Chapter 11
Jules
The video pulls in higher views than either of us have ever gotten.
It starts off slow and then explodes in a way that I realize this is going to be money making gold.
It takes me a few doubletakes to accept the amount of money pouring in, those subscribers who are in lower tiers upping their tiers to gain access for the live videos when they release and tipping offers coming in with it.
The amount of requests that flow in is so insane, I have to take a break from reading them to avoid getting a headache from looking at a screen for so long.
Apparently, Vanta Vyxxxen at The Velvet Rodeo is a hit and I’m both not surprised and also shocked at how hyped everyone is.
I leave Genie with Bonnie and head over to the barn to talk to the guys about it, but it’s empty.
It’s only as I’m heading back to the cabin that I spy Sawyer walking slowly from the big house out to another building.
I follow, mostly because Sawyer seems like the numbers guy anyways so he’d be the one to talk to.
The building I step into is large and clearly temperature controlled.
It’s almost chilly when I walk inside and I wrap my arms around myself to warm my arms. I probably should have worn a jacket instead of just a tank top considering outside has a slight chill as well, but I’ll just have to deal.
This building is full of different equipment I have no name for.
The air smells like hot milk and cheese, a strange mixture that I don’t exactly hate, but also don’t love it either.
Sawyer is standing further in the room at a table with large steel vats.
“What are you doing?” I ask, stepping closer.
He doesn’t jump at my question, as if he already knew I was here. He looks over his shoulder at me, his glasses perched on his nose. “Checking the cultures.”
“The cultures?” I repeat, frowning.
He gestures for me to come over to him, so I do, coming to take a look at the large metal vats. This close, I can see they’re full of milk and there’s something spinning inside them to stir the mixture.
“We make artisan cheese here,” he explains. “Do you know anything about the process?”
“Only what you explained to me when we were moving in. I don’t know the details.”
He nods. “We start off with milk. Then we add the cultures.” He taps the vat and it makes a hollow thunk sound. “I just added cultures to this one this morning. The cultures we add include mesophilic DVI MA and Penicillium Candidum. We also add in some yeast to foster the white mold.”
“You’re really messing with my love of cheese right now,” I tease, listening closely. When Sawyer starts talking about cheese, he lights up in a way that only people passionate about what they do can. I can’t really blame him. Everyone loves cheese.
He chuckles. “Just wait until I show you the curd process.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Curd is such an unattractive word.”
“You’re not wrong,” he says, smiling. “Come on. I’ll show you how everything works.”
So he does. I get a run down on all the machines that they use for each process.
He shows me how they add rennet after the cultures have been left to ripen which makes the milk curdle.
I get a run down on the best way to cut the curds—small cubes to help release the whey—and a lesson on how to fill the molds.
At the end of it all, I’m certain I can make my own brie cheese if I wanted to.
Listening to Sawyer talk about all of it is a delightful info dump that I don’t really want to stop.
But when he grabs a wooden charcuterie board and pulls out a bunch of ingredients including a wheel of the brie he’s made, I forgive the abrupt stop of information.
“So, this is one you’ve made?” I ask, pointing to the small wheel of brie cheese wrapped up in cheesecloth.
“Yes,” he answers. “This is a special one from Valentine’s Day I made. It has dried strawberries in it.” He smiles without looking at me. “We called it Brie Mine.”
Laughter bubbles past my lips. “That’s adorable.”
He shrugs. “It was popular. We kept selling out of it, but I kept this wheel because I like it, too.”
I watch as he deftly cuts it into small slices. Not once does he catch his fingers, fully trusting his instincts even when he can’t see as well.
“Did that take practice?” I ask softly.
His lips quirk up. “You mean did I cut my fingers a bunch before I could do this? Yeah, I did. I haven’t been blind my whole life, so it was an adjustment.”
I hesitate, my lips partly open ready to ask the question, but I pop them closed again.
“You can ask,” he murmurs. “I can feel it hanging on your breath.”
