The Secret Ingredient

by KD Fisher

  My joy shimmered up my spine. I grinned. It had been ages since I’d been asked on an honest to god date. Easy, casual sex, sure. Locking eyes with someone across a crowded bar, definitely. I knew how to have good sex and make my partners feel good. Knew how to satisfy my needs. But this earnest, simple question threw me. It made me want.

  “Shoot,” Adah sighed. “Sorry. Don’t feel obligated—”

  “Yes,” I said quickly. “I want to go on a date with you. Yes. What was thing three?”

  Now Adah really was blushing. It was kind of adorable. “Uh, I wanted to tell you that you’re beautiful.”

  Chapter Nine

  Adah

  “You sure you have enough tomatoes there, sweetheart?” Vanessa smirked in the direction of the two overburdened canvas bags at my feet.

  I grinned, eyeing another farm stand boasting a variety of colorful heirloom, beefsteak, and delicate orange cherry tomatoes that would be perfect for the Provençal tart I’d been thinking about making all week. The South Bay farmer’s market was wonderful, almost as big as my neighborhood market in Chicago, but with the relaxed, communal feel of the roadside produce stands back in Missouri. I was a little irritated with myself for not having visited earlier. I’d tagged along with Vanessa at the last minute, realizing our apartment’s refrigerator was looking pretty bare and that I could check out some of the local vendors Beth loved so much.

  The thought of Beth glimmered over me like foxfire. After kissing me senseless the other night, Beth had pulled my phone out of my back pocket, screwed up her face at the lock screen, handed it back to me, and rattled off her number so I could type it in. Since then, we’d been messaging whenever we had a moment to spare. Mostly we chatted about food. Beth sent me a picture of the eels her dad and brother had brought in and we went back and forth for almost an hour about the best way to prepare them. On Thursday, when Sean came in, clearly hung over and moody as all get-out, it had been a relief to vent to Beth about my manager’s bad attitude. As nice as all the messages had been, I wanted to see her again. Wanted to hear her pretty laugh and feel the firm press of her body against mine.

  Finally, after much prodding from Jay at the end of last night’s dinner service, I’d sent Beth a weirdly formal-sounding text asking if she was free to go out with me on Monday. She didn’t always respond to messages right away. Neither did I. I knew we couldn’t exactly check our phones every ten minutes while running our kitchens. But it had been almost eleven hours since I’d messaged her and my whole body seemed to turn itself inside out every time I got a news update or Jay texted me asking if I’d heard back from Beth. Logically, I knew Beth had been busy the night before. The Yellow House had hosted an engagement party that Beth expected would run late. But my mind ran off on me, imagining her rolling her eyes at my text and running into the arms of her gorgeous best friend or that big guy she’d been so cozy with at the benefit the weekend before.

  I yanked my phone out the pocket of my jeans. Nothing.

  This hot, sticky jealousy creeping up my spine was a new feeling for me. Sure, as a kid I’d been jealous of my brothers from time to time. Well, a lot if I was honest. I’d been jealous of their clothes, of the way my father treated them, of their freedom. But I’d never really liked anyone I’d dated enough to care this much before.

  “Hey, Mom, is it okay if I go play with those guys?” I startled at the sound of my son’s voice, almost dropping my phone onto the sidewalk. Peter pointed to a group of kids his age playing Frisbee in the shade of one of the park’s established oaks. He was so different than I’d been at his age. Peter moved through the world with a kind of confidence I’d never known: asking new friends to play with him, speaking his mind, laughing freely.

  “Sure, darlin. I think I could use a coffee anyway. You want one, Vanessa?” I tipped my head in the direction of a coffee roaster’s stand.

  “Oh god yes. Here, give me the bags and we can sit a minute. I don’t know how you stay on your feet so long.”

  I returned a moment later to find Vanessa reclined under a tree, her usual paperback in hand, and Peter completely integrated into the game. After a few sips of coffee roasted a little darker than I usually liked, I, again, looked at my phone. Still nothing.

  “Everything okay?” Vanessa set down her book and pinned me with one of her knowing looks. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you check your phone so much.”

