Chapter 6
“Are you ready?” Penny asked Maggie, who was busy opening and shutting all the drawers and cupboards in the tiny makeshift kitchen. There were four open facing kitchens in each trailer and the organizers had arranged them in a U-shape. The audience seats were in the middle and the family had arrived early to stake out their section between Maggie and Cal. “Maggie?”
“Huh? Oh, right.” She leaned over the counter and peered down at Penny. “I’m ready. I just want to get going.” Her eyes drifted over Penny’s head, toward the Teton team across from her. “And I wish they weren’t there,” she admitted. Penny did, too. Whatever was going on between Maggie and Lucas was getting worse, not better.
Penny looked over her shoulder. The men had moved out of the kitchen and were on the ground talking with fans and signing autographs. Cal looked like he’d been doing this for years, instead of being in his rookie year. He’d never talked about playing professional football, even after the Tetons arrived. He’d tried out on a whim, and no one was more surprised than Cal when he’d made the practice squad. And then a week later they’d bumped him up to the active roster because of a last-minute trade that had something to do with next year’s draft pick. Penny didn’t want to waste the brain cells to understand it. If Cal knew what was going on, she was fine.
“Don’t worry about them. Just focus on what you do best, and if you need a little help, we’re here.” Penny winked.
Maggie narrowed her eyes. “Thank you, but no. I’ve got this, and your help would probably backfire on me since it would be for my benefit.” One boundary of their gift was they couldn’t use it for their own gain, other than for inconsequential events like dusting or ironing or multitasking. Nothing that would give them financial gain or benefit them over someone else, which is why Penny had won their race to the trailhead fair and square. A good witch couldn’t cheat by using their gifts.
“Everyone would appreciate a light, cool breeze, especially when your cakes need to cool.”
“Which is what I’m using the fridge for. Seriously, Penny. Don’t. And don’t let Elspeth. You know how she loves to meddle with the weather.”
“Fine. But you’re no fun.” She stuck her tongue out at Maggie.
“I know. Go bother Cal and his team. I want to make one more kitchen check.” Maggie made a shooing motion with her hand, and Penny looked toward the men. The surrounding crowd had dwindled, and she had time to kill. If she went back to her family, grandad would probably subject her to his endless matchmaking. He knew all the farmers and ranchers in a fifty-mile radius, their single sons, grandsons, and nephews, and he was determined to see his granddaughters paired off.
Penny weaved her way through the crowd, taking the long way, hoping someone wanted to chat. She’d get credit for trying to wish Cal and Lucas luck, and she’d miss seeing Bash. A few people waved and smiled, but no one stopped her.
She saw Cal and Lucas talking with a few high school students, and she quickened her pace. The sooner she wished them luck, the sooner she could leave. She wasn’t avoiding Bash, but she was limiting her exposure to him. He rubbed her the wrong way and invaded her thoughts. He’s a menace, she thought, startling as he popped up in front of her, scaring her half to death. A boy gazed up at him with a death grip on the paper in his hand. Bash snapped the cover on his marker and tucked it into his Tetons ball cap.
“Thanks for coming,” he called as the mother and son duo walked away. “Hi.” He turned his summer sky-blue eyes on her and smiled. It was a potent combination, but luckily, his personality was the antidote. It was only a matter of time before something arrogant or condescending came out of his mouth.
Penny bit the inside of her cheek. Bash had a smear of what looked to be ketchup on the corner of his mouth and possibly English muffin dust on his face. A face that was even more handsome with scruff. And she was a sucker for scruff.
“Hi, yourself,” she said, brushing her cheek with a little laugh. If she didn’t let some of it escape, she’d erupt. “Nervous?” She licked the corner of her mouth. Bash’s eyes tracked the movement, and Penny felt the air around them warm.
“For a baking contest we’re not supposed to win? No.”
“But you need to beat the defense, right?” Penny had walked by their station, and from the quiet bickering she’d heard, she didn’t think it would be difficult. Unless one of them was a temperamental chef, which she doubted.
“I don’t think it will be a problem.” He leaned closer and her fingers itched to brush the crumbs from his face. How can Cal and Lucas not see this? Penny scrubbed her cheeks and Bash’s eyes narrowed. “Rumor has it the person to beat is the lady at the end with the triple-chocolate walnut brownies.”
“But not Maggie?”
“She’s a virtual unknown, but the hometown favorite.”
“How do you know this?”
“I observe more than talk, unlike the yabber-twins.” He jerked his head toward Cal and Lucas, who were talking to several lanky teens and their parents.
