"Hi," he says. When I look into his eyes I swear I see sparkles.
"Hi."
"I, uh…" He peeks inside. "I came to say thank you."
"Oh," I reply.
"What's going on in there?"
"Evie and Tansy are making amends." I glance over my shoulder toward the kitchen.
"Right," he continues. "Um…they sort of told me what happened before I was discharged, but I don't remember much. I know you helped me though so thanks."
"You're welcome."
"And I was wondering…" He scratches his head. "I was wondering if I can call you sometime? You'll be in Portland for the summer, right?"
I nod, thinking about my dream I never finished.
"Of course." I smile. Maybe I will get the chance to kiss an Oregon Duck after all?
"Okay," he replies. He takes a step back toward his car. "I have to get going, but I'll see you soon?"
"Looking forward to it."
"Bye, Poppy." Presley grins, and accidently drops his car keys. His defined cheeks look rosy against his tan skin. He quickly picks up his keys and waves as he hops in the driver's seat and pulls away. Evie and Tansy join me just in time to wave back as he speeds down the street.
"He has the hots for you, Poppy," Evie comments.
"I guess the spell didn't work," Tansy adds.
"Of course it didn't work." Evie rolls her eyes.
"Because there's no such thing as magic," I recite. "Yada, yada. We all know you're a realist."
"No," Evie jokes, "it didn't work because technically the polka-dotted bra wasn't mine." She chuckles, placing a hand on her stomach. "I took it from my sister."
CHOCOLATE BROWNIE BOMBE
2 packages brownie mix
3 pints chocolate ice cream, softened
2 pints vanilla ice cream, softened
You will also need a 10" bowl and 6-7" bowl.
*For this recipe, I used a 10" bowl, and a 6" bowl. Use whatever bowls you have available as long as one fits nicely into the other. Please note that using a bowl larger than 10" for the outer layer will require more ice cream, and using a smaller bowl for the outer layer will require less.
Prepare and bake the brownies according to package instructions, and let them cool. Cut them into even squares. Line your largest bowl with plastic wrap and cover the inside surface with brownie slices (there will be some left over). Cover with plastic wrap and place bowl in the freezer for 30-60 minutes (you can let your chocolate ice cream soften during this time).
When the brownies are stiff, spread a layer of chocolate ice cream so that it covers the brownie surface. Press the smaller bowl into the ice cream so that it freezes in a dome-like shape. Cover with plastic wrap and freeze for 30-60 minutes (you can let the vanilla ice cream soften during this time).
Remove the smaller bowl by filling it halfway with hot water and gently pulling it out. Fill the remaining hole with vanilla ice cream. Smooth the top so that the ice cream forms a flat base. Cover with plastic wrap, and freeze for about three hours or overnight.
To serve, let the ice cream bombe sit at room temperature for 5-10 minutes and flip the bowl onto a serving plate. You can also place a warm dishtowel around the bowl to help loosen the top layer. Dip your knife in hot water to cut and serve.
MIX & MATCH:
You can customize your ice cream bombe by using whatever ice cream flavors you like. Instead of using brownies for the outside layer, you can use candy bar slices, cookies, or just ice cream. Be sure to line the bowl with plastic wrap and freeze the top layer first so that it keeps a dome-like shape.
* * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A. Gardner is a native westerner exploring the sweet bites of the south. After years of working in the healthcare industry, she moved across the country with her husband and adventurous baby boy. She is a mystery and romance writer with a serious cupcake obsession and a love of storytelling that began at an early age. When she is not writing, she is either chasing after her son, out for a swim, trying out a new recipe, or painting her nails bright blue.
