Page 29 of Smoked

I turn slightly. "I was twenty-two and didn't know any better," I say. "Now it's a permanent reminder of my youthful stupidity."

He laughs.

Forty feet from our site, a sponsor rep in a branded polo is setting up a demo tent for a hardwood company. He's got sample bags, business cards, and a table full of product, and he'll be there all weekend, watching every rig on this row. I try not to look at him for too long. It’ll make me nervous knowing he’s also who I need to impress to do this full-time.

By late afternoon we're ready. The site is tight, the firebox is seasoned, and everything is staged. We eat sandwiches from a cooler Tess packed and watch the other teams do the same restless pacing we're doing. At least these guys still feel the nerves, too.

A competitor from the next site over walks up later. He’s in his fifties, probably, with a silver beard, and an apron that's seen more smoke than mine. He leans on the edge of our canopy and looks at the rig, then at Tess taping a note to the prep table.

"Your girl's got you organized," he says, nodding approvingly. "My daughter did the same thing for me back when she used to cook with us. Enjoy it while you can—mine went off to college and now I can't find anything."

Tess's hand stops mid-tape.

I laugh it off not wanting to make a thing out of it. "She keeps me in line, that's for sure."

He pats the canopy pole and ambles back to his site.

“Why didn’t you correct him?” Tess asks.

I shrug. “I didn’t want to embarrass him.”

But the way Tess is eying me, I can tell she knows that’s not entirely true. Still, she doesn’t say anything.

The sun drops behind the Bridgers and the brisket goes on at 9:40. The fairground lights buzz on, turning everything orange and industrial, and the other teams' generators hum to life around us. Somewhere down the row, someone's playing country music from a portable speaker.

We settle into the new chairs I bought for us under the canopy and I hand her a water bottle. We talk about timing and bark and when to wrap. I tell myself it’s because I want to stay focused, but something feels off inside.

Tess sends me to sleep in the truck around ten-thirty. It’s the first three hour shift and the whole reason I needed another person. I still argue for about ten seconds before the fatigue wins, and the last thing I see before I close my eyes is her silhouette against the firelight, adding a split to the firebox just as a pro would.

I sleep hard and dreamless, and when my phone alarm goes off I feel almost human. The fairground is quieter now—most teams have someone sleeping in a trailer while another watches the fire, exactly the way we planned it.

I can see the glow of other fire-pits dotting the row, the occasional shadow of a pitmaster checking a thermometer. It's the part of competition I actually love: the overnight, when the whole thing strips down to you, the fire, and the smoke.

Tess is still in her chair, scribbling notes, and when I duck back under the canopy she shows me the temps she's been logging every twenty minutes. The brisket's deep in the stall, and all is well.

Mostly.

"That felt great," I say. “So glad you’re here, Tess. Now it’s your turn to sleep.”

"In a minute." She pulls her legs up and closes the notebook.

I sit next to her, gazing out into the night.

“Maybe you should tell me about your ex, Riley’s mom,” she says. “What happened there?”

I exhale and lean forward, elbows on my knees. I've only told this story twice—once to Ike and once to a grief counselor Riley's pediatrician recommended when she was four.

"She left when Riley was about a year old," I say. "She tried. She wasn't cruel and she didn't cheat. She just figured out after Riley showed up that she didn't want this life…being a mom, being a family, me, any of it. I told her I'd take it on myself. And she took off.”

The fire pops. I add a split and close the door.

"Riley doesn't remember her at all." I sit back. "And now it’s just ancient history."

“That must’ve been hard. Losing a wife and someone to help with Riley.” She puts her hand on mine.

"It was. But it got easier with time, and Ike always had my back if I needed help. And when Sloane came along, it was even better,” I say. “I owe them a lot.”

“They’re the best,” she adds.