by A. D. Ellis
I didn’t need to excuse my appearance, but I offered a brief explanation. “I don’t own a lot of old, knock around clothes.” A wave of warmth enveloped my heart when I used the same phrase as my grandma.
“Usually, I’d sit for a few minutes, but I think we need to get going. The woods won’t wait, and the way you look, they won’t know what hit them.”
As he drove his truck through town, Travis pointed out many buildings and businesses that had been around in Willow Springs for longer than I could remember. “Still have the grocer. Luke’s done a real nice job keeping it going. I suppose the volunteer fire department and one-person police department were here when you were little.”
“Grandma used to bake cookies for the crews.”
“Were they running the farmers’ market back then?” Travis slowed as he drove past the Christian church on the corner.
“No, farmers’ markets hadn’t gotten big yet at that point.”
“Well, every Saturday morning, weather permitting, there’s a farmers’ market now in the Springs. First Christian and Willow Springs Baptist churches trade off hosting the markets in their parking lots. Methodist church hosts another one on Wednesday mornings.”
“It’s my best guess that a touch of squabbling led to the churches sharing hosting duties.”
“Oh, boy, did it! You’d have thought they were fighting for the right to host the queen.” Travis chuckled. “The easiest way out of the fight was to decide to split it all up.”
We turned a corner, and my heart warmed again. “Still just a kindergarten through eighth-grade school?” I had wanted so badly to move to Willow Springs as a child and attend the small-town school. I envied all the kids who lived year-round in my grandparents’ town.
“Yep. The high school is about fifteen minutes up the road. That’s where all the bigger stores and restaurants are, too. We’ve got everything we need right here these days. Still, being close to a larger town gives us more options if needed.
I laughed at the term larger town because I knew the place Travis referred to was still extremely small compared to Chicago. But many places were small compared to Chi-town, and there was nothing wrong with that.
Travis lifted his chin to point out the next building. “Library got an overhaul, but I swear it still smells the same as before. Dusty covers, ancient pages, and book glue. It’s all in there, and they do some great programs for the kids. There’s a literacy group for adults that need a little extra help as well.”
As we neared the edge of town, Travis pointed toward the spring-fed lake surrounded by willow trees. “Guessing this hasn’t changed much.”
“Nope, Willow Springs’ namesake is as gorgeous as ever. I mean, look at it. Have you ever seen such a picturesque view?”
When we reached the park where the woods began, Travis parked his truck under a shade tree. “I know you liked a lot about Chicago, but I gotta say, life in a small, Midwestern town sure does seem to fit you just right.”
My cheeks heated as we climbed from the truck. I’d worked hard to fit into the hectic Chicago lifestyle, and although I was happy to be back, I wasn’t sure I saw myself as a small-town man yet.
“I think a lot of it has to do with memories of Grandma Gentry. She made this place so special for me.” I stopped at a bench to tie my boot. “But escaping the big city bustle and chaos is something I needed to do—at least for a while.
I hedged to leave my options open.
“For how long?” Travis cocked his head.
“What do you mean?” I asked the question as a rhetorical move, but I already knew what he meant.
“Once you get the shop established, are you going to go back to Chicago? When that happens, I guess you’ll visit us a couple of times a year to check in.”
It was something I’d thought about. Often.
“Not sure I’m at a point where I can answer that.” I had no reason to lie to my new friend. “My plan, for now, is to be in Willow Springs indefinitely and visit Chicago as needed. But we all know about best-laid plans and all.”
“Good enough for me.” Travis locked the truck and pocketed his keys before grabbing a walking stick from the truck bed.
“Used to be a time when you didn’t have to lock your car in Willow Springs,” I mused as we started down a path.
“Probably okay not to, but it’s a habit. I grew up in a not-so-great area, and your shit got stolen whether you locked up or not. But at least locked made it a little more of a deterrent. If I do it every time, I won’t forget when I’m in a place where I need to secure it all.”