To learn more about A. Gardner, visit her online at: http://www.gardnerbooks.blogspot.com
BOOKS BY A. GARDNER
Poppy Peters Mysteries:
Southern Peach Pie and A Dead Guy
Chocolate Macaroons and A Dead Groom
BARBECUE & BAD JUJU
(Culinary Competition Mysteries)
by
Janel Gradowski
* * * * *
Amy sipped iced coffee as she surveyed the classroom space. From her vantage point at the back of the room it appeared that most of the folding chairs, set up in rows facing the demonstration kitchen, were occupied. She rocked onto her tippy toes, but the altitude change didn't reveal any previously hidden pockets of available seating. The only empty chairs were in the last row, behind dozens of people. She sighed. Little to no view of the presentation was the price she paid for being addicted to coffee. The line downstairs at the Art of Coffee booth had been longer than she anticipated, but bypassing the stop wasn't an option. She needed something to do as she waited. Obsessively, discreetly sipping coffee was better than tapping her feet or twirling her hair—both things she tended to do when she was nervous. The glass of iced coffee was a public service for the prevention of annoying habits.
She shuffled down the back row, skirting the bouncing knees of several fidgety women who she knew were fellow contestants. Even if she hadn't recognized them, the proliferation of nervous ticks would've given them away. One woman tugged her earlobe while another chewed on her fingernails. They all wanted to win the big prize in the Market Mash-up Melee.
For the food trucks, a one-year, rent-free patio space lease at the market was at stake. The top sidekick would win a huge gift basket full of goodies from every vendor at the cavernous market, from vodka-cured salmon to handmade goat's milk soap, along with the option to teach a cooking class at the market every week for the following year. There was a waiting list for cooks who wanted to earn extra money teaching the classes full of eager students. Since Amy was planning to start a cooking blog in order to help achieve her ultimate goal of publishing a cookbook, the exposure would be invaluable.
"Excuse me…sorry…can I squeeze through please?"
She finally made it to the open seat in the middle of the row. As she sat down she realized it would've been easier to just slide the folding chair back then slip into the opening. The sweet, creamy coffee was half-gone, but the caffeine hadn't kicked in yet. Plus, it wasn't like her brain ever functioned at full capacity during awards presentations anyway. There was no way to avoid the mind-numbing nervousness as she tried to at least look calm. The Market Mash-up Melee had been particularly Zen destroying since she'd done the same thing every Saturday morning for the last month—squeeze into a crowded room to see if she had survived another elimination round.
Her husband, Alex, said the Clement Street Market's contest was like a sports tournament. Head-to-head duels cut the field in half every week in two brackets—one for individual cooks like Amy—called sidekicks, the other for food trucks. Amy's recipe inventing skills had gotten her into the Top Ten. If she made it to the next round, she would have to cook under pressure in a cramped food truck the following week for the mash-up portion of the contest. The final week of the Melee randomly paired surviving sidekicks with finalists from the food truck bracket. The teams would have a week to put together a unique menu to serve the following Saturday. Judging duties would be turned over to the public as they cast ballots for their favorite teams.
"Do you think you're going to make it to the next round?"
Amy had been so busy staring at the back of heads, willing the emcee to appear in the kitchen area that she couldn't see, she hadn't realized who was sitting beside her. She turned to look at the question-asking neighbor. It was Candi, the vampire bunny. Amy had given the 20-something woman the nickname after running into her several times during the sidekick winner anno
uncements. She was petite and rather adorable, with flouncy, shoulder-length chestnut colored curls and pink lipstick. Her big, brown eyes reminded Amy of a gentle rabbit. But every word that came out of the innocent looking cook's mouth had an undercurrent of hostility.
Cooking competitions were Amy's passion. She had years of experience in tangling with ruthless competitors who tried to win by unnerving others. The best way to deal with psychological games was not to play them. Amy forced herself to smile and replied, "I don't know. I hope so. It would be a bummer to get knocked out this close to the end. How do you think your dessert recipe did?"
Every week the sidekick competitors had entered a different type of recipe, from sandwiches to desserts, which could conceivably be made in a food truck during the mash-up round. Candi tilted her head to the side. "I have been making summer pudding since I was a kid. It's always been my favorite dessert, so by this point the recipe is perfect. I don't see how I could lose."