“Does that bother you?” Bash really was shy if he thought Cal was a talker.
“Not really. It’s good background noise. Like Muzak.”
“You must feel like you’re living in an elevator, then.”
“Or a doctor’s office.” She saw one of the local television news reporters heading their way, and she licked the corner of her mouth again and rubbed her cheek. Bash looked at her like she was deranged. “Are you okay?” He stepped back as if he might catch her crazy.
The news crew called to Cal, and Penny wondered if they’d focus on the two local boys gone pro. Lucas grew up on a farm in the valley about an hour away and he’d played in the NFL for a while now. Technically, not a hometown boy, but close enough for the news team. They might leave Bash alone. But maybe they won’t. Her conscience nudged her. She’d hate it if someone filmed her with food on her face. She could conjure up a stiff breeze to blow the muffin dust off his face, but it wouldn’t solve the ketchup problem.
“No, I’m not okay,” she said, stepping into his personal space. “And neither are you.” She touched his face, and his head jerked. “Hold still. You’re wearing some of your breakfast.” Bash tilted his head down, and she brushed the light-colored crumbs from his dark scruff. His firm jaw and chin felt soft under her fingers.
“Are you done yet?” he asked, sounding impatient. Seriously? She was ensuring he didn’t look like a toddler learning to eat, but he was annoyed with her. I should leave the ketchup, but she couldn’t.
“Almost. Just a bit”—she touched the corner of his mouth and his lips parted—“here.” His eyes widened, and she felt his warm breath on her face. Penny swiped at the ketchup spot, wondering if it was too late for that cooling breeze. The contrast between his scruff and his soft lips left the tip of her finger tingly. She swallowed. “You might want to, um, give it a lick.” She hated how breathless she sounded, but Bash did as she’d asked.
“Better?” he asked as he wiped the corner again with his finger.
“Much.” She smiled uncomfortably.
“Thanks.”
“Can’t have you embarrassing the team with food on your face,” she said, brushing off his thanks much easier than she had the food.
“The press and my teammates would have a field day with pictures of me losing with egg on my face, not to mention all the news outlets and trolls.”
“Technically, it wasn’t egg.”
“But it was a sincere thank you.” The warm air swirled around them, and the crowd faded away as Penny felt his energy shift from anxious to calm-anxious?Is that a thing?
“I’d better let you get ready.” She stepped back from him as the news crew, Cal, and Lucas moved closer.
“So we can be best losers?” Bash laughed, but he didn’t seem happy about their predicament. To do well, but not well enough. Beat the defense and win the pool, but don’t beat Maggie. She and Maggie always shared secrets and dreams, and it stung that Maggie wasn’t sharing why she needed to win the baking contest.
“There’s nothing wrong with second place. Sometimes the best reward is participating.” All three men burst out laughing, including the news crew.
“Thanks for the sound bite, lady,” the reporter called as Penny walked away, feeling as though her world had shifted. Mr. The-Movie’s-Always-Better might be a decent person. He may be reserved, like Cal said, and not the egomaniac she thought he was.
But her first impressions of someone were rarely wrong, and she wasn’t ready to change her opinion. A person’s energy said a lot about them, and Bash’s always read toward what she considered the negative—edgy, nervous, anxious. He wasn’t angry, bitter, or resentful, but he wasn’t at peace with himself. The man needs intensive therapy. Penny chuckled as she sat between her mom and Nanna.
“What’s so funny?”
“Just thinking about the new puppies at the shelter and wondering if we could use them as intensive therapy.” The women looked at her with mixed expressions.
Alison patted her knee, saying, “Honey, I think that’s a great idea and it would be a wonderful fund-raiser.”
“Well, studies show that dogs reduce stress and anxiety and can help ease loneliness. And with enough interaction, our feel-good hormone oxytocin increases,” Nanna added, sitting taller. Although Nanna had sold her veterinary practice, she filled in for the new owners when they needed her, but she missed it. The animals on the farm and her bees filled the void, but she’d confessed to Penny that she missed having something that was all hers, and grandad didn’t count. “Let me know if you need a hand. Your mom’s right, though. It could be a great fit for the shelter and Cascade City. Think about it, employees could send their boss to cuddle puppies; a parent could send their teen before a test or big event; someone grieving could get the wiggly warmth and love of a puppy or dog. And all that socialization would make it easier to find forever homes for the dogs. I think you’re on to something.”
Penny nodded. They were right. She was onto something, but all she could think about was a certain handsome quarterback surrounded by enthusiastic puppies.