“Yeah, I always thought it was so crazy when my grandma wouldn’t lock doors. My dad called her a loon. The last few times I visited before she died, Grandma was locking up. Proof of changing times, I guess.”
“Definitely.”
We walked about a quarter-mile down the path before I asked. “What’s with the stick?”
“Can’t walk or hike the woods properly without an old-fashioned walking stick. We’ll find you one.”
I stopped for a moment and watched Travis take a few steps brandishing the stick. “If you think I need one. But I’ll probably survive without.”
“We can do this path, find you a good stick, and then we can go a little deeper into the woods and hunt some mushrooms.”
The idea of mushroom hunting brought back a wave of memories. “When I was little, Grandma would talk about hunting mushrooms, and I always had a picture in my head of her shouldering a shotgun and shooting down poor, innocent little fungi.”
Travis slapped his knee and laughed. “The woods in and around Willow Springs are amazing grounds for finding morels. Luke will pay by the pound if you find a big enough mess of them. He sells them at the store. He can’t get enough to keep them in stock in season. And I’m pretty sure Mitch uses them in some specialty dishes.”
“You mean the battered and deep-fried special recipe? That’s what grandma always did. Specialty seems to imply more. I can’t see Mitch...”
Travis cocked a brow. “Yeah?”
“Deep-fried is never a specialty dish.” I shrugged.
“Have you ever fried morels?”
“Nah, I was usually here during the heat of summer and over icy winter breaks. Grandma always said those weren’t mushroom hunting seasons.”
“Ah, that explains why you don’t think a big ol’ mess of fried mushrooms is a specialty. We’ll find some, and you’ll see.” Travis poked at a rock with his stick. “Maybe the search for big, plump mushrooms is something you and Mitch could do together.”
“I’m betting no. Mitch doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who’s open to sharing any of his specialties or secrets. I’m pretty sure he looks at me as a young city-slicker who parachuted into town to put him out of business.”
Travis veered from the path and picked up a stick. He examined it closely before handing it to me. I knew he wouldn’t let my comment about Mitch pass.
“Is that what you’re here to do?”
The stick was the perfect height and, for some reason, felt just right for walking trails. “Of course not. I didn’t come to put anyone out of business. I came to live in my grandma’s house and fix it up. It only made sense to open another successful business in my new hometown.” That was the public statement about my life in Willow Springs. Deep inside, I was still straddling the city and small town with one foot in each.
We walked another half-mile down the trail in silence. Travis broke the quiet with another question.
“But what would you do if Gentry’s Java does start to cause problems for South Main?” Travis glanced over his shoulder as he spoke.
“I’m a businessman first and foremost.” God, did I sound like a heartless asshole saying that? “I’d like to think there’s room for both of us. But I’m not giving up a successful business just to save an already failing small-town diner—if it comes to that.”
Travis stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face me. Eyes wide,
he whistled and shook his head. “And the plot thickens.”
I didn’t like where Travis headed with his insinuations, so I changed the subject. “Where are these big, bad mushrooms we’re supposed to be hunting?”
He didn’t have an immediate answer. Two hours later, I had blisters on my feet, and I believed Travis made up his stories about the elusive morel mushrooms.
“March through May are the best times to find them,” Travis explained as we headed back toward the truck. “Probably need a couple more days of this warmer weather. Once the ground is a nice fifty degrees and we get an inch or so of rain, the little bastards will pop up all over these woods. Don’t worry—we’ll have you finding mushrooms before you know it.
I tossed my stick in the truck bed before climbing in.
“Hey, what was Barry talking about when he told you not to forget the challenge?” Travis asked as he pulled the truck onto the road.
“Oh, Mitch and Barry have some wild idea about a cook-off. Chili or steak or both. Barry was pumped about it—Mitch, not so much.” I cracked the window slightly.
“You going to do it?”
“A cooking challenge? You’ll never see me back down from that.”
“Mitch makes a mean chili,” Travis offered.
“I trained with some of the best chefs in the country. No worries. I can throw together meat, beans, and tomatoes with the best of ‘em.”
