by Gina Calanni
“So, what kind of cooking are you up to?” Brandon wiggles his eyebrows at me.
“Um, well, the usual.”
“Hey, Brandon. What’s going on, man? I heard you were back in town.” A redheaded guy raises a fist to Brandon to apparently bump. I’m still not sure why this fist bumping thing has become such a big deal. I, for one, do not want to fist bump with anyone. Female, male, young or old, no sirree. I’ll keep my fists to myself, thank you.
“Yeah, that’s right. Working at the creamery. This is Sahara. She is in the same training class as me.” Brandon grasps my shoulder and pulls me in close to his body so that it’s like we are a pair, like a salt and pepper shaker that are glued together. As in, we don’t make sense being this close.
“Hi there, Sarah. I’m Neil.” He offers his hand and I have to decide like always if I want to correct him or not.
“It’s Sahara, like the desert.” Brandon rubs his hand over the cusp of my shoulder like he is trying to comfort me. But I don’t need comforting in this situation. It’s one I’ve encountered too many times.
“Oh, my bad, I’m sorry. You probably get that all the time, huh?”
“All the time,” I say with a laugh more for him than me, as this part of my day is quite a bore. It’s like living out a scene in Groundhog Day on repeat. Which I would file under “toss out” if this was a flavor because it’s one that does not leave a good taste in your mouth. No time for a repeat. Even my mama wouldn’t want to save those leftovers.
Neil nods. “So, Brandon, you coming by the club anytime soon? I know some people have been asking about you. Word is out that you’re back. Odd that you’re at your –”
“Yeah, it’s nice being back.”
“I thought you were still pissed –”
“Time, everything in time.”
“Ah, I got you, man.” He nods and punches Brandon’s chest in a way which would make most people flinch or move but Brandon doesn’t budge an inch. It’s like he is a mountain and a drop of rain has fallen on his chest. And I’m just going to ignore how intense his face is.
“Maybe. Well, we’ve got shopping to do. Sahara is going to make up a special dinner.”
“Right.” Neil eyes me and turns in the opposite direction.
“What kind of club are y’all in?”
“Um, just… it’s a local club.” He shrugs.
I squint my eyes. “Well, I’d assume it was local if he thought he was going to meet you there, but what is it? Or is it a secret club?” I can’t help but laugh. Brandon doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that would be in one of those secret society club things they show on Twenty Twenty every few years. But then again, I don’t know much about him.
“It’s the country club. Nothing big.” He shrugs again.
Hmm. Well, all right then. “Okay.” And now this is more awkward than before Neil stepped into the picture.
“So, what kind of flavors are you thinking about creating for your meal?” Brandon nudges me, clearly trying to change the subject.
“I’m not much of a dinner experimenter. I usually just stick to the directions on the back of the box.” I laugh. This might seem as backwards as a raccoon taking out a plate from some camping gear prior to eating all the food you packed.
Brandon grabs my elbows and stands in front of me. “Are you telling me that the new flavor expert doesn’t have any cooking skills outside of ice cream?” He lets out a chuckle.
“What? Now, hold on a minute. I have skills. They just aren’t flavor-creating skills, like with ice cream. I just follow the instructions on the box and serve it how it says.” I brush my hair over my shoulder and scan the aisle full of boxed meals. This is okay, right? I know they are full of preservatives but some of them say they are healthy. I know they are better than opening a canned meal. Now that is really scraping the barrel of health, that or ramen. Talk about sodium – enough for a stampede of horses to get enough licks in for a year.
“Sahara, let me take the reins tonight and make you a meal that doesn’t come from a box.” He links our elbows and steers us away from the boxed aisle and moves toward the fresh vegetables and poultry section. He fills up the basket with some items I’ve seen before and some I’ve never even heard of, like a purple sweet potato? This reminds me of Mrs. Cox’s second-grade class and how we stuck a needle full of dye into the eggs that were to become baby chicks right before Easter. When they hatched we had blue, yellow (obviously), green, pink and purple chicks.
