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“Oh, goodness no. Not… a partner, like that. The shop is closed Monday through Wednesday during the planting and harvesting weeks, and then I bring work here for some of the processing and packaging,” he said, stretching his arm out toward a long wooden worktable that spanned almost the entire width of the back of the shop. There were mortars and pestles on a shelf behind the table and hanging scales at either end of the table as well. Empty glass jars and packaging supplies took up some of the lower shelves. “And I ship all online orders from here. If I have a big supplier order and need time at home to work on it, my friend Chaya comes in to help. And I’ve asked Solo from the diner for help a few times, too. He’s very responsible. Pim and Bill use the same point-of-sale system I do, so it’s easy for him to mind the shop.”
Once he got on a roll talking, he seemed to loosen up a little. When Tiller tried to pay, I pushed him out of the way with my hip and forced my card at Truman with a smile. “I’m sure we’ll be back before we leave. You have an incredible store here.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, well, thank you so much. Are you… Oh, I’m being silly. Of course you’re a cook. I only mean… like… what do you enjoy making?”
Before I could answer, Tiller stepped forward again. “He’s an amazing chef. He makes this lentil soup I can’t get enough of.”
I leaned in and stage-whispered, “It’s kaali daal.”
Truman laughed behind a hand. “Did you…” He rifled through the paper shopping bag where he’d been stashing my items after ringing them up. “Oh good. You grabbed the asafetida. You have to tell me what you think. You should be able to get the lentils at the supermarket around the corner.”
When we finally waved goodbye to the kind shop owner and made our way back onto the street, I was excited to get back to the house and start cooking. I had a million ideas and no clue which one to start with.
“What are you hungry for?” I asked Tiller.
He patted his stomach with his good hand. “Uh, a five-mile run to burn off these pancakes?”
So that’s what we did. Rather, that’s what he did. I, on the other hand, set out all of my new goodies and began sketching out ideas for new recipes with them. I got a few things started and then browsed online for tips about staging food for photographs. Since I was a complete noob going into this cookbook project, I hadn’t realized the chefs had to help develop photo concepts for the book.
And I knew about as much about photo styling as I did about the various species of boa constrictors.
“What’re you working on?” Tiller asked on one of his passes through the kitchen for more ice water and a banana.
“Watching YouTube videos on food photography.”
He stepped up behind me until I could feel the damp warmth coming off his sweaty skin. “You want to take pictures?”
“Definitely not,” I said with a sigh. “But apparently I need to at least have a say in how I want these dishes presented in photos. I’m not sure yet who’s doing the styling and photography, but I don’t want to sound like a yard full of crickets when they ask me what my vision is.”
“Why don’t you hire an expert?”
Sweet little multimillionaire and his innocent view of the world.
“Uh, because it costs thousands of dollars and I don’t have an NFL contract?” I closed the laptop and reached for my bottle of water. I’d already noticed how dry the air was here, and I’d been trying my best to stay hydrated. All I needed was to have Tiller accuse me of not practicing what I preached.
He was silent for a minute before shrugging. “I do. I can pay for it.”
I turned to face him, almost in slow motion. It was one thing for him to buy me breakfast with his millions of dollars. Often, he paid for things like that when we were together because it was easier to get one check and the impact on his wallet was infinitesimal. I used to fight him on it all the time until finally realizing it made him feel good to take little burdens off me like that.
But this? This was personal. This was like offering to buy me a car.
“Um, no. But thank you for offering,” I said, trying not to lend any additional meaning to his casual offer than a friend trying to help another friend out.
“Wait,” he said, taking a seat at the kitchen island and pulling the laptop open again in front of him. “Hear me out.”
“No, thanks,” I singsonged, moving over to check on the bread dough I’d left to rise. I didn’t usually make bread, but this was a high-protein, vegan loaf that would allow families to continue making sandwiches for people who didn’t like the idea of using lettuce leaves or thin wraps. People like Tiller before I finally got him onto the seven-grain wraps he swore by now.