So Candi was a bloodthirsty rabbit with a massive dose of confidence. Amy was saved from coming up with a witty reply by the arrival of the market's owner, Toby Hoffman. As he skirted the edge of the audience on his way to the front of the room he switched on his microphone. The dark-haired, model-handsome businessman cleared his throat to get the collectively tense crowd's attention. "Good morning, ladies and gentleman. Who's ready to hear who made it to the Final Five?"
A rumbling cheer filled the room. Amy looked around as she clapped. If she was lucky, she could soon be in charge of the classroom, teaching people how to brine pork chops or bake fluffy angel food cake. The angled mirrors hanging from the ceiling, to let audience members see what a chef was doing on the cutting board and stove, wobbled from the vocal thunderclap. Amy glanced down and noticed Candi was wearing several chunky rings. One had a round dome covered with tiny faceted, black marcasite stones. What if it was a medieval poison ring with a secret compartment full of evil powder? Amy transferred the lidded glass of coffee to her other hand, so the beverage was farther away from the potential poisoner. She wasn't paranoid—just extremely careful.
"I know you're all anxious, so let's get down to business," Toby said. He plunged his hand into one of the two fish bowls sitting on the black granite counter and pulled out a strip of paper. "The first food truck to move into the finals is The Veggie Van."
Two women wearing grass green T-shirts jumped up from their seats on the other side of the room. They executed synchronized overhead fist pumps as they shuffled sideways down the row. Both of them sported dark, thick braids which writhed like snakes on their backs as the women boogied up the center aisle. Amy took a deep breath and stared at the overhead mirrors. Toby pulled another paper ribbon from the second bowl. As The Veggie Van ladies stationed themselves at the end of the long kitchen island he said, "You will be teamed with Candi Edwards. Congratulations on making it to the finals."
Amy scrunched down to avoid being bonked on the head during Candi's ferociously gyrating victory dance. "Congrats," Amy mumbled. The excited cook hurdled over her knees then bounced past the other people seated in the row like a mall Easter Bunny minus the candy-colored, faux fur costume.
Once her scary seat neighbor was safely relocated to the front of the room, Amy settled in for the rest of the announcements. The combination of apprehension, extra-large coffee, and the only partially unfounded fear of Candi made her feel like she was going to explode more violently than a faulty pressure cooker. She couldn't help it—her knee began to bounce. Her body's built-in tension release valve. The coffee churned in the clear plastic cup like a stormy, muddy ocean full of cubic icebergs. Three more food truck and sidekick teams were paired up over the next few minutes, but Amy remained in her seat.
The final food truck was announced—Brooke's BBQ. The three-person, all-female crew of the truck beamed as they took their places at the front of the room. Amy stuck her free hand into her skirt pocket and crossed her fingers. Brooke's BBQ set up in various parking lots all over Kellerton and the surrounding cities. Very rarely could Amy resist stopping at the truck, when she spotted it, for a smoky, juicy barbecue snack. If Brooke's BBQ won the Market Mash-up Melee the truck could settle in to a spot at the converted warehouse turned gourmet market. That would be a huge perk, eliminating the hassle of jockeying with other trucks for prime parking spots. The market was always busy. Plus, it would make it easier for Amy to find the mobile restaurant to get her barbecue fix.
It seemed as though every person in the audience was holding their breath. A group inhale threatened to suck all of the oxygen out of the crowded room. The market's owner took his sweet time retrieving the last name from the fish bowl. He unfurled the strip of paper and said, "The sidekick for Brooke's BBQ is Amy Ridley."
Amy grabbed her tote bag from the floor and carefully pushed her chair backward. When she was excited, grace and agility were not her strong points. If she tried to exit like Candi had, nobody's toes or shins would be safe from the unintentional abuse she would surely dole out. Amy made it safely, with her dignity still intact and no coffee stains on her outfit, to take her place beside Brooke at the front of the room. The barbecue maven leaned closer and said, "I can't wait to work with you."
"The feeling's mutual. I was really hoping to be paired with your truck if I made it to the final round."
