After we exit for the Wildwoods and wend our way to Graham’s family beach house, a 1950s cottage by way of a very enthusiastic 1993, Julian hoists Eve’s heavy dessert trays through the sunny yellow door to the kitchen. Eve, Graham, and I trail him like puppies, lured by the siren song of Eve’s baking.
“Finally! The moment we’ve all been waiting for.” Eve scrambles to unwrap the first tray, revealing happy red ramekins filled with green custard clustered together like coral. She pats one with a spoon, then dips it in and brings a full bite to her mouth.
Julian watches this with fingers gripping the counter, until he bursts, slapping the spoon out of her hand before she can taste it. “Eve, no!”
“What the fuck?!” Eve gapes as he pushes between her and the counter full of dessert.
“Do youknowthe rate of bacterial proliferation in a milk-based product left at room temperature for two and a half hours?”
“Of course I don’t know that!” Eve tries to move him aside, but Julian plants his feet. “Furthermore, I don’t care! They weren’t at room temperature!”
“Oh,shit,” Graham whispers.
“You’re right—they were in a hot trunk!” Julian darts side to side, effectively blocking Eve from her pots de créme.
My eyes widen. He doesn’t know the danger he’s in.
“STEP AWAY FROM THE DESSERTS, JULIAN!” Eve grabs a spatula from the drawer, wielding it like a weapon.
“E. coli! Listeria! Salmonella! Campylobacter!” Julian yells as he dodges Eve’s wild swings. “You’ll send everyone to the hospital if they eat it!”
“Okay, OKAY! Stop it, both of you!” I pluck the spatula from Eve’s upraised hand before she has a chance to put permanent grill marks across Julian’s pretty face, and Graham pulls Eve back.
I point the spatula at Eve. “We donotmaim our guests, Eve.”
She glares at me incredulously. “We do when they fuck with dessert!”
“Andyou.” I spin on Julian, then break into a soft smile. “It’s very sweet to risk your life protecting us from—”
“E. coli!” Julian begins again. “Listeria! Salmo—”
“Yes, we get it. But Julian, the desserts were frozen when Eve put them in your trunk.” I glance at the contraband behind Julian. “They’re not even fully thawed yet. They’re fine.”
“They were frozen?”
“Yes! I’m not an idiot.” Eve shoulders out of Graham’s grip. “Now, step aside, D’Asshole.”
Tentatively, Julian does as he’s told, and Eve gets a fresh spoon and bite, then holds it up to his lips. “Wouldyoulike to do the honors, Doctor?”
Julian’s eyes flick nervously to mine.
“You don’t need to have any cannabis this weekend if you don’t want to, Julian. We’ll have fun no matter what.”
“Will it make me feel like it did at the Pot Luck?” He looks so tentative, so trusting right now. I really consider his question.
“Eve, you used your regular budder for these, right?”
Eve nods, her fury having disappeared into a strange, maternal encouragement as she holds the spoon near his mouth.
“Then yes, though it’ll be a lot milder since you consumed so much that night.”
Julian stands straighter, takes a deep breath, and after a long second, opens his mouth. Eve jams it in before he can change his mind. His jaw moves slowly, his eyes rolling back as he swallows.
“Oh myGod,” he says, grabbing the ramekin from Eve’s hand and going carnal on the pot de créme. “This is amazing. Is that… pistachio? And black cherry?”
“Yes!” Eve claps her hands with delight. All has been forgiven in the face of Julian’s unbridled French custard lust.
“You’re really going to town on that.” I frown slightly as Julian viciously scrapes the bottom of the ramekin with his spoon.