By the time I get through all of my elementary memories I realize we are headed to the parking lot and I’ve been completely checked out mentally during this time. Like when Uncle Matthew came home for a weekend visit; he was there but not. There was a non-recognition response on his face the entire time. My mama just ignored it and kept talking to him like he just couldn’t hear as well as the rest of us, and when he didn’t answer she went about her business as if he had responded and made him a meal, and even fed him when he didn’t pick up his fork. This side of my mama, I’d never seen before. Granted, I probably couldn’t remember her feeding me, as I’m not one of them uber-memory people, but I still have never gotten this caring… Well, I don’t mean that. It’s just that my mama has always been more about jumping in the ice water and learning to swim through the glaciers than a skinny dip in the hot summer sun in a familiar lake.
Brandon has guided me to his shiny truck, and at this moment I choose to wake up and not be like one of those wax-figure statues that seem semi-real but never talk. At least if I were a robot or something like that I would speak. But I’m going to. I will. I can’t be guided along as if I’m on Sesame Street.
“Um, Brandon, what did you have planned?”
He lets out a slight laugh. “I didn’t have anything planned, but once I found out that the expert flavor-maker is not too savvy in the dinner world, I decided it was my job on earth to show her what can happen when you step outside the comfort of the box.” He winks and opens the passenger side door. I slide into the seat. Not because I’m not awake. I am. I’m more awake than I have ever been. I want to go with Brandon and find out about his flavor quest outside the box and anything else he wants to show me. All the alarms that are ringing in the back of my mind are being bopped on their heads and told to hush, and to give him and this a chance. The slight possibility that I, Sahara Smith, might have found someone who fancies her the same way she fancies him… I mean, I’m having a hard time envisioning it but I know all the preachy people say you have to envision something to make it happen and that’s what I’m doing. I’m envisioning something great and I want to see it really happen.
Brandon pulls up to a house that leads out to an open field. No other houses or occupants. This is a bit off. Does he not have neighbors? It’s dark, but I can still make out that his home is secluded.
I follow behind him and the package of groceries to the front door. “Are we further out in the country?”
Brandon laughs. “Why? Does my house look downhome or something?”
“No.” I take in his house, or what I can actually see of it. Nothing about it seems countrified but I’m out of my element. I’ve never been to a house with a guy before and definitely not someone like him. And here I am being welcomed into Brandon’s.
“It’s just that I didn’t notice any neighbors.” I slide some of my hair behind my ear.
“Yeah, good observation. You won’t see any for miles. My… this property is secluded and not going to blend with townsfolk. It was never intended for that purpose.”
I take a step back both mentally and physically. I’ve never seen this side of Brandon before – well, granted, I haven’t seen much of him. But this seems so harsh and not something I would want to snuggle up against. NO. More like an exit plan, like this is not the right path for you, Sahara. Exit plan stat. You don’t have any fancy training but this won’t end well.
Brandon eyes me and runs his massive hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I should have menti
oned this isn’t my place… and I’m only here temporarily. I don’t care for the owner. I’m sorry if that came across as being harsh. It’s just the man makes me sick.”
I shake my head as if I can shake myself back into the situation. “Which man?”
Brandon glances at the ground. “Let’s just go back a few minutes, before I said anything.”
I nod.
“Mr. Blue. He is the worst of the worst. I wouldn’t be in the class if it weren’t for… well that doesn’t matter. Anyways, this is his property and of course it’s far away from everyone and everything, just like him.”
I gulp. Not knowing at all what to say. I’ve never heard an ill word spoken of Mr. Blue. Who wouldn’t like the biggest ice-cream maker in all of Texas? The man literally brings happy faces to millions daily. Blue Ribbon ice cream is the best ice cream in Texas and in the United States – scratch that – the world. It really is. There is a huge difference. It’s a secret. But I’ll be in on that secret soon, when I move on to the flavor creation department, assuming that my world doesn’t crumble to the ground like a melted ice-cream cone on a hot day that slid off your tongue and down your pretty Sunday dress only to land splat on the gravel of the trailer park. I shudder. No, I’m going to do everything it takes to avoid that from happening, for sure.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Brandon reaches for my hand.
