The Baby Shift: Idaho
Shifter Babies Of America 40
Fanning
Copyright © 2019 by Fanning
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Also by Fanning
Chapter 1
Sadie Brown looked at the small van full of all her worldly possessions and wondered how exactly it had come to this: her packing up and leaving Oregon after nearly a decade of living— some would say thriving—in Portland.
Of course, she knew the reason. A man. It almost always was, wasn’t it? A woman’s life could be going perfectly well, her career a success, her social life full of wonderful and supportive friends. And then a man enters the equation, and it all falls apart.
In this case, Darren James was the critical variable in that equation.
Darren. As much as she hated him, uttering his name under her breath still made Sadie warm and rosy all over while she sat in the moving van, waiting for traffic to open up enough for her to pull onto Southeast Stark Street.
Darren had come into her life at a time when Sadie hadn’t even been thinking about dating. Her job as Chef de Cuisine at The Orchard, Portland’s premier farm-to-table restaurant (which wasn’t saying a lot, since Portland had practically coined the phrase “farm-to-table”) was consuming her.
Eighteen-hour days and one-hundred-hour work weeks meant that Sadie did little other than cook, eat, and sleep, and the latter only just. But when Darren James had walked into The Orchard one Sunday night for the special of beet tart tatin with frisee salad, that all changed.
It was the middle of January during the flu season, and half the wait staff was out sick, which meant the restaurant was in shambles. Orders were forgotten as soon as they were taken; drinks sat on the bar with the ice cubes slowly melting; and not one, but three wine bottles—a 1998 vintage Sirah and two bottles from the restaurant owner’s vineyard in Napa—had been dropped and their priceless liquids roughly and hastily scrubbed from the vintage Italian marble floor. It was, in short, a disaster, but none of it phased Darren.
Darren was one of those people who didn’t get angry or frustrated, no matter how stressful the situation. When her car broke down on a weekend trip to Seattle, Sadie had cursed the stupid jalopy with every-four letter word she knew, while Darren sat placidly in the passenger seat, dialing AAA and assuring Sadie they’d still make it with plenty of time left before their dinner reservation at Canlis.
When Sadie had missed two periods and rushed to the pharmacy at midnight to get a pregnancy test, Darren had run his hand down her back as she peed on a stick and assured her that no matter what happened, they would “face it together.” And when those two little pink lines had appeared, and Sadie saw her whole life’s plan begin to crumble before her, Darren had held her while she cried, smiling the whole time, because “how could I not be excited? We’re going to have a baby!”
Looking back, that was the beginning of the end. Darren had wanted the baby, and Sadie had not. Darren had wanted to settle down and start a family, and Sadie had not. Darren wanted them to give up their apartments in Mt. Tabor and move to the more sensible and family-friendly Hillsboro, and Sadie did not.
The true end came just after Sadie’s miscarriage. The miscarriage itself had happened just five weeks into the pregnancy, in the middle of a lunch shift at The Orchard. The poor dishwasher who found her in the bathroom had called 911, then called Darren, who was by then a familiar face at the restaurant as well as being Sadie’s “In Case of Emergency” on her phone.
Darren had been appropriately distressed at the ER, holding Sadie’s hand while the doctors told them both that the baby was lost, and Sadie would need a few days to recover. But then, just before the white coats left, Darren had asked, “When can we start trying again?”
Sadie had laughed. And not just a giggle, either. It was a full-bellied laugh that had made her abdomen feel like there was a knife sticking in it and a laugh that was also oddly cathartic. The doctors had stared at her bemused, unsure what to do with a woman who had just miscarried and was now laughing maniacally at her partner. Finally, though, they decided that leaving was the best course of action. And then she and Darren were alone, and her laughter ebbed as she told him, “Darren, we’re done.”
It had been a hard breakup for both of them, not least because Darren kept telling Sadie she didn’t mean it. “You’ll regret this, Sadie. You want this, I know you do. You want us, our family. You just have to come around to the idea. You’ve been a career woman for so long. I know it’ll take some getting used to. But come on, you have to try. For me. Please?”
Now though, it was over. All of it. Her relationship, and her life in Portland as she knew it. Sadie had quit The Orchard the day after she and Darren broke up, found someone to take over her lease the day after, and barely two weeks after that day in the hospital, she was now turning onto I-205 S toward Boise, Idaho. It seemed as good a place as any to start over.
Chapter 2
“Pulled pork sandwich with paprika fries and coleslaw!” Joshua Campbell yelled out the window of his food truck, Gem State Eats, a small red basket filled with the stacked sandwich and fries in his hand. It was the lunch rush, and he was already almost out of the day’s special, chili con carne with jalapeno cornbread and homemade sour cream. Andy, his co-chef of sorts, was on his way to their kitchen to get more, but traffic was a nightmare this time of day, so God only knew when he’d be back.
“Thanks!” said the customer, grabbing the basket from Josh’s hand and stuffing a few bills in the tip jar placed at the edge of the truck’s counter.
