AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Well,” she began again, “I see food as a spectrum of tastes.” Her heart skipped as he put down his bowl to listen to her.
“You mean like salty, sweet, sour, and all that?” he asked.
“Yes, exactly. Like that and more. Aged, fresh, colorful, colorless, thick, thin, crisp, soft. It’s like a continuum of opposites.” Melinda realized she’d never articulated this before. “I start with one element and identify its features.” She held up a noodle. “The pasta is smooth, kind of starchy, kind of savory. The beans are small, round, pleasing to chew. Salty.” She plucked a bean between her thumb and forefinger and held it to his mouth. Her eyes held his in challenge and at last he took the bean between his teeth.
She ran a mental victory lap but continued as if nothing had changed. “The tomatoes are tangy, seasoned, liquidy, and so on.” She sipped her wine. “So when I cook, I balance out a certain element with its conceptual opposite.” She chuckled. “According to me, that is.
“Tonight I started with the pasta and kept adding elements based on these perceived features, and eventually I had a meal. Within reason, it wouldn’t matter if it were a ribeye or a can of ravioli. Once those elements are balanced, the meal tastes good.” She smiled. “Well, that plus wine.” She raised her glass at him. “Okay, now it’s your turn. What’s the continuum of opposites in plowing snow?”
Grant stretched his arms wide and laced his fingers behind his head.
“The secret in plowing snow is that you always include wine.”
Melinda laughed and put down her own bowl, tucked her feet under her body and turned toward him.
“Who do you have to be to enjoy plowing snow?” she asked.
He thought for a moment. “You have to be someone who likes driving, likes thinking critically, and who likes getting up freakishly early. Fortunately for me, I like all of those things.” He dropped his hands and let one rest near her knee, and her heartbeat crept faster. “There’s some caveman part of me that enjoys mastering nature all winter long.”
He waited until she’d taken a sip of wine before adding, “Plus, I like wielding a huge appendage.”
“You beast!” Grant watched Melinda choke with laughter. “You did that on purpose.”
“I can’t help it. My appendage commands attention.”
She laughed again but didn’t touch him, didn’t want to make him retreat into good behavior now that he’d dallied in inappropriate humor.
“Actually,” he continued, “while the ‘boys and their toys’ thing is pretty true, it’d be foolish of me to think I’m ever really mastering nature. I’m more like a surfer riding the waves who hopefully has the good sense to head back to shore when it gets too rough.”
Melinda watched as he sank into his thoughts for a moment.
“I started when I was twenty-seven,” he said, eyes on the fire before he turned back to her. “I’d done odd jobs here and there before that. Worked at a couple breweries down below. Then my dad had knee surgery and needed help getting around for a while, so I moved up here to be with him. I took a job for a plowing outfit and after a few years the guy wanted out and sold it to me. I’ve got six rigs and twelve drivers. Even have an office manager to yell at me about receipts.” He smiled.
“Impressive, Mountain Man.”
“You know what I really like?” he asked. “I like the noise. It’s strange, I’ll admit. I love the huge noise of the engine, the sound of the plow breaking the crust of the ice, the slush hitting the side of the road. It’s this visceral high. I never get to sleep in, but I get that high and I feel alive.”
After a moment his gaze returned from the place it had been and he grinned.
“What do you do in the summer?” she asked.
“Since I moved in with my dad, I get to save a lot more rent than a typical business owner does. We keep the fleet at his place. He has acreage, and it’s a central location for my routes. And all that means I save money and fritter it away on making hard cider in the summer.”
Melinda’s eyebrows rose. Cider was having a heyday of late.
Wait a minute.
“Was that a play on words?” she demanded.
He nodded.
“Did you just make an apple fritter/apple cider joke?”
He nodded again, his smile smug.
“That was terrible!” she moaned.
“What can I say? I’m a fruity kind of guy.” She smacked him on the stomach with the back of her hand.