  I shrugged and tried to distract myself with my coffee, which only caused me to burn the roof of my mouth taking a too-large gulp. Goodness gracious, I was a wreck. Then my phone did buzz in my hand. A shock of nervous, electric heat pinged through me until I saw it was Mac’s number on the screen, asking about taking a day off at the end of next month. I locked the screen and sighed.

  “You remember Beth? From the beach or whatever.” My voice sounded all wobbly and small. I cleared my throat.

  Vanessa beamed liked I’d pulled out a trophy in her honor. “Of course. Such a nice girl. You know I’m pretty sure she’s single. And when she moved back, some folks wouldn’t stop talking about how she dates women and men now. Honestly, people need to mind their own damn business.”

  “Yeah. I know.” I tried not to sigh. As much as I hated talking about myself, I felt like I might dang near explode if I didn’t let out some of the worry buzzing around my body. “I, uh, asked her on a date last night and she hasn’t responded.”

  “Oh, honey. I’m sure she’s just busy. You know how it is. Did you leave her a message or something?”

  I laughed. “Texted her. We...hung out last week when I went to that dinner and we’ve been talking since. Since we both have Mondays off, I figured we could... I don’t even know what to do on a dang date.” One week and I was already in over my head.

  Vanessa nodded slowly, eyes flicking from Peter back to me. “Well how has dating gone in the past for you?” Her voice was soft, clearly not wanting to push.

  As close as we’d become over the past month of Vanessa basically helping to raise my child and making my life more tolerable than it had been in years, the woman had never asked me any prying questions about my personal life. And I appreciated that. My mama and her sisters had always been nosy, swapping secrets and gossiping during Bible study. Always asking me questions I knew I couldn’t answer honestly. The professional kitchens I’d worked in weren’t much better, buzzing with rumors like busy beehives. Since I was little I’d just tried to keep my head down and my mouth shut. But now I wanted advice. Needed it.

  “Haven’t done it much,” I admitted, picking at the soft grass. “Peter wasn’t exactly planned and his daddy was more of a friend than a boyfriend. I was just figurin’ things out and ended up having to start my life all over again.” My face burned hot at the memory of Jeremy. I tried never to think of him, tried not to wonder if he even knew he had a son as wonderful as the boy teaching a new friend to do a cartwheel a few yards away from me. “After that I had a girlfriend for a little bit but we just kinda fell into it. But since I started cooking seriously I haven’t had time so...”

  “Okay, well, do you want to spend more time with Beth?”

  “Of course. I—” I cleared my throat again to keep myself from admitting the truth. I can’t stop thinking about her. “But what do you even do on a date?”

  Vanessa leaned forward and took my hands in hers. “Look, sweetheart, it’s just about getting to know her better, okay? You’re a wonderful person so you don’t have anything to worry about. She’d be more than lucky to spend time with you. My Amber is a single mom, too, and I’ll tell you the same thing I tell my darling daughter. You need to figure out if you can trust someone enough to let them into your child’s life. It takes time and that’s okay.” She paused, gave my hands a hard squeeze, and let them go. “As for what to do on the date...whatever the hell you want! Get a drink, grab coffee, go for a walk. Just keep it low stakes, you know?”


  A strange mix of emotions tangled up in my chest. A knee-jerk desire to insist that I knew I could trust Beth. The prickle of potential rejection. And the old familiar fear of letting anyone into my life. The weight of knowing how easy it was for people to let me down. “I probably don’t even have time anyway. It’s unfair to ask you to watch Peter this much as it is and it’s selfish of me to ignore my son—”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Adah. Stop beating yourself up all the goddamn time.” Vanessa delivered this expletive-laden command with a fond grin. “Do you want me to get a tattoo on my forehead saying how much I love watching your son? And you know you’re allowed to have a life of your own. It’ll make you a better parent. Balance and all that.”

  Her words cut through me, a sharp but welcome shock. My mama had never taken a moment for herself. She woke up before the sun, cooking and cleaning and teaching and praying without pausing for a breath. I’d never seen my mama share a cup of coffee with a friend or even sit down to read a book that wasn’t the Bible. I knew better than anything I didn’t want to raise Peter the way she’d raised me.