I push out the air from my lungs on a heavy sigh. “You know, you’re almost physic with how perceptive you are.”
“Maybe the one perk,” he replies. “The other senses get stronger when you take one away. It’s pretty common.” He hands me a cracker with a piece of the brie on it and I take it. “You wanna know what happened,” he finally says. It’s not a question, more of a statement.
“It felt rude to ask,” I offer apologetically.
He laughs. “You’ve straddled my waist, Jules. At this point, it’s not rude.”
I join in with his laughter. “You’re right. I’m sorry for forgetting that fact.”
He waves away my apology. “For future reference, ask whatever you’d like.
The three of us aren’t shy and there’s not really anything you can ask us that would be rude considering our business partnership.
” He pauses as he spreads some cheese on a cracker.
“I have Fuchs’ Dystrophy. It’s a genetic disease, apparently. ”
“So, your parents had it?” I ask.
“That’s the assumption.” When I frown, he adds, “I was adopted. Never really knew my biological parents other than trying to track them down when I was eighteen.”
“Did you find them?”
He nods. “Yeah. They had more kids after me. I was the only one they gave up. They didn’t have any interest in talking to me, let alone give me any information once I was diagnosed, so I wrote them off.”
Reaching out, I put my hand on his shoulder and his head tips toward my touch. “That must have been hard.”
“It wasn’t . . . the best,” he agrees. “But I’d already had another family by then in Oak and Cash. We were all adopted by the same family, so they’re my brothers. I wouldn’t change it for the world.”
Three adoptive brothers. It makes sense that they’d be so close. “So what is Fuchs’ Dy . . .”
“Dystrophy,” he helps. “Essentially, it just slowly damages your cornea. It affects the cells lining the cornea’s inner surface.
Those cells die off, fluid builds up, which causes the cornea to swell and become cloudy.
” He gestures to his eyes. “Only a small percentage have it this severe so young. Guess I’m one of the lucky few. ”
I find myself reaching out to comfort him again, touching his arm. He covers my hand with his, holding it to his skin, as if he needs the comfort.
“It must be difficult,” I murmur.
He shrugs. “Everything’s difficult in life. I just think of it like I had too much going for me already so I had to be blind to level the playing field.”
The snort that comes out of me is very un-lady like, but it makes him smile so brightly, I can’t worry about it.
“I like your laugh,” he says, his eyes focused on me. “I wish I could see you more clearly.”
“You’re not missing much,” I say, laughing.
“I very much doubt that,” he replies, watching me carefully. “Did you like the cheese?”
“Oh! Hang on. I got distracted,” I apologize. I pick up the cracker again and take a bite, my eyes widening at the flavor that suddenly hits my tongue. It’s creamy, the dried strawberries adding a surprise extra sweetness in the flavor. “Wow.”
“Right?” he nods, taking a bite of his own. “Wait until you try the Stagborn Strong one. We added pine nuts into it. It goes amazing with honey.”
“Stagborn Strong?” I ask.
“Remember the stuff with Valerie Decatur? It’s a dedication cheese to her after all of the events that went down. I still can’t believe you didn’t see the news about it. This place has been crawling with media vans for months.”
“I don’t watch the news much,” I reply, repeating my earlier sentiment.
“Oh, well, I’m sure you’ll hear about it in town if you venture there.”
We fall into a comfortable silence as we take small bites from the miniature charcuterie board.
I take the opportunity to check him out from the side.
He’s often wearing large tank tops with the arm holes massive, revealing his sculpted body beneath, but paired with the worn in jeans and boots, he has all the country boy charm I know girls go crazy for.
Especially with that blonde curly hair. Throw in glasses and the man is a heart throb.
He turns his head toward me, smiling as if he knows I’m checking him out. “So, what else would you like to know?”
“Everything,” I answer. “This is so nerdy and I love it.”
He laughs. “Alright, well, not all cheese is made this way. We’re known for our brie flavors but we also make a mean halloumi—”