Chapter 15
fifteen
Briar whisked the gravy vigorously, ignoring the home security system in the mansion as it alerted her to the front door opening. The familiar click-clack of claws on expensive tile met her ears, as did Wiggins’s excited panting.
“Hey, buddy,” she said, but she did not stop stirring the gravy.
“Something smells good in here,” Tarr said, and Briar managed to send one beaming smile in his direction.
“Lunch is almost ready,” she said.
“Holy cow.” He paused at the end of the island. “Did you make these French fries?”
“I sure did. They’re double-fried and perfectly crispy.”
She’d never fed goats so fast and gotten them out in the pasture before returning to start on his birthday lunch—the biggest pile of poutine she’d ever made.
“This is restaurant quality, honey.” He eased into her side, and it took all of Briar’s energy not to sag into his strong warmth.
“The gravy is almost done,” she said. “And then I’ll put it all together for you.”
“So it’s beef gravy?” he asked.
“It is beef gravy,” she said. “And I put some shredded meat in it.” She nodded to the plastic container on the other side of the stove. “I had to use one of those microwave meals, because someone didn’t tell me that his birthday was today, so I couldn’t put in a roast last night.”
Tarr’s arm snaked around her, and Briar relaxed into his side. “It’s going to be amazing, hon. Do you always make it with a roast?”
“My favorite is elk,” she said. “And I would have ordered white cheese curds, but again, I had to make-do with what was at the store.”
She reached up and flipped off the flame underneath the gravy. “You really should have the most authentic poutine when you try it for the first time, but this will have to do.”
“I think it’s incredible already,” Tarr said. “My mouth is watering.”
She looked up at him, expecting to find his gaze locked on the beef gravy she had made. Instead, he watched her, and warmth started in Briar’s stomach and spread up into her face.
“We’ll go sit down at the table,” she said. “I’ve got everything set.” She’d been back at the mansion cutting French fries, frying them, and decorating the table for his birthday for the past hour.
“Oh-my-lanta.” Surprise flowed in every syllable Tarr spoke. “Briar, you didn’t have to do all this.”
“I know,” she said. “But it’s your birthday, Tarr.”
“I’m thirty-three,” he said. “Not five.”
“I think birthdays should be even more celebrated as an adult,” she said.
“Because you made it through another year, and that’s an amazing accomplishment.
” She picked up the pan of gravy and turned with it to the island, where she had already laid out a trivet.
She put the pan there and then reached for the big metal pail she’d bought in the gardening aisle at the grocery store.
The gardening aisle.
“One of my favorite shops is in a little town called Drumheller,” she said.
“It’s a couple of hours from Calgary, and you drive out through all these hoodoos and amazing land formations, and it’s this tiny hole-in-the-wall place.
” She dumped the fries unceremoniously into the metal bucket.
“They serve their poutine like this, and it’s family-style—you just go all in. ”
She cut open the bag of cheese curds and sprinkled them over the fries, using her fingers to nudge a few out of the way so the cheese got all the way down into the pail.
She glanced over to the dining room table when she realized that Tarr had not responded. He stood there, staring at the blue cloth she’d spread over Tuck and Bobbie Jo’s table. Her helium balloon display had been delivered mere moments after she’d returned from her farm chores.
The bouquet lifted into the air from the center of the table, and she’d ordered tan, white, and navy blue regular balloons, some that had Happy Birthday printed all over them in a fun, cartoony font.
Then she’d added two mylar balloons in the shape of threes, since he was thirty-three years old today, and one galloping horse who wore a navy-and-white bandana and tied the entire thing together. All the strings attached to a balloon weight with white confetti spilling out the top.
Next to that, Briar had managed to wrap her grocery-store gift and set it on the table, along with two plates, two forks, and a big roll of paper towels.
“Do you want to watch the magic?” she asked.
Tarr turned toward her, a semi-blank look on his face, as if he’d forgotten she was there. He stepped closer and stood on the opposite side of the island from her, with the big metal bucket of almost-finished poutine between them.
“So, it’s fries,” she said. “And you want them to be crispy, though I kind of like it when the gravy softens them up.” She smiled, her nerves on high alert.
She loved poutine, and she loved Canada, and for some reason, she wanted Tarr to as well.