  I nodded, leaned back to let the sun warm my face, shining red through my closed eyelids. “I think you just might be right.”

  * * *

  Our usually tidy apartment was now an explosion of summer produce and Legos. In the kitchen I scrubbed, chopped, and stored food for the week ahead, setting aside the ingredients I’d bought for Bella Vista to bring over later. In the living room Peter grumbled to himself as he set to work building some gigantic Lego castle I’d bought him for his birthday the year before. His disinterest in the gift had shifted into obsession after we’d checked out a book of medieval stories at the library the week before.

  “Darlin,” I called over the sizzle of cubed eggplant frying in olive oil on the stove, “you want a sandwich or leftover curry from last night?”

  “Curry,” Peter shouted back.

  “Curry what?”

  “Please!” I could almost hear the eye roll in my son’s voice.

  I smiled, basking in a rush of warm affection for my son, and pulled the glass container of green curry out of the fridge. Peter was a good kid. I was doing my best to be a decent mom. We were gonna be just fine even if it was just the two of us. My conversation with Vanessa had smoothed out the rough edges enough that I’d started checking my phone every twenty minutes instead of every five. Still no word from Beth. Fine. That was totally a-okay. If she didn’t want to go on a date with me, it was her loss. I didn’t even care.

  “Hey Mom,” Peter called. I cut the heat on the stove and wandered into the living room.

  “What’s up, honey?” I lowered myself to sit across from him. The Lego castle was about a third completed and I watched as he painstakingly looked for the right piece.

  “Do you know what class I’m gonna be in next year?”

  “Yeah.” I searched my brain for the name of his third-grade teacher. “Mr. O’Brien’s class.”

  He heaved a wildly dramatic sigh. “Can you change it?”

  “Change it? You mean put you in a different class?”

  Peter nodded. “Uh-huh. Jason has Mrs. Gonzalez and he says she’s nicer.”

  I felt confusion descend on my face. “Jason?”

  Peter pinned me with one of his duh, Mom looks. “My friend from the park. He lives on our street.”

  “Sure.” I picked up one of the small plastic bricks, turning it over in my hands. “I can call the school on Monday and check. I don’t think they’ll put you in a new class though, bud. Wanting to be with your friend might not be a good enough reason.”

  Silence settled between us for a long moment. Then, casual as anything, Peter asked, “How come you don’t have any friends here?”

  A laugh burst from my mouth. “I have friends. What about Jay?”

  My son shook his head like I was a complete lost cause. “Jay was already your friend before. You told me like a million times it’s important to make new friends too.”

  Great, now my son was throwing my own darn advice back in my face. “I did make a new friend.” Why I was defending myself I wasn’t quite sure. “Remember Beth from when we went to the beach with Vanessa? She’s my friend too.” I needed to do some reading up to learn about how and when to have this conversation with my kid. If Beth ever texted me back, that was.

  Peter nodded, apparently satisfied with my friend-making abilities, and refocused on building his castle. After a minute or so I stood, hoping the eggplant hadn’t gotten too oily while my son tried to fix his own mother’s life.

  The bright screen of my phone caught my eye and my heart did a backflip in my chest when I saw Beth’s name.

  Hey!! So sorry that it took me a zillion years to respond! The event last night was bananas. One of our servers was a no-show so yeah... Then I had to check out a new farm this morning so no reception. But YES! I’d love to hang out Monday. Is around noon okay for you? I can pick you up!

  Trying to ignore my shaking fingers and tamp down the worry that I might seem overeager by responding right away, I quickly tapped out a reply.

  Sure. Noon is good. What do you want to do?

  This time, thankfully, Beth’s response was immediate.