Bash poked at the corn husks in the hot water, wondering why he was there. Lucas creamed the lard and vegetable broth with the hand mixer and Cal interacted with the crowd. It was obvious they didn’t need him today. He’d thought he’d made strides with them, that they liked him, but maybe they were only tolerating him. I sound like a moody teenager, he thought, fishing out a husk to see if it had softened.
“Stop watching Maggie,” Cal said to Lucas. “She’s fine. We need to win, remember?”
“Shouldn’t be too difficult,” Bash said. “Not with the way the defense is arguing.” All three men turned their heads to the end trailer.
“Looks like they’ve got more flour on them than in the bowl,” Lucas said.
“Do we know what they’re making?”
“No, and when I walked by during setup, it sounded like they were still deciding,” Cal said.
“Looks like the library will get a big donation,” Bash said, smiling. He’d visited the library earlier in the week. The head librarian handed him a donation form and their wish list, including money for the book fund, computers, and furniture for the teen room, which was slated for an upgrade in the spring.
“Food bank,” Lucas said, scraping the beaters. Both men looked at Cal, just as they had every other time they’d discussed where to donate the money. The players and staff had raised a little over five thousand dollars, and the Tetons’ owner and tech mogul was matching it.
“Don’t look at me. I think we should split it between them. And stop looking at Maggie. Eyes on the prize.” Cal said.
“They are,” Lucas said, dragging his eyes away. “I’m just making sure she’s doing okay. It’s weird. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a situation where I needed to do well, but not well enough to win.”
Bash snorted. “Second place has never been my goal.”
“But yet, here we are,” Cal said, elbowing Bash out of the way and pulling berries from the fridge. The mini-kitchens weren’t built for three large men.
“Stuck in a cooking contest.” Bash frowned as he checked another corn husk, wondering if they’d ever soften enough to roll.
“What’s wrong? You’re looking at the husk like it offended you, or are you pissed you’re not the one calling the plays today?” Lucas joked, grabbing the tongs from Bash and stirring the husks. Cal chuckled.
“Why didn’t you tell me there was food on my face?”
“There was? I didn’t see it,” Cal said, before turning to Lucas. “Did you?”
“Nope, too busy watching Maggie. If I had, I would have told you, but I wouldn’t have done the mom routine.” Lucas grabbed an onion and the cutting board. “I’ll get this diced. Once it’s ready, you can sauté it. When they’ve softened, add the chorizo.”
Adding chorizo to the tamale filling and serving it with a berry sauce were Bash’s ideas, after extensive research. Cal’s contribution was adding Thistlestone honey to sweeten the sauce and including Nanna’s homemade feta cheese to the tamale filling. Lucas had agreed to all their suggestions, but he’d insisted that the sauce had to have some kick to it, which is why they’d add cinnamon and a pinch of cayenne pepper at the very end.
“What’s the mom routine?” Bash asked, setting the skillet on the burner and adding a knob of butter to the pan.
“You know, when your mom spits on a napkin to clean your face,” Cal said.
“Or maybe your nanny?” Lucas scraped the onions into the pan and increased the heat.
“Inga never did that.” Lucas and Cal stared at him.
“Seriously? You had a hot Swedish woman as your nanny?” Cal asked, sounding jealous.
“No, I had a Venezuelan in her fifties who was a total coconut.” He knew she’d get a kick out of this conversation when he told her about it.
“What’s a total coconut?” Lucas asked, sounding curious.
“She was tough and hard on the outside but sweet and soft in the middle, like a coconut. Cookies were banned in our house, but Inga always had a few for me to eat on our way home from school each day.”
“I’ll take cookies over spit any day,” Cal said, and Bash nodded his head, but he didn’t agree. He wouldn’t diminish the bond he had with Inga, but he could have gotten cookies from anyone. The long blue box in the mini suitcase she called a purse was just for him, but he could have bought one for himself at the corner market. Or the doorman could have kept a box for him in the security office.
If he’d had food on his face, Inga would have sent him to the bathroom to clean it off, or she would have pulled a wet wipe packet from her purse. She always had those in her bag to clean him up when they left the playground. Heaven forbid Sebastian Vander Vetter have dirt on his knees or face. And his mom never needed to clean him up because Inga or an Inga-clone had already taken care of it. Nannies were a necessary evil in his childhood.
“No, I didn’t get the mom routine,” Bash muttered to himself, wondering if he’d be different if he’d had a little maternal spit on his face, as if that would have made him feel more human and connected.