“And again, the plot thickens.”
“Would you stop saying that?” I huffed. “There is no plot between Mitch and me.”
“Mmhm,” Travis hummed. “Keep telling yourself that.”
I stared out the window and tried to concentrate on the pastoral scenery, but I couldn’t get Mitch and the challenge out of my head. In my head, I began planning my approach to creating prize-winning chili in case the challenge ever took place.
5
Mitch
“Damn, Mitch, it’s midnight already,” said Dan. “I think you’ve already put enough into my overtime pay, and I need some sleep. With you gone for this crazy cook-off thing, I’ve got another full day ahead tomorrow.”
I’d stared down into the bubbling pot of chili so long that my eyebrows curled from the damp moisture. “You’re not breathing a word about any of this—right? Remember, not a word to Barry or Carol about you helping me. If I win, I’ll make it worth your while. That’s a promise. I’ll come up with something.”
“I zipped my lips, but why’s it so damn important? That guy went to culinary school, so there’s no shame if he wins. You’re both great. Everyone in town will know that soon—if they don’t know it already.”
Dan leaned back against his hands, resting on the prep counter. I’d had him join me in the South Main kitchen at 7:30, thirty minutes after closing. I told him to park two blocks away, and I parked around the corner from Smitty’s Stop ’n Go so we wouldn’t draw any attention. I couldn’t lose, particularly to a guy like Tanner. Most of all, I wanted him to know that I knew my way around the kitchen. I didn’t know why for sure, but that was crucial.
“I don’t know. It’s important. We can’t have some city slicker riding into town and taking over. Not while you and I are here, and I know what you can do in the kitchen. You’re the best I’ve had here at South Main—outside of me, of course.”
Dan smirked. “Of course.”
“C’mon, humor me. I’m your boss.”
Dan reached a wooden spoon into the pot to taste. “And the last thing you’d want is for me to go cook for Tanner.”
“Don’t even—shit, I don’t want to think about that.”
Dan smiled after he tasted it. “This is the best yet. Seriously, here.” He handed me a spoon.
I blew on the spoon of chili to cool it off and then tasted. “Wow, I could go to Chicago and beat their asses right there in the city with this.”
“Did you remember to write everything down?” asked Dan.
“I’ve got the notes here on my phone.” I patted my pocket.
“And how are you going to explain gourmet level chili for the special tomorrow? Not that I’m saying the regular red stuff you serve is bad. Just that this—is different.”
“If anyone asks, and you know that most won’t—they’ll think I was having a good day, but if anyone asks—it’s you. I haven’t had you in the kitchen for long, so tell them you made a few suggestions. They’ll buy it.”
Dan nodded. “Buy it, yeah. You should package this up and have Luke sell it in the grocery.”
“Keep that in the back of your mind. We just might, and I’ll give you the credit you deserve if we do.” I slapped Dan on the back. “Now, go home and get some sleep. I’ll tell you how things go tomorrow. I’ve got Barry in my back pocket. I just have to convince Travis, and that shouldn’t be too hard. He’s a hometown boy.”
“To beat this, Tanner has to serve chili from the gods, and I want a taste.” Dan waved as he headed out.
I was brimming with confidence when the day of the cook-off arrived. We agreed to get together at Tanner’s house. I shook my head in disbelief when I saw that he’d had an extra stovetop installed on an island in the house’s massive old kitchen. He’d gone all out with state of the art appliances that kept the vintage feel of the place.
When I arrived with two bags full of ingredients and Barry in tow, I saw that Tanner had bottles of spices lined up on the counter with the labels removed. He was serious about keeping his recipe secret.
Travis met us at the door. He said, “The guy might be a little touched in the head, but damn if his cooking isn’t the best stuff I’ve ever eaten. I’d move in if he’d let me.”
Barry laughed and poked Travis in the belly. “You mean you don’t want to live on those lunch meat sub sandwiches and donuts you sell anymore?”
Travis poked at his nose, turning the tip upward. “I’m more refined now. I’ve advanced beyond your level, Barry.”
