by Wendy Nickel
Cam lowered the wooden spoon with one hand as he took a step toward her. “Nothing else new tonight. No funny stuff, I promise.”
He felt a little disappointed, but was still glad she had said something. She was clear and direct while still being able to play a little. He marvelled as he looked into her face.
Previous dates, when he’d even had the time to try up in northern California, had either been vague or coy, which amounted to more work than he was willing to do on that front. He’d already had a job, and it was busy enough. Plus there was a check at the end for his professional efforts.
It just wasn’t fun to make all the decisions, have all the blame, and spend all the money. That’s not how he wanted to get to know someone.
She was looking back at him and he could tell she was right there with him. The moment was too good to wait. Before he knew it, he’d kissed her quickly on the lips, put his hands on her hips, and spun her around to face the pressure cooker on the counter.
“What was that for?” she asked, her back to him, with his hands still on her hips.
“Luck,” he said. “Let’s get cookin’”
He pulled himself away, not wanting to scare her—or himself—with wanting to touch her. Instead, he got out the colander to make a start on washing the veggies.
She was on her way. She’s heated the olive oil and melted in a knob of butter while he quickly diced some onion and garlic (just a little of each). They went in with a sizzle while she salted and peppered the chicken.
Cam peeled and chopped the rest of the veggies pretty quickly while she rooted around for the bay leaves and thyme he had promised were in a drawer.
His heart was lifting higher and higher.
He had kissed her. It was a surprise for both of them, but it was right. And she hadn’t bolted.
“Chicken brown yet?” He checked in, leaning over her shoulder and breathing in the browned onion and garlic.
“Just starting to,” she said, her shoulders rising and her head tilting toward his without turning to actually look at him. He stepped to the side of her, loving being this close to her and wanting to be just a little bit closer.
“What comes next in this thing, chef?” She asked, bumping gently against the side of his upper thigh with her hip.
“The veggies get a few minutes now that they’re done,” he said as he dumped them in for her to saute.
“And what are you doing, then, while I stir?” She asked, looking over to check on him as he moved to the cupboard.
“Now begins the dumpling magic!” He said with a laugh.
“You’re making dumplings from scratch?” She seemed shocked. “That is magic. For reals?”
“Nothing better… or easier,” he said with more confidence than he felt. And you’re worth it, Josie. I feel like you are worth the effort to cook from scratch. For sure.
He brought down the flour and baking powder, swiped the salt, and went to the fridge for milk and more butter. He walked through the ingredients one by one and brought the dough together in a few brisk stirs.
Then he put a roux together from the hot water he’d heated in the kettle and some chicken base, adding some flour and stirring until it was smooth. How many times had he done this with his mom? Countless.
He brought the roux over and dumped it into the pot.
She looked at him, aghast. “Is that the dumpling?” She was both incredulous and obviously not impressed at the same time.
“Geez, no! That’s what’s going to thicken the chicken and vegetable mix,” he explained, motioning her to stir in the roux.
“Wait! What? It’s going to be thick? How thick, exactly?”
“We can thin it if it’s too thick, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he teased. “We have the technology.”
“It’s the texture I’m thinking about is all,” she shared. “I didn’t know it was going to be more stew-y than soup-y. I’ve never had it, remember?”
“What if you’re gonna love it?” He challenged, a sly smile pulling his dimples into action.
“I just might, mister,” she smiled back and held his gaze. His heart went molten and he longed to kiss her again. Less fast, a little deeper.
“Well, we’ll see in a very short time, won’t we?”
“Will we? How short a time?” Two bellies growled in a united cry, and both Cam and Josie looked at each other and broke up laughing until each one had tears in their eyes.
“Just about nine minutes from the time this pot comes up to pressure.” He estimated with care, squinching up his eyes and mouth to determine the timing, and said a silent prayer of thanks that they’d gotten chicken that was only refrigerated, not frozen.
“I cut up some extra carrots and celery sticks if you want to nibble on them,” he offered. “Oh, sorry, the carrots are for my clients,” he retracted. “Celery?”
“I’ll wait for your magic-pot-of-wonder dinner, thanks,” she laughed and took a step toward him. “Got any music?”
“I think there’s music already here,” he whispered, taking a step closer to her. He caught her hips in his hands, pulling her into him and beginning to sway in a slow dance with the warmth of the oven, the smells of comfort food in his own kitchen, and this gorgeous, funny, woman in his arms.
She reached her arms up around his neck and stepped in time with him to a sweet rhythm that was all their own and just for them...
Until the timer went off with a sharp whistle.
They stepped apart reluctantly, with a look and a promise in their eyes to pick up from there again soon.
Cam stepped to the pressure cooker and pulled her by the hand to come next to him.
“Time to make sure there are no explosions,” he explained. “You ready for this?”
She was just the slightest bit uncertain, but still mostly trusting, and he could hear her stomach growling in concert with his own. She nodded and unlaced her hand in favor of stepping closer and slipping both of her arms around his, lingering in his scent and that of thyme, bay, chicken, carrot, and onion.