Josh didn’t see the bills go in. His attention was already on the next person in line, looking at him expectantly as he removed the pen from behind his ear and prepared to take their order. Another bowl of goddamn chili. That was their second to last one. Would he have to nix the special completely before Andy got there?”
As though the good Lord himself had heard his pleas, just as Josh turned back to the stove to pin the order on the board over the heads of his two food prep girls, Gracie and Fatima, a knock sounded on the truck’s side door, followed a moment later by Andy’s shout of “Open up! Hands full of chili here!”
“Just in time!” Josh said as he opened the door and took the industrial-sized pot from Andy’s hands. It was heavy, but Josh was stronger than the average chef, and always had been. Being a werewolf did that to a guy. His muscles were cut without him even trying and had only grown more so in the past few years from hefting pot after pot onto the truck’s stove.
“Yay! Chili is here!” Fatima yelled, fist-pumping as she turned the burner on low heat. Steam was still coming off the chili—Josh had left it cooking slowly all morning back at the kitchen, knowing the guys from next door would pop in to check on it now and then. The food truck community was good that way. Sure, it was a competitive business, with each truck trying to outshine the other with the best dishes, cheapest specials, and the most write-ups on blogs and newspapers, but still, they helped each other out. It was almost a makeshift clan, which Josh liked. He might be a lone wolf by nature, but he understood the importance of a community now and again. It was one of the things he’d liked most about working at The Orchard. They had all been a mak
eshift family, helping each other out. He missed that, and a few other things, about his old gig.
“Order up!” Gracie yelled, even though Josh was standing right behind her. They had a code for communication in the truck. The louder, the better. On an average day, the truck got over five hundred customers, and their chatter, coupled with the ambient noise from the construction site nearby and the traffic trundling along the road just behind them, meant that voices needed to be raised if they were to be heard. Shouting ensured that.
Josh grabbed the basket from her, filled with the teriyaki pineapple burger that had started out as a special but had quickly become such a fan favorite that they’d recently moved it to the permanent menu. “Teriyaki pineapple burger with waffle fries and satay slaw!” Josh yelled, his voice ringing out over the crowds as a hand went in the air and a customer pushed forward, her face expressing both her hunger and her delight at the meal he handed to her. That, that was what he lived for. That face alone kept him going for the next three hours until the afternoon break.
“Okay, so I need you guys to head back and start prepping for tonight. The ribs are in the slow cooker and should be mostly done but check the sauce to see if it needs any more Sriracha. Scallions and mushrooms need to be prepped for the turkey tacos tonight, and I need beets chopped for the red flannel hash. Fatima, make sure you wear gloves this time,” Josh said, quirking an eyebrow at her.
Fatima greeted his eyebrow quirk with a roll of her eyes. “Beet juice and blood look totally different. There was no reason for that guy to scream last week.”
“Your hands were dripping red. I think it’s an easy mistake to make,” Andy said, smirking as he took a sip of the cherry limeade Gracie had made everyone as an afternoon pick-me-up.
“Fine, fine. I’ll make sure to wear my gloves. What else do we need to prep? Does anything need to be done for the poutine?” She asked, nibbling on a bit of pulled pork leftover from the lunch shift.
“The stock for the gravy is done, and I got the cheese curds last night, so just cut the fries, and we should be all set. Be here by no later than 5:00 to set up, and make sure you all eat. I don’t want any blood sugar crashes tonight, okay?” he said, looking pointedly at Andy, who was well-known in their group for forgetting to eat.
“Aye aye, Cap’n!” he shouted, saluting Josh as he walked past him and out of the trailer. The women followed suit, and then Josh was alone, just himself, a good playlist of classic rock, and three hours of cleaning to do.
Opening a food truck wasn’t something Josh had ever thought about back in his early days in restaurants. Back then, he’d thought he could just work his way up. He’d known plenty of guys that had started out as dishwashers and eventually gone on to become sous chefs, executive chefs and, in one case, Head Chef at Le Canard, a restaurant in Portland famous for, you guessed it, duck. Josh knew he had the guts and gall to do it, too.
Or so he’d thought. Sure, he’d made the move from dishwasher to server to bartender, but he’d been stuck behind the bar for a good five years when he realized that that wasn’t going to change no matter how much he vocalized his love of food, his relish for cooking, his desire to try his hand at anything, literally anything, in the kitchen. The Orchard had treated its staff, including its cooks, well, which meant that all were reluctant to leave a position that provided paid vacation, sick leave, and health insurance. Not even the guy whose only job was to chop carrots and radishes for the salads had wanted to risk taking a job at his brother’s new restaurant venture for fear that in a year he’d be without a job or benefits.
Leaving the restaurant had been a risk, but it had paid off. Gem State Eats was consistently voted one of the city’s best food trucks, and Josh was making more money than he ever had bartending. He was so solvent that he was even able to take vacations, proper ones, with his phone off and a margarita in his hand, for the first time ever. Life was good.
Or at least, it was until that evening.
Chapter 3
Sadie hadn’t really thought much about her move when she had decided to pack up and go to Boise. She’d been so intent on getting away from Darren and the sour reminders of their relationship scattered all over the city, that she hadn’t even stopped to consider what the hell she was going to do once she touched down in Idaho.
