Recipe for Love

by Aurora Rey

  Drew stood in the cozy living room and contemplated unpacking. It felt weird to admit, but she was a little intimidated by what the place would be like after it got dark. Given that, and the fact she had no food in the house, she opted to go in search of dinner first.

  Her house was situated between Trumansburg, where the restaurant was, and Ithaca, the much larger town home to Ithaca College and Cornell. The latter would have more options, but she wanted to get a feel for T-burg, as it was often called. That would be her neighborhood, not to mention her competition.

  She parked right on Main Street and meandered. There wasn’t much to it. Well, maybe that wasn’t fair. There wasn’t much to it by her standards. If she closed one eye, it might pass for a stretch of street in one of the hip neighborhoods of Brooklyn. There were shops and restaurants, a coffee joint and a bar. Oddly, the largest crowd seemed to be at a place called Atlas Bowl, whose facade looked suspiciously like an old supermarket.

  Drew wasn’t much of a bowler but decided to check it out. The inside, with its shoe rental counter and circular faux-leather benches, had the feel of a vintage bowling alley, but was a little too clean, too new, to have been around that long. Still, people were bowling. Others sat at the bar or in the restaurant. Definitely not a sad, bowling alley snack bar vibe.

  Drew sat at the bar and perused the menu. The cocktails were quirky without being pretentious, the list of beers on tap impressive. The bartender, a brunette with short purple hair, a Ramones T-shirt, and really short cut-offs, could have been transplanted from a hipster joint in Park Slope. She was friendly, though, and in under a minute Drew had a cold pint of a local porter.

  She took a lazy sip, realizing just how long her day had been, before turning her attention to food. Much like the drink list, the dinner menu was quirky, a mix of bar fare and semi-traditional comfort food. Many items were marked vegetarian or vegan. That was a surprise. If that was a thing in a place like this, she’d definitely need to be mindful of it in her own menu planning. Not that she minded. As far as she was concerned, vegetables could be more interesting than meat.

  She settled on fried brussels sprouts and a burger. More food than she needed, perhaps, but it was her only real meal of the day. After putting in her order, she shifted on the stool so she could people watch. Despite being a weeknight, the crowd seemed decent. She wondered if that had more to do with it being the hip place, or being the only place, in town.

  When her food came, she devoured it. She really should stop skipping lunch. Both the brussels and the burger were on point, flavorful, and clearly made fresh. She resisted a second beer because falling asleep at the wheel would not be a good start to things.

  Drew paid her tab and wandered over to the bowling alley side. More than half the lanes were occupied. A couple had families with little kids, one a group of teenagers. Most, however, were taken by couples and foursomes who appeared to be her age. She chuckled. Maybe this T-burg wasn’t such a far cry from Brooklyn after all.

  On her way out, she caught a flash of something familiar and did a double take. Hannah, the woman from Three Willows Farm, was one of the bowlers. Her eyes were closed and she was engaged in what Drew figured was a victory dance. Paired with jeans and a flowy peasant top, her modern bowling shoes looked even more ridiculous than the old-fashioned kind. Her hair hung loose in sandy blond waves. A far cry from the day they met. And she’d been beautiful then.

  Drew told herself to look away, but before she could, Hannah turned and caught her staring. Terrific. Hannah seemed, not mad, but also not thrilled to see her. Drew smiled and lifted her hand in a casual wave.

  She thought Hannah might leave it at that, but she said something to the people she was with and started toward her. Drew met her halfway, near the shoe rental counter. Feeling more confident, Drew smiled. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  Hannah looked her up and down. Maybe Hannah was checking her out. Maybe. Or maybe it was wishful thinking.

  “Nick mentioned you’d be starting this week,” Hannah said.

  “I got here a few hours ago. Dinner had more appeal than unpacking.”

  “Can’t argue there.” Hannah’s smile was more of a smirk. Under normal circumstances, Drew might take it for flirting. But for some reason, with Hannah, she couldn’t be sure.

