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Spencer nodded, slid his hand down her arm as he blocked his father’s view of her with his body, and whispered, “Thanks, Riss.”
She nodded too and stepped out onto the back porch. The air out here went down easier, and she pulled in a deep lungful of it while she listened to the door lock behind her.
With a few minutes to spare, she went home and found two more restaurant jobs to apply for in San Antonio. With her résumé ready and so many places doing online applications now, she completed that task in time to get back to the shoppe before the first customer.
With the Fourth of July in the middle of next week, it seemed like everyone wanted to get their cheese, butter, and milk early, and a steady stream of people in the shoppe kept her busy until Spencer showed up.
Clarissa actually had to blink her way out of her tunnel vision to greet him, and then three women entered the shoppe together. Dividing and conquering worked great, and she and Spencer helped the three of them find what they needed.
“I forgot about the holiday,” she admitted as she realized the garlic and herb spread was nearly gone. So was all of their shredded medium cheddar, the most popular of shredded cheeses.
“I can go work in the kitchen,” he said.
“Let me show you how to bag cheese really quick.” No one loitered in the shoppe, so Clarissa led him into the kitchen with purpose. She got out the bag sealer, the roll of bags, and huge bin of cheese from the walk-in refrigerator.
“You just put a bag on the scale. Weigh it out to a pound or two. Eight ounces or sixteen. Type it into the tablet, and print the label.”
She gloved her hand and moved cheese by the handful from the tub to the bag. “For me, it’s about three handfuls for eight ounces.” She watched the numbers on the scale flicker as the weight adjusted. Sure enough, it settled near eight. “It doesn’t have to be exact.” She did add a few more shreds, and then she used the tablet to print the label.
“The bag sealer is nice,” she said, holding the newly made bag of cheese by the top corners. She shook it all down to give herself room at the top. “You just side it in like this.” She put both layers of the bag through the front of the sealer. “Hold this lever down to keep it in place, and press the button.”
The machine whirred for a moment, and when it released, Clarissa lifted the now sealed bag of cheese. “Label me, Spence.”
He handed her the label and she put it on the bottom third of the bag. “See? Easy.”
“How many of these do you want me to make?” He eyed the bin of medium cheddar like it might bite him at any moment.
“Oh, let’s see.” She blew out her breath. “Let’s go with—oh.” She cut off as her phone rang. Her eyes widened at the name on the screen, and she swiped for it quickly, a squeal coming from her mouth.
“Oh, stars above,” she said, looking from the phone to Spencer. Her excitement soared, and her heart shot right into space, the silly thing. “It’s Marco Holmbrook.”
“Should I know who that is?” He snapped a pair of gloves on his hands too, and Clarissa reminded herself that he had a reason to be testy and on-edge.
Instead of answering him, Clarissa squealed again and swiped on the call, her voice much calmer and at least half an octave lower as she said, “This is Clarissa Cooper.” She turned her back on Spencer and hurried out of the kitchen.
The front of the shoppe was still empty—a miracle, as was this phone call.
“Clarissa,” a man said, his voice clearly accented. “It’s Marco Holmbrook, from The Hot Italian in San Antonio.”
“Oh, hello,” she said, as if her phone hadn’t already told her that. She had a hard time standing, so she went behind the ice cream counter and leaned into it.
“I’m calling about your application,” he said. “It says you’re in Sweet Water Falls?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, trying to keep the Texas accent out of her voice. The Hot Italian was a premier Italian restaurant in the river district, and Clarissa’s vision blurred. This couldn’t be real, could it? Maybe she just needed glasses.
“I’m not sure where that is,” he said with a chuckle. “Would you be able to do an interview sometime next week? We could do it over the phone or in person, whichever is easiest for you.”
“I can be there,” she said, the prospect of going to San Antonio next week almost too nerve-racking for her.
“That would be ideal,” he said. “I’d love for you to have something to cook for me too.”
“Oh, sure,” she said, her voice stilted. “No problem.” Her mind blended all the thoughts together, and Clarissa couldn’t recall a single recipe she’d ever made.
“What about Thursday?” he asked. “Before we open. Is nine a.m. too early for you?”
“No, sir,” she said. “My family owns a dairy farm. Nine o’clock is like noon for us.” She trilled out a laugh, glad when Marco joined in with her. She commanded herself to stop, and she confirmed she’d be at The Hot Italian on Thursday morning, ready to cook something for him, at nine a.m.
The call ended, and her phone fell to her lap. Every cell shook, and she still couldn’t get her thoughts to line up.