“Okay, this is it… don’t blink, okay?” And he flipped the knob on top to begin releasing the steam from the pot. It came out in a whoosh and lasted a good minute or two in a steady stream.
She peered intently at the cooker, the steam near-screaming out of the top. She looked at Cam for an instant to check his face, and then back to the pot. “That’s it?”
“That’s definitely it,” he quipped, showing both hands back and front like a Vegas card player at the end of a game.
“Nothing else happens?” She pressed, curiosity and a need for affirmation in her eyes.
“Are you kidding me?” He asked pointedly, pulling his arm free and then wrapping it around her shoulders. “Of course something happens next!”
She looked at him blankly, asking “what” without words.
“The best part happens now, Jos! We eat!”
It felt so good to laugh so much. To have someone who looked and smelled good. Who knew how to play, and talk, and laugh in the kitchen together.
He hugged her tighter and kissed the top of her head before letting her go and asking, “Would you like the honor of the first full inhale?”
“Wow!” She laughed, “I’ve never had an offer like that before.” She smiled, her arms wrapped around his waist. His center, his core, felt magnetized and pulled to her. So strong. “I’ve come this far, chef. I’m goin’ in!”
“As you wish,” he said, before he quite realized it. A line from one of his favorite stories, one of his favorite movies. She looked at him, startled at first, and then she smiled and the look of recognition and appreciation completely warmed his heart.
“Moment of truth, Cam,” Josie looked at him, daring him, playing with him. “First moment of truth in this dinner, anyway.”
“I’m totally confident in this dish,” he retorted, matching her sly smile and teasing with his own. “The only thing that could actually jeopardize the sound goodness
and wholesomeness of this is… its lack of peas. And that, my dear, is on you.”
“I’ll take that risk,” she assured.
“And the responsibility?” he pressed, his tongue firmly in his cheek, repressing a grin.
“Oh yes. I’m clear on that,” and she twisted and then lifted the lid. to With a steamy wash of full comfort, the smell and warmth of their dinner escaped and filled their nostrils. Both Cam and Josie closed their eyes to take it in—but he opened his eyes to steal a glance at her before she opened hers.
“What’s the first thought that comes to mind at this smell?” He asked gently.
“Mmmmm, not sure,” she whispered back. “Can’t pinpoint it… but I’m sure it’s good.” She closed her eyes again and put both hands on the counter, rose up on her tiptoes, and placed her face just above the steaming pot, breathing in as deeply as she could.
He watched her, letting feelings of varying intensities wash through him; he was surprised, enchanted, anchored, and, most of all, he was curious.
A spell, a delicious spell, had been cast between them. It was real. That much he knew was true.
13
Josie
Could it be possible that her head could swim and be clear at the same time?
All the worries and anxieties she’d been carrying since she got the barn manager gig were pushed away by that heavenly, restorative scent as it made its way into her brain and down her throat. It melted into her body and came out through her fingers.
It was a kind of metabolic process of her feelings, set to a slow burn in a gentle sway. She just knew she didn’t want to miss a minute of whatever was coming next.
They sat down to bowls of their shared creation, their non-traditional chicken and dumplings. This was something serious, and real, and safe.
When he asked her what her first thought was at the initial smell, she could definitely pinpoint it. It came rushing up to her in a vision so fast, but she wanted to keep it just for herself, just for another minute in this snug little moment.
She felt grateful and sure—comforted. They were simple ingredients, simply made, but they gave her back a lost piece of herself. A memory.
A part of her that had been locked.
It had to do with her father. About how she had taught herself to need less by putting herself last. The flashes came in bursts…
Her daddy’s pancakes, spiced with nutmeg and cinnamon, Saturday morning cartoons, age 6.
His aftershave and hair gel mixed with the scent of roasted peanuts and mentholated rub during that terrible flu she caught when she was 11. She’d had to stay home for a week.
His chicken soup with wild rice, heavy with thyme, parsley and oregano, and butter, finished with a little bit of lemon at the end.That was the last dish he’d made before he left her and her mom to go. She didn’t even know where. She’d just waited, begging her mom for answers that she didn’t have to give. She was 15.
The waiting for her daddy to come home eventually gave way to busy-ness. Putting in placeholders, over-achieving, being the most reliable person she could be. First for her mom, and then for the horses. Wherever the need was greatest.
She’d cried, she’d been angry, her mom had brought her to a good counselor. They had even had a couple of sessions together. They’d gotten through it, she and her mom.
Josie was 18 when her mom was hit by a drunk driver. A man who’d had too much to drink, who decided to drive and then collided with her mom’s car, sending her to a far-too-early death.
So she cried, and she grieved, and she was angry for years until she found the right place and the animals that needed her skills in detail, anticipation, and energy. They needed her attention, her love. And she needed that place, and those horses, every bit as much as they needed her.
