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“Most things, yes,” she said, pushing her hair off her forehead with her free hand. “We can make the hard cheese on Friday or Saturday.”
“Hard cheese,” he said, flipping a page in the binder without releasing her hand. “How often do you do that?”
“Depends on demand, but usually only a couple of times each week,” she said. “It’s easy and fast.”
Spencer looked up from the binder, where he’d now entered the spreadable cheese recipes. “You developed all of these recipes,” he said, no question mark in sight.
“Yes.”
He looked at her with sparks of interest. “Why are you—?”
“I can’t make cheese forever,” she said, already hearing his unspoken question.Why are you leaving the farm? Why isn’t running this shop good enough for you?The questions bounced around in her ears, vibrating from one drum to the other.
“It’sspreadable cheese, Spencer. I have a culinary degree from the best institute in the country.” She looked around the industrial kitchen that had too much silver and always smelled a little too much like warm milk about to go sour.
She released his hand and stepped away from him, suddenly so claustrophobic in this huge room. “Do you remember what you said to me when I got accepted to the Culinary Institute of America?”
He hung his head. “How could I forget? You ended everything with me because of what I said.” He looked up again, his dark eyes so bright. “I apologize for saying I didn’t think you’d get in. Really, Clarissa.” He tapped the binder but kept his gaze on her. “Youcame up with all of these recipes. You’re an amazing chef.”
“Thank you,” she said, but the unrest in her soul rose within her. “I’m better than cheese. I want to do more than make cheese and ice cream on a dairy farm in a Texas town no one’s heard of.”
Spencer studied her for another moment before resignation and understanding entered his expression. “All right,” he drawled, though she suspected he didn’t truly understand her need to be more than Sweet Water Falls Farm and Cooper & Co would allow.
She didn’t really understand it either. Maybe she should get her head examined by someone who could iron thoughts and feelings flat and make sense of them.
Thankfully, the bell on the door out front chimed, and Clarissa spun in that direction, her the-customer-is-always-right smile on her face. “Excuse me.”
* * *
The next night,Clarissa moved around the kitchen in the farmhouse with ease. She already had a row of brightly colored bowls on the island, with lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, olives, black beans, and corn. She’d put out the condiments—salsa, sour cream, guacamole, and ranch dressing.
The tortillas were wrapped in tin foil and sitting on the burner, warmed and ready to go.
Lee came into the kitchen, saying something to Will, who followed him.
“Wash up,” Clarissa said. “I’ve got three meats ready to go.”
The doorbell chimed, and Daddy got up from the table, where he’d been studying the books for the farm. “I’ll get it.”
“It’s Spencer,” Clarissa said. “I invited him tonight.” That brought the activity in the kitchen to a halt. Literally, all three men who’d been moving froze. Conversations died. It took Clarissa a couple of seconds to realize it, and she rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Go let him in.”
She picked up the pan with the steak in it and poured it onto the waiting plate. She repeated the action with the taco-seasoned chicken, and then the ground beef. By then, Travis had come inside through the back door, and Spencer arrived from the front one.
She’d given him a firehose of information this afternoon, and he’d just taken it all like a champ. He now wore a dark blue shirt with tiny white boxes to make a tight plaid pattern, a pair of jeans, and those sexy cowboy boots, all of which made her heart thump out several errant beats, the silly thing.
Everyone converged, and Clarissa smiled at all of them, even Mama still seated at the dining room table. Daddy would serve her, as she had some pretty big circles under her eyes today.
“It’s a soft taco bar,” she said. “Or burritos. Whatever you want to call it to be able to eat it.” She smiled around at everyone, letting it slip a little bit. “There will be no fighting tonight. No complaining about things on the farm or the milk side.” She straightened and folded her arms. “Travis is going to tell us about Belinda, and Lee will update us on Ford. Daddy’s going to talk about his horse, and I’m going to give you an update on how things are going with Spencer in the kitchen, and the applications I’ve put out. That’s it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Travis said, his voice somewhat resigned. “But I don’t want to talk about Belinda.” He swept his hat off his head and moved to hang it by the back door. “I’ll pray, and then I’ll tell you about Queenie’s newest trick.”
An hour later, Spencer got to his feet, his smile still in place. Clarissa’s speech had worked, and no one had grumped a single time. Fine, Lee had tried once, but Clarissa had glared him into silence mid-sentence.
“Thanks for dinner,” he said, reaching to tip his hat that wasn’t on his head. “I should be gettin’ home. I walked over, so it’ll take a few minutes.”
Clarissa stood too, her heart pounding. She wanted to walk with him, but the kitchen still sat in disarray. She picked up her plate, as well as Travis’s and Daddy’s as she walked by.
“I’ll clean up,” Daddy said, getting up and collecting a few more plates.