“No, it’s fine. Feel whatever you want, I guess. I just…” I glance down and away from his eyes. I can’t focus on them, not now. Not in this moment. I can’t think about how dreamy they are, not pinned up against the way he is so upset about a man I wouldn’t understand anyone being upset over. It doesn’t make sense.
“You what?” Brandon pulls me in close to him. “Tell me, Sahara, what are you thinking right now?”
I shake my head and force myself not to focus on him. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“It’s something if you’re thinking it. Tell me what’s going on behind those beautiful browns?”
He kisses my forehead and I’ve lost focus on where I am, and what is on my mind has vanished. His lips move further down my face along the side of my jaw, slow, soft kisses until he reaches my mouth. And I’m gone forever. His lips are over mine and it’s more than the way his body is connecting to mine. It’s so much deeper. This is not some sort of handshake of a kiss; it’s a deep desire. Like he is yearning for something more than a kiss, something more from me than a skin-to-skin connection. Brandon is seeking out a confirmation or an agreement of some sort from my body that is more than a word. His moves are strong and with a sense of control, a question that requires a response, and I want to give it and to deliver an answer. But I’m afraid. His lips are taking me away, far away from gravity, from reality, and everything it encompasses. I’m swinging in the air on a seat that is not made to last forever. Like I’m going to have one final push and then drop into some unknown place that I don’t want to experience now or ever.
Chapter Five
Mr. Flints is pacing back and forth in front of the class with his silver pointer. “Week two, people. You have survived the first week of Ice Cream Boot Camp. Today begins a new chapter. A very important one. Flavors.”
The classroom nods its collective head. I’ve read over the training program guide for each week of our six-week intensive course, and week two did seem to be one of the best weeks. We get to learn about each flavor Blue Ribbon has ever produced, which flavors sell the best, and then there is the tasting test. Prior to week one at Blue Ribbon Training I would have bet my ice-cream skills against anyone’s… but now I’m not so confident. I sure hope Mr. Flints doesn’t decide to measure my Dairy Queen skills against Blue Ribbon skills going forward. I’ve managed not to be called on for anything else and hopefully it will stay that way. There are at least thirty other people in the class, which, given the math, means that if he calls on someone once a day for an experiment, I only need be chosen once.
“Now, class, you’re going to need to find a partner, because we are going to start with our blind taste testing, so I hope you did your homework this weekend.” Mr. Flints holds up a stack of papers. “I’ve got to say I’m happy to see so many of you turned it in on time.” He nods. “However, writing something down on paper is not the same as experiencing the real thing.” He chortles.
I refrain from rolling my eyes even though I really want to. I just let it go. I did pick up a few of Blue Ribbon’s signature flavors at the weekend for Ms. Myra and me to try. I wanted to get a head start on this week and who doesn’t like ice cream? Poor Ms. Myra just scooted her spoon around in the bowl until it was a soupy mess. I’m not sure if she didn’t like the flavors I chose or just wasn’t up to it. There is a small piece of me that thinks her old-age comments are a disguise for something else. I know my mama wouldn’t want me to ask, as that’s bad manners and the like, so I haven’t.
“All right, class, find a partner and choose wisely. Once you’ve got your partner, take turns taste testing. Try different flavors at a time and then switch.”
People push out their chairs and begin moving about the room. I glance to the right; there is a lady who looks like my Aunt Karen. She’s in her thirties, but has the look of being older, like wiser or something. She doesn’t have any wrinkles. But her eyes are like the eyes of someone much older, or shoot, maybe she’s had a tough life. I don’t know, but either way she is not catching my eyes on her. In fact, she seems to be eyeing the older man to her right.
