Chapter 2
Val
Where the fuck did he go?
Six pizzas pull me away from the bar, the place where my brother should be.
Slacker.
Probably sucked into his phone with his girlfriend and lost track of time.
Again.
There’s a part of me that is almost looking forward to him leaving full time for college. It’s easier knowing he won’t be here at all then hoping he’s helpful when he’s scheduled.
The bell over the main door alerts me just how damn far behind I am.
“Be right there!” I yell, furiously smearing tomato sauce across the dough.
A crooked baseball hat over an unruly mop of shaggy brown hair pops in through the swinging divider.
“Hey, Val. Is Scotty here?” Sawyer’s blue eyes are saucers as he fixes his gaze on the uncooked pie in front of me.
“He was, but I have no idea where he’s at. And if you want these done any time soon, you best wait out there unless you’re wanting to be put to work,” I snap at him.
I’ve known him since he was ten or so, but after I got married I didn’t see him much until just the last few years after Chris died.
Was killed.
Whatever. He deserved it.
But I remember Sawyer being into everything when he was little. I can’t imagine much has changed since.
As if he could hear me thinking, he pushes all the way into the kitchen. His tanned lanky arms stick out from an old Atari t-shirt that hangs crooked over his shoulders.
“I can help. Ain’t nothin’ else to do but wait anyway.” He shrugs. “Point and shoot.”
He can’t be serious.
“Start by washing your hands.” I jut my chin towards the stainless steel commercial sink. “Well,” I add as an afterthought.
Who knows what kind of animal shit he’s been playing in today?
Hot water steams around him as he scrubs, then he holds up his hands like a redneck surgeon. “Is there a towel?” His brows raise to the worn bill of his hat.
“On the wall.” I gesture with my forehead as I spread pepperoni in a growing circle.
The dispenser cranks out a long strand with a wave.
“Wait. Let me see.” I can’t help but picture the state of his nails.
Sawyer’s lips shift to the side, then thin as he holds up his fingers for my inspection.
“I know how to wash, Val.” His hips cock to show a flash of tanned skin below his shirt.
I’m not sure what’s more distracting, that or the bright white band of underwear that sneaks out from his low slung jeans.
Punk.
I squint extra long, staring at each clean cuticle. “Alright. Barely passed. Grab that dough and start rolling it out.” My elbow is the pointer this time at a row of tupperware tubs, each containing a weighed portion.
After sprinkling on the last of the cheese, I slide the finished pizza onto the conveyor oven to cook.
That’s when I see him awkwardly smearing the sticky mix into a haphazard starfish shape.
“Stop, stop, stop.” My palm lands on his wrist, pausing his movements. “Here. Add some flour.” I grab a hefty scoop and spatter it against the mess. “Mix that in, it keeps it from being tacky.”
His lower lip sticks out as he concentrates, folding and rolling the dough until it starts looking manageable again.
“How’s that?” Bright blue eyes blink widely over a crooked smile.
“Better. Now watch me.” I grab the one of the prepped tubs and dump the contents on the counter, quickly working it into a flat-ish round about the size of a dinner plate. “Do this.” In a few moves, I have an almost perfect circle, ready for sauce and toppings.
“Whew.” He lets out a low whistle. “You’re really good at this.”
I’ve finished before he gets it rolled out. “Hurry up, kid. It needs to cook still.”
“Sorry,” he grunts, the tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ve never done this. You’d think as much as I like it, I’d know how to make it.”
That makes me snort. “You don’t cook at all? What are you gonna do when you get out on your own?” I know he’s the same age as Scott, so he has to be heading to college, or something.
“Oh, I’m stuck on the fuckin’ ranch.” He glowers at the square edges in front of him and tries to smooth them out. “But I can make things from frozen just fine. Lori does all the ‘from scratch’ stuff.”
I almost feel a little bad for him. I know the issues that Black Gulch has had the last few years. I get why Mason would encourage him to stay though, especially with everything going on.
“Well, you aren’t doing too bad. Shit, a bit of practice and you’d almost be hireable.” I pat his shoulder and push the sauce bucket closer.
It kills me a tiny bit watching how meticulously slowly he spreads it into even rings.
Whatever, it’s his.
“This one gets sausage and onions. Two handfuls of each.” I show him the order slip hanging from the edge of the rail.
He’s absolutely beaming when he steps away from the finished product. “How’d I do?”
So eager to please.
I guess he’s not all assholes and elbows now that he’s older.
“Pretty good, kid. Let’s get it in the oven.” I toss it on the conveyor and pull off the cooked pizza from the other end, sliding it into a box.
“Any more?” He bounces on his toes, reaching for another ball of dough.
“Nope. That’s the last.” I watch the frown droop the corner of his lips.
His hands press against his shirt, dragging the last of the flour down his belly.
“Don’t do that. Wash.” Sheesh.
When he turns the water on, he scrubs in silence.
“Hey, Val? Did you really mean that? Like, you need help, right?” Paper towels bunch between his broad palms.
The only other person I’ve even contemplated was Elena, and I just got a very clear “no” from her a few minutes ago.
I really could use some, especially weekends and restocking.
“You strong enough to carry cases of booze? Hell, are you even old enough?” I’ve never really paid much attention to him, but his shoulders are wider than I remember, his forearms have a wiry bulk that screams lots of hard work.
He’s a farm boy, of course he’s built.
“I’m twenty-two. So, yea. And I pack fifty pound sacks of grain two at a time. Does that count?” His fists shove into his pockets. “It’d be a nice change sometimes from home.”
A small ding signals the last pizza is done.
Stacking the boxes, I push them at him. “How well do you take direction? When I say ‘jump’, I want your feet off the ground before you even ask ‘how high’.”
He chuckles, tilting his hat back over his wavy dark hair. “Ever worked cattle? When Dad yells, we all jump.”
I push the swinging door to the main room open for him and spot Sophia standing next to the register with her credit card. “Let me think about it. You practice kneading and I might give you a shot.”
It might just be easier training someone with no prior experience than re-training some of the older applicants I’ve already passed over.
I’m not arguing with anyone over my system. It works for me and that’s all I care about.
“Tell Scotty I said ‘hey’ and am sorry I missed him.” Sawyer balances the stack as Sophia pays.
“Were you back there slowing her down?” she scolds him, then signs the receipt.
“No, he was a good boy and helped.” I flash her a big smile.
And I don’t miss the flush of pink that tinges his cheeks before he turns away.