Luckily, fate had called to her, in the form of a flyer posted on the lamp pole just outside her new apartment building advertising a food truck for sale. Sadie loved food trucks. Who didn’t, really? The chance to get a quick, often cheap, and always tasty meal from a man or woman in a van was a novelty of the modern age that she had happily embraced. In the decade that Sadie had lived in Portland, the city had become overrun with the trucks. While other chefs were bemoaning the dissolution of the food scene, saying that with every new truck came another lost customer, Sadie was spending the few precious hours she had off each week wandering from truck to truck, sampling such delicacies as macaroni and cheese in a waffle cone, tofu empanadas, Korean barbecue burritos, and deep-fried snickers bars from a truck that specialized in truly obscene desserts.
Those trucks had been her saving grace when Sadie felt the weight of the restaurant bearing heavy on her shoulders. The Orchard had begun growing increasingly fussy with its food in Sadie’s last three years there, seeking out the freshest produce, happiest cows, pigs and ducks, and aiming for the coveted title of the city’s best restaurant, which meant that new menus had to be developed, tastings held, new servers trained. It was exhausting. Those food trucks meals had often been the only thing that kept Sadie from quitting. Well, that, and getting to gaze upon the steely blue eyes of bartender Joshua Campbell each night.
It was those same meals that had inspired Sadie to call the number on that poster outside her building, resulting in her owning a well-used but also well-maintained Ford F-450 Cutaway whose backend had been transformed into a sizable kitchen. For an extra $350, the truck’s owner had thrown in all of their old kitchen equipment, including five slow cookers, countless spatulas and spoons, and a coveted condiment station the owner claimed at least ten of his coworkers had been eyeing.
It had taken weeks of applying for permits, menu planning and late-night painting of the truck’s siding, but Sadie’s truck was finally ready for its unveiling. Tonight, was the first night of the annual Boise Food Truck Market, and Sadie’s Sweets had snapped up a coveted spot right by the entrance/exit, where passersby would hopefully ogle the cakes and cookies she had whipped up and buy a few to spoil their dinner or add to their night caps.
Focusing only on sweets was a risky move, she knew, especially at a market that ran from 5-10pm, when most diners were looking for something savory to go with the drinks they could buy at the makeshift bar set up in the middle of the market. But Sadie knew her cakes were good.
After all, pastry had been her first love. She’d focused on it and it alone in culinary school, only coming to the savory side of things after the restaurant where she’d been a head pastry chef closed down and the owner offered her a chance to cook at one of his other restaurants.
Sadie used to dream of cakes and cookies, imagining weird and wonderful flavor combinations well before Milkbar had made a name for itself doing just that. Getting her hands dirty with flour and butter had reminded her how simple left seemed when you knew that whisking egg whites made soft peaks, that dough kneaded would turn elastic and smooth. Baking helped Sadie feel like she had some control over her life again.
Selling those baked goods was another story. As Sadie pulled into her spot at the market and hopped out of the truck, she had to remind herself that this was only her first night. If sales weren’t good, she’d do better the next day. And the next, and the next, until all of Boise was gobbling up her cakes. She knew they were good. Countless tastings with her new staff members and their partners and friends had told her so.
“All right, boss! Let’s get this thing going!” Mike, one of her staff, yelled as he walked toward her. His broad smile calmed
Sadie’s jitters a bit, and together they got to work, getting the van ready for its grand opening.
Chapter 4
“Order up!” Fatima called behind Josh. The smell of turkey tacos was permeating the whole of the truck, and Josh’s stomach growled, reminding him that he had broken the cardinal rule of food trucking: he’d forgotten to eat.
“Damn! I’m pretty sure they heard that all the way in Oregon!” Andy told Josh, laughing as he put the finishing touches on a basket of tofu empanadas.
Josh rolled his eyes and ignored the kid, because like it or not, he didn’t have time to eat now. They’d been absolutely slammed since 5pm, and at 8:30, things didn’t look like they were going to let up any time soon.
They’d sold out of the red flannel hash faster than Josh could have imagined---who knew the good people of Boise would take to beetroot so well?--- and the girls were working double-time to make sure they had enough taco meat to last them the rest of the night. Gracie had suggested they do a dessert as well, and Josh had agreed, whipping up a cherry pie just before opening. But weirdly, almost no one was buying it. He tried not to be offended---after all, everything else was selling well--- but this was his grandmother’s recipe. The one that had won the state fair seven years in a row. They had little pieces of pie laid out on a platter for patrons to try, but though the plate had to be refilled every twenty or thirty minutes, pies were just sitting on the counter, uneaten. Josh didn’t get it.
That is, until the end of the night, when the four of them were so tired that Gracie briefly fell asleep while putting leftover scallions away, her head falling to her chest, the large metal bin of onions slowly going slack in her arms. Josh had just doled out tips and sent them all home, saying he’d do the rest of the clean-up, when his eyes finally landed on the name of the truck next to him. Sadie’s Sweets. Painted in bold colors on the front of the truck was a giant pie.
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