“Hey there, want to be partners?”
My attention is on the speaker. Brandon. I take in a deep breath. He looks fresher than the first day of spring.
“Uh, sure.” I pinch my thigh. Get it together, Sahara. You’ve been around a good-looking guy before. I press my lips together to prevent myself from saying anything I’ll regret later.
“Great, I’ll get the first round of ice creams.” Brandon turns on his heel. “My treat.” He winks at me and makes his way to the front of the classroom. There are twenty tubs of ice cream set up with small cups and white spoons in front of each.
I roll my eyes and laugh. He is something else. Especially since he doesn’t seem to want to give up on me. Why is that? I shake my head. It doesn’t make sense.
Brandon returns to my desk and slides into the empty chair the Aunt Karen lookalike has vacated in favor of one nearer the old guy.
“All right, now close your eyes.” Brandon peers at me from over his shoulder.
“Close my eyes? I’m not going to close my eyes.” I blink my eyes several times to make sure I’m not dreaming. Why on earth would I close my eyes? That makes no sense.
“Sahara, you have to close your eyes. If you see the color of the ice cream that will skew your thought process.” Brandon cocks his head to the right at me.
“Not necessarily.”
“Close them.”
Shoot, he does have a point. But I don’t feel comfortable sitting in a classroom of strangers with my eyes closed, let alone my mouth open. It all seems so awkward and uncomfortable.
Nonetheless, I close my eyes, happy that I put on a nice shade of blue eyeshadow today. Even though Ms. Myra gave me a long once over as we were sitting at breakfast this morning.
“Keep them closed and open your mouth.”
I take in a deep breath and swallow. I let my mouth open, hoping I don’t look like one of those dolphins at those sea parks with their mouths open ready for the trainers to stuff a fish in.
Cold, cold, it’s cold. Of course it’s cold, it’s ice cream, but with my eyes closed it’s like my sensitivity to temperatures is higher. I close my mouth and run my tongue over the creamy lump in my mouth. It’s got a mix of vanilla and something that reminds me of my Uncle Andy. I let my tongue poke at each part of the lump until I touch a skin of some sort. Cherries. Yes, that’s it.
“You can open your eyes now. The ice cream is already in your mouth.”
I pop open my eyes just so that I can roll th
em at Brandon and then I snap them shut. With my eyes closed I am tasting all sorts of flavors. This one is tough. But I’d know a cherry anywhere; it’s the only fruit that I don’t like.
“Cherries Jubilee.” I let the sides of my mouth pull up; I can’t help it. I’m proud I figured out the first one and I know I’m right about it.
Brandon runs his large hand through his light-brown hair.
“Nice! I didn’t think you were ever going to come up with an answer. You were gone in Pleasure Mountain for so long with your eyes closed.”
I slap his leg. “Now, you’re the one that wanted me to close my eyes. Besides, I don’t even like cherries, so I wouldn’t consider that taste one of pleasure.”
Brandon’s dreamy blues eye my hand. I retract it from his leg. I didn’t mean to leave it there after swatting him. Shoot, I probably shouldn’t have done that. I don’t want to get charged with sexual harassment or something like that. We had to watch that video before we could even start the first week of the course.
Brandon laughs. “Right, I wanted you to close them until it was in your mouth. But you kept them closed the entire time. The ice cream must have already melted by the time you opened your pretty hazel eyes again.”
My eyes go big. I know this because they strain. Wow. Brandon just described my eyes as pretty. Okay, well, that settles that. I don’t think he’ll be reporting me for sexual harassment today. I can breathe steady now. Go on, Sahara, breathe normal.
“All right, so what’s the next one?” I need to get us back on task. I peer around the class but no one else seems to be closing their eyes. I wonder if we are breaking any rules by doing so. Or maybe Mr. Flints will appreciate the extra effort in not skewing our options; ha, probably not!
Brandon inspects my face. “Shut down those shades of gold.”