guys the owners?” she asked.
Mae and I exchanged a glance, smiling at each other.
“Husband and wife?”
“No.” Mae explained our situation while I contemplated the idea. We’d be good together, Mae and me. No doubt. Marriage wasn’t something that excited me, but with Mae? All bets were off.
“Okay, ready?” the reporter asked, making a motion for the cameraman to begin rolling.
“Good evening, Finger Lakes! Krista Loomer here, coming to you live from the heart of Flavor Fest where the grills are hot, the pastries are sweet, and the local talent is even hotter.I’m standing in front of the O’Malley’s Pub tent. Organizers tell me this stand is a late addition but we’ve noticed it’s been drawing major crowds all day. Serving up handcrafted smashburgers, jalapeño poppers, and… get this. French pastries that have festivalgoers telling us it’s their favorite dessert here.”
I’d wondered why she’d chosen our tent, since we weren’t local, and couldn’t be happier at the reason.
“I’m here with one of the masterminds behind the menu, O’Malley’s manager Beckham Claymont.”
Beckham, nice. Mae could barely contain a grin. I should have paid more attention as she talked to the reporter. “Mr. Claymont, can you tell us what inspired this delicious pairing?”
“The smashburgers and jalapeno poppers were no-brainers. The three most popular things at O’Malley’s are our ice-cold beers and those two menu items. But the tarte tatin was Miss O’Malley’s idea. She received the Jacques Delacroix Culinary Arts Grant at the Culinary Institute of America and just returned from studying under the world’s most famous pastry chefs in France. I’ll let her tell you about it.”
The reporter moved her microphone to Mae, who talked about tarte tatin and why she loved it. Mae was a natural on camera, as photogenic on video as she was in pictures. Fact was, Mae had very few bad qualities, aside from being more self-sacrificing than she should. For the life of me I couldn’t understand how her ex could fumble this woman. He really was the stupidest fuck in the world.
“Luckily for all of you,” the reporter concluded with a smile, “there’s still one more day to check it out. The festival opens its gates at eleven tomorrow, so come taste for yourself what’s drawing such a crowd. That’s it from Flavor Fest. Now let’s head over to Brett for a look at your Sunday weather.”
With that, the camera light went out as the reporter shook both of our hands. “Thanks so much, you guys were great. I’ll have to get down to Cedar Falls to check out that menu in person.”