“And then there’s cheese curds. The fries start to melt them a little bit, but the gravy is the real magic. ”
She lifted the pan, gripping it tight due to the weight. “And then you pour the gravy in.” She did that, the chunks of shredded beef falling with the brown gravy, and she swirled and twirled it over all the fries and cheese curds.
Steam lifted up and painted her soul with a smile. It showed on her face as she quickly scraped out the last drops of gravy and turned to set the pan in the sink. When she faced Tarr again, she gestured to the pail. “And then you eat.”
“It’s like meat and potatoes and gravy all in one thing,” he said.
“Right. It’s incredible.” She reached for the handle and lifted the bucket. “You can’t grab the bucket by the sides, because it’ll be hot.”
“Does everyone serve their poutine in a bucket?” Tarr followed her over to the table, where Briar hefted the poutine pail in the center and then went around to the far side of the table, with the windows at her back.
“I just told you,” she said. “This is how they do it at my favorite place in Drumheller.”
“Oh, right. I heard that.”
She nodded to his chair, and he sat down hastily, as if he’d forgotten how to do some things.
“You’re acting weird,” she said.
“No one’s celebrated my birthday like this in ten years,” he said, and he pinned her with that dark-eyed gaze that left her feeling naked and vulnerable, like he could see more than she wanted him to.
“Birthdays are a big deal to me,” she said simply.
“I’m making a note of that,” Tarr said. “You said yours was in March?”
“March fifth,” she said.
“How will I know what you want?”
Briar jumped to her feet. “I forgot the tongs.”
She hurried into the kitchen and opened the same drawer where she had gotten out the whisk and the rubber spatula. When she returned, she pressed in close to Tarr and picked up his plate.
“You just go in, cowboy,” she said. “This is messy, hole-in-the-wall, Canadian food, and it’s delicious.”
“When do I get to open my present?”
“Later.” She put plenty of French fries and cheese curds—all of it dripping with the beef gravy—on his plate and slid it in front of him. “It’s a pretty salty dish, but I think you’ll love it.”
Tarr looked up at her and swept his black cowboy hat off his head. “It smells amazing, Briar. Thank you so much.”
He hooked his arm around her waist again and pulled her into him, pressing his whole head against her ribs. She balanced the tongs in the bucket and went around the table to sit down across from him.
“Did you want to pray?” she asked.
Tarr had already stabbed a bit of shredded beef and a French fry, and he raised his eyes to hers. “Sure, we can pray.”
Briar nodded, so much saliva in her mouth she had to swallow. “I’d like to try, if you don’t mind.”
“Absolutely not.” Tarr wouldn’t look away from her, but Briar squished her eyes closed and dropped her chin. She could still feel him watching her, which annoyed her a little bit. She pushed that away and tried to focus on how she felt and what she wanted to say to God.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” she said, the words still not quite lining up.
“We come before Thee on a very special day and thank Thee for the bounteous blessings that we enjoy here on the farm. I’m personally grateful for the health of the animals and a good cabin to live in, and Wiggins—though I told Tarr he could have him for the evening.
He loves that dog, Lord, and bless him that he’ll get a lot of joy out of the gift of sleeping with him tonight.
“I’m grateful that the poutine turned out pretty good, and please bless Tarr to pretend to like it if he doesn’t. After all, it’s just food and it won’t poison him, even if it is his birthday and he should have everything he wants.”
Briar gave herself a little shake, as her prayer had definitely gone off the rails.
“Anyway, I’m—no, we’re really grateful for everything Thou hast given us, and we ask Thee to bless the food and bless us to do good and to find a way through the things that trouble us to the other side of them, where we can find happiness and peace and joy with ourselves, with each other, and with Thee. ”
Briar’s throat felt like she’d swallowed a handful of nails. “Amen,” she managed to push out, and everything in her body relaxed as she opened her eyes and lifted her head. She pulled her hands back off the table and tucked them between her knees as she looked at Tarr.
“Amen,” he said, plenty of sincerity and punch in his tone. “That was a really beautiful prayer, Briar. I’m not going to have to pretend to like this. It’s French fries and beef, for crying out loud.”
“Still,” she said, and she watched him put his first bite of poutine in his mouth.
He groaned in an over-exaggerated way and tipped his head back.
“Okay, you don’t have to overdo it.” Briar reached for the tongs so she could serve herself a heaping helping of poutine too.
“I’m not exaggerating,” Tarr said. “You’re right—it’s salty, but it’s sooo good.”