As the presentation wrapped up Amy checked out the line of competitors. When her gaze landed on Candi a zap of dread zinged up her spine. The Veggie Van's sidekick grinned with demonic glee.
A round of applause snapped Amy out of the creepiness-induced paralysis. As the spectators filed out the door, the teams clustered together in the kitchen area to conduct a round of congratulations and good lucks. She watched the small talk and wondered what it was like to be a food truck operator. Was the relationship between trucks congenial? Or were they like opposing sports teams, always competing for prized parking spots and customers? Candi slipped next to Amy and whispered, "Looks like it's carnivores versus herbivores. You know, kindness always wins."
Amy blinked. The combative message was delivered with a sugary sweet smile. The encounters with the ambitious cook were making her ruthless competitor warning sensors squawk. The contest she thought would be fun and friendly might not turn out that way.
Once the audience had dwindled down to a few people lingering in the back corner of the classroom, Toby clapped once to get the competitors' attention. "Congratulations, again, to all of you. I'm sure you would like to chat and get to know your teammates better. If you would like some privacy, there are several conference rooms in the market offices downstairs you can use."
Brooke looked at Amy and shrugged. "I was thinking we could go outside and chat on the patio, if you have a few minutes to spare."
Amy nodded her agreement. "I would love to get some fresh air. I brought copies of all of the recipes I've entered in the contest, for you to take home. I think with a few tweaks most of them will fit in nicely with your truck's menu."
"I'm sure we'll come up with something great." Brooke turned to the two other women who made up the food truck's entire staff. She told them to enjoy the rest of their morning off. As they walked away Brooke turned back to Amy and pointed toward the classroom's door. "Want to head outside to the patio?"
Amy glanced one more time at Candi, who was engaged in a serious looking conversation with The Veggie Van's crew. The green-shirted women had been smiling ever since being named as finalists, but the conversation with their sidekick seemed to have sucked the joy from their demeanor. It could be a long, bumpy week for the new partnership.
Brooke and Amy made their way down the spiral staircase that descended from the classroom loft area in the former warehouse turned indoor market. They emerged from the wrought iron corkscrew into the dining area filled with picnic tables. There were at least half a dozen small restaurant booths in the market offering everything from gourmet tacos to sushi. Customers could buy meals and then eat in the communal dining area situated in front of a
wall of windows. Amy inhaled deeply as she passed an Indian food booth. The aroma of the spicy curries and dals made her stomach twitch with longing, even though she wasn't very hungry. Good food was so hard to resist.
"How has life as a roving restaurant owner been going?" Amy asked as she and Brooke stepped into the bright sunshine flooding the market's outdoor patio. There were more people in that area than inside, sitting at umbrella shielded tables as they snacked on cartons of salad or bowls of soup.
"Pretty good." Brooke pointed at an unoccupied wooden bench that faced a small garden area. As she sunk down onto the bench she continued, "Although I have to say I'm a little wary about competing right now. I've had a weird run of bad luck over the last month."
Amy settled onto the sun-warmed wood. "What's been happening?"
A chime, which sounded like an old-fashioned dinner bell, came from Brooke's purse. She fished her phone out and looked at the screen. "I'm sorry. I need to take this call. Excuse me."
While Brooke paced back and forth on the patch of grass behind the garden area, Amy studied the water garden. A rock waterfall cascaded into a small pond. Flashes of orange from a school of small fish glimmered in the dark pool. The late morning sunshine was glorious, but verging on uncomfortably warm. She searched through her tote bag for a hair clip. Her long, blonde hair was baby fine, but there was a lot of it. If she didn't twist it up off her neck, she would soon feel like she was wearing a winter scarf. The petite pond looked so refreshing. She wished she could slip off her sandals and dip her feet into the water. Maybe she'd end up with one of those exfoliating fish pedicures she'd seen on TV. Which, actually, sounded more freaky than fun. The thought of dozens of fish nibbling on her toes canceled out the desire to take a cooling foot soak.
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