  “I start in a couple of days, but we don’t open until the following week. Which you probably already know.” Why was she rambling?

  “I do. And I’m sure you want to get a good night’s rest so you can unpack and settle in. I won’t keep you.”

  “Uh, yeah.” Drew winced mentally. She never had difficulty talking to women. What was it about Hannah that seemed to leave her tongue-tied?

  “I’m sure I’ll see you sooner rather than later. Congratulations, by the way.”

  And with that, Hannah turned and left, rejoining her friends. Drew watched her go. What had that been about? Hannah had approached her, right? And instead of flirting, she’d talked about unpacking and her work schedule. Could she have been more awkward? No wonder Hannah escaped as fast as she could. And now here she was, standing in the middle of the bar feeling like an idiot. She shook her head and left, not wanting to be caught looking like an idiot on top of it.

  Outside, the sun had set and the air had a real nip to it. Drew hustled back to her car, pulling up the directions to her house. Hopefully, she’d only need to do that a couple more times. At home, she had a moment of regret she hadn’t made the bed before going out, then pulled out sheets and the quilt her Grann had made for her. She stripped off her clothes and tumbled into bed naked.

  Unpacking could wait. She needed to be ready for the next few days. New staff, new kitchen, hell, new everything. She’d never been brought in new to be anyone’s boss before. It would be fine. She was a hardass, but always well-liked in the kitchen. That wouldn’t change.

  Picturing menus and the line of staff waiting to do her bidding, she burrowed deeper into the pillow, but it was Hannah’s smirk she carried with her to sleep.

  Chapter Four

  Hannah sat back on her heels and surveyed the progress. She’d just completed one row each of the eight tomato varieties she’d selected for the year and the same for a half dozen kinds of peppers. The tiny plants swayed in the breeze, but she could imagine their roots taking hold and the leaves soaking up sunshine.

  With temperatures in the mid-seventies for the third day in a row, it was beyond tempting to be more aggressive with the planting. She’d given into that a few years prior, only to have a late frost leave her heartbroken and scrambling to start over. No, this method worked best. In addition to creating waves of vegetables to be harvested, she had a nice insurance policy in the event they got a cold snap.

  She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and found Jeremiah loping her way. “How goes it?” she called to him.

  He came and stood beside her, looked down the rows. “Peas are weeded and trained. They’re coming along nicely.”

  Hannah grinned. Peas went in as soon as the ground thawed, so they got a head start on everything else. “Perfect.”

  “Do you need a hand here?”

  She gestured to the flat of plants she had left. “I think this is all I want to do for another week or two. How are the beans?”

  “Poking through, but not much else. What about squash? Shall I get them going?”

  Hannah imagined the first summer squash, sautéed with some toasted pecans and Parmesan cheese. “I think that’s a brilliant idea.”

  Jeremiah headed toward the south field, pushing through the old wooden door she’d installed in the deer fencing. He had such a slow, deliberate way about him, but he worked harder than almost anyone she’d ever met, including herself. He was a rare one these days—someone who worked on a farm because he loved it, believed in it. She was so grateful for his presence.

  Utterly content, Hannah returned her attention to the tomato plants. She poked holes in the heavy black plastic with her trowe
l, nestling seedlings in the warm soil. She worked her way down the row until her flat was empty, then collected her tools and the empty containers and headed for the barn. Daisy, who’d been napping in the dirt between the rows, followed.

  Once there, she found her sister Clare painting on small scraps of wood. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

  Clare looked up and smiled. “I told Mom you’d moved up my start date.”

  Hannah narrowed her eyes. “But I didn’t.”

  “I know. You don’t have to pay me. I’d just rather hang out here than at home.” Clare, twelve years her junior, lived with their parents at the family dairy farm several miles up the lake.

  “You’re not skipping chores, are you? Or homework?”

  Clare sighed dramatically. “No.”

  “Just checking.” Hannah chuckled. Clare was a good kid. It secretly thrilled her that she had little interest in the family farm. She didn’t have much interest in Hannah’s farm, either