The scent of tonight’s dinner, a surprise and an adventure, was just close enough to the dish her father cooked on their last night together to bring her back. It began to feed that part of her that had shut down and reminded her of the richness that could be known and felt in her body and mind.
The scent filled her, and she didn’t want to deny being filled anymore. It felt amazing and unsettling and right with Cam. There was more. There was so much more… not just him or the possibility of them… but for her as well.
There was more all right. And she couldn’t wait to taste it. All of it.
14
Josie
Days and dates followed. After work and between Cam’s calls and emergency visits throughout the area.
Fortunately, there weren’t too many emergencies. Josie was grateful that Cam was a farrier and not a vet, and that’s all she was going to say about it.
The days during that first week together flowed together like many streams into a strong and healthy river. It was easy and gentle between them… and funny. She hadn’t laughed like this in so long. Maybe she hadn’t ever.
There was the pork tenderloin night with mashed potatoes and green beans and then turkey meatballs night with rice and salad... each night had its own flavor, its own conversation and feel. Each night, delicious.
There were more dances, some with music and some without, some silly, some slow. All delicious.
And yes, goodness yes, there were kisses, deeper and sweeter as each evening passed. There were glances that sparked and crackled with electricity between them, even their text messages held a potent energy. To get to each other... to connect.
Now there was handholding in the market. The first time, last night, he’d grabbed a carrying basket and reached for her hand. They’d gone in to get the makings of that night’s dinner. There were even some shared leftovers for lunches.
And she’d savored those three turkey meatballs earlier in the day. She was feeling… fuller this past week. More dimensional. More nourished.
Not only with food, but also with communication, connection, and definitely those gentle exchanges involving lips, breath, and the skimming of hands over each others bodies; the caresses on shoulders, arms, and hips. Those tracing touches that intensified attraction and familiarity in a seemingly limitless expansion of wonder and wanting.
She let out a satisfied sigh into the world at large, an energy that shared relaxation and contentment. Josie pushed away from her desk and stretched long, her hands reaching high overhead. And then yawned.
Tonight? :) She texted Cam, who was at a farm south of Maple Valley trimming a small herd of geldings.
She was toying with a few menu ideas. They’d usually met in the store parking lot and shared the possibilities they’d come up with during the day. Broccoli beef? Pho Ga? Her curiosity about his made-from-scratch mac and cheese piqued her interest, too.
It was something beautiful to look forward to. Another taste to imagine and savor.
The only thing that could pull Josie all the way out of her menu planning and daydreaming, did exactly that. Just after 2 p.m., Carrie’s call for help sounded shrill and high with fear. “Josie! It’s Enzo… he’s down! Call the vet!”
Her phone had 22 percent battery life left, but she had Dr. Grier on speed dial. She hoped to goodness that she would be able to get ahold of him without having to plug in. Please, please, she prayed for an answer. Begged for the vet to pick up. Nope. No luck.
She left a message and then texted him. Please, please...
Pammy. Pammy was next.
But Pammy was off site for the day on a welfare check up in Snohomish County. She was an hour away at the very least. Josie jerked her head around to look up at the clock. No way. Pammy wouldn’t be back until at least 5, with traffic. No help for it though. It was definitely go time.
It’s Enzo, she texted. He’s down. Called & texted vet, no answer. How far out are you?
Josie ran out to meet Carrie and see Enzo herself. “Carrie, I called the vet and texted Pammy. What happened?”
Carrie was kneeling down at Enzo’s side, rubbing his body to generate some heat and circulation. “I was just taking him out for
a little walk with the halter, like I’ve been doing all week. We were going along, slower, but I thought it was because of the cold. Then his front legs just kind of buckled… like, they rolled under his body and he fell.”
Tears started to fall from Carrie’s eyes while she talked, streaming down and falling on Enzo’s face.
“Carrie, you are doing great. You didn’t do anything wrong, you know this,” Josie assured. Enzo’s breathing was labored and his eyes were half closed. It had been a struggle to get and keep him warm since he got there less than two weeks ago. And it was colder now than it had been when he arrived. The hard ground was colder still.
Dr. Grier had been out to see him yesterday, and Cam had been there just two days earlier. What had happened?
“You were here this morning for feeding time, Carrie, do you remember if Enzo ate all of his breakfast?” Carrie continued to weep quietly, trying to remember. Josie turned Carrie to face her and gently, directly, asked again, “Did Enzo eat this morning?”
“I don’t remember, Josie. I think Annie gave him his grain and meds.”
“Great, that’s great. Good. You stay here with Enzo and keep rubbing him all over just like you’ve been doing. In a minute I want you to help me try to get him up again. Think we can do that? I’m gonna text the vet again real quick.”
There were still no messages from Dr. Grier or from Pammy.
She fired off another short message to the vet, and then sent one to Cam: Enzo’s down.
Her phone battery was now at 18 percent... better to recharge it now for at least a couple of minutes.
She was too focused to feel helpless.
Plug phone in at the office.
Turn ringer on.
Run to Enzo’s stall; check grain bin.