I shook my head and made my way to the kitchen. Biting my lip to avoid an audible gasp, I stood quietly in place for a moment and watched. Tanner wore a plain white t-shirt and snug-fitting crisp blue jeans. The clothes didn’t leave much to the imagination about his body, and what I saw was good, even excellent. He was reading a recipe card and pointing at his ingredients lined up on the counter one by one.
I coughed and purposefully knocked against the doorway to get rid of any suspicions that I was secretly watching him.
“Oh, Mitch, welcome!” To my surprise, Tanner checked me out, too, and it wasn’t subtle. It was that ego-feeding experience I’d had in the gay bars in the city. His eyes skipped from face to chest and then lingered on my crotch before he quickly looked away.
Mustering the swaggering attitude that Dan suggested, I asked, “Are you ready to go down?”
I immediately wanted to kick myself. My words came out the wrong way. Not that I’d mind if he wanted to go down on me. He caught the insinuation of the words and smirked. In a softer voice, perhaps designed to avoid Travis and Barry in the next room hearing it, Tanner said, “Maybe you’re the one that likes to go down.”
Holy shit, yeah, you need to get a grip, Mitch, if you’re going to win this thing. Sexual innuendo had to be Tanner’s version of trash talk.
Barry entered the kitchen with Travis at his shoulder. He said, “We want to make sure that both of you know we are absolutely impartial.” He held his hand over his chest. “Honest to God, we are. Right, Travis?”
“Uh, yeah.” Travis cast a somewhat nervous glance between Tanner and me.
Two hours after we began, both Tanner and I agreed that it was time to turn the tasting over to our impartial judges. I tried both before we brought the judges in, and Tanner did, too. I’d tried not to concentrate too much on what he did, but I saw techniques I’d only watched before on TV on cooking shows. His knife skills were impressive, and he used three different kinds of beans.
Tanner’s chili tasted good. To be honest, much, much better than that. It blew me away. Mine wa
s close to what I did with Dan the night before, and that was excellent, but I knew Tanner took it to a different level. I shook my head to try and stop my cascading thoughts. They’d moved on from prowess in the kitchen to speculating whether Tanner was as good in bed as he was in the kitchen.
As I shook Tanner’s hand, I said, “Let the best man win.” I silently told myself that he wouldn’t be single if he were that good in bed.
Barry pointed toward the dining room. “Out of the kitchen, both of you. It’s our turn now, and we need space to taste and discuss.”
Tanner said, “Grab a beer from the fridge, and we’ll leave them to it.”
I was only a few feet from an extra-wide fridge. It was one of those designed to hold an entire large fish. I didn’t know anyone who had a kitchen like Tanner’s. As I pulled the refrigerator door open, he brushed up next to me to reach for his own. It wasn’t merely a passing touch. It was more like a rub. I turned my head to look at his face and saw a soft smile. I followed Tanner to the dining room, beer in hand.
Tanner didn’t sit across the table from me. He sat at the end right around the corner. Our knees nearly touched underneath. It was close enough that I wondered if he was trying to hit on me. Surely not. Get a grip, Mitch. You’re an old guy.
Tanner swallowed a mouthful of beer. “Damn, I think it’s anybody’s game. You made an impressive pot of chili. Not that I’m surprised. They’d run your diner out of business if you couldn’t deliver a solid bowl of red.”
I thought about using my swagger, but I couldn’t. I knew Tanner did a great job. Still, I didn’t want to lose. Too many people recognized me for the best restaurant food in Willow Springs for too long. I was an old dog on the food scene, but Dan taught me a few new tricks, and experience had to count for something.
At the last minute, I tried a tiny bit of bluster. “You sound a little nervous. Maybe the uppity young guy needs a lesson from the more experienced.”
Tanner raised an eyebrow. I wondered if I’d gone too far, but he leaned forward with curiosity in his eyes. “I bet you have plenty of experience. Maybe you do have a few lessons to teach. Instruction for life.”