  Hope you like surprises! Oh and make sure you bring a swimsuit

  Chapter Ten

  Beth

  I couldn’t quite tell what was going on with my body as I eased my car along the curb to park in front of Adah’s apartment. Maybe the third cup of coffee this morning had been a mistake, because my heart pounded erratically in my chest and my eyes couldn’t seem to focus on anything in particular. A small voice in the back of my head reminded me that I was probably just nervous about going on an actual date with a woman I actually liked. But I didn’t get nervous. Not when big-name critics came into the restaurant. Not when I’d given my phone number to the gorgeous drummer of my favorite band after one of their shows. Not even when I’d decided to open up The Yellow House. I took things in stride, did things my own way, and figured if something was meant to be the universe would work it out.

  Now, though, looking up at the weathered cedar shingles siding Adah’s three-flat apartment building, my throat felt gritty and hot, like I’d forgotten to drink water for a week. Forcing myself to take in a few centering breaths, I texted Adah that I was outside. As soon as I hit send though, a new wave of nerves crashed over me. Had that been rude? Would she want me to come up? Was I supposed to ring the doorbell like a goddamn prom date in a teen movie? Fuck. This was why I didn’t do this whole dating thing. Too many rules and way too many chances to mess everything up. Hamlet whined in the backseat like he knew exactly how I felt.

  Then there she was. Bounding down the stairs, sun catching the gold of her hair. I had to laugh because I had already guessed the exact outfit she’d be wearing: white T-shirt over her dark swimsuit, her usual workwear jeans, and a pair of heavy-looking brown boots. It was easily eighty degrees and I wondered idly if Adah even owned a pair of shorts. She was gorgeous regardless of what she wore, but I loved the simplicity of her style. She wore her basic, masculine pieces like they’d been made just for her.

  I opened my door and tumbled out of the car with far less grace than I’d hoped, my sandal getting tangled on the hem of my skirt. Oh well.

  “Hey.” Adah stopped a couple feet short of me and pushed a hand into her hair, eyes dropping from my face to the sidewalk.

  I stepped closer to her, inhaling her clean soap smell, and beamed. “Hi.”

  “I, uh, didn’t know what we were doing but I figured nothing too fancy if I’m supposed to wear a swimsuit?”

  I wanted to wrap my arms around her narrow waist and pull her close. Wanted to push up on my tiptoes and press my mouth to hers. And normally I wouldn’t hesitate. But that damn nervous feeling reared its ugly head again so I fiddled with one of my bracelets instead. �
�Nothing fancy. Have you been up to Granite Harbor yet?” Hamlet stuck his giant head out the back window, trying to greet Adah, who looked between the two of us a little warily. “I hope it’s okay I brought my dog.”

  Adah shrugged. “Dang, Peter’s gonna be jealous. He loved that dog. Won’t stop bugging me to get one since he met him.” Adah eyed Hamlet for a long moment, then gently stroked the top of his head. He leaned into her touch the way I wanted to. “But no, I haven’t really been anywhere yet other than your place—uh, restaurant—the other night. Too busy.”

  I hadn’t exactly gotten out much this summer either but feigned shock anyway. “Okay well hop in. Granite Harbor is a disgustingly quaint coastal town that will be way too overrun with tourists to actually enjoy. So I’m taking you to my super-secret swim spot a few miles north of there. And I brought snacks.”

  As I pulled onto the highway and out of town, the tiny bit of small talk we’d exchanged about the weather and how busy the weekend rush had been died into not quite easy silence. Admittedly, I loved to talk. Not that I hated silence or anything, but I liked hearing what other people had to say. Liked finding out what made them brighten and start talking fast with big wild gestures. So, after my questions about Adah’s music preferences were greeted with short, almost terse answers, I wondered if maybe I’d been mistaken about the promise of chemistry between us.

  I kept my eyes on the road, admiring the expanse of clear blue sky and the quick transition from the not-quite-urban landscape of South Bay to miles of shimmering coastline. Tori Amos crooned softly through my car’s less than stellar stereo system as I pulled off the highway and onto a heavily wooded county road.

  “Okay,” I tried again, hoping I wasn’t actively making Adah miserable. “What’s the worst first date question you’ve ever gotten?”

  From the corner of my eye I saw Adah turn toward me, her eyebrows drawn together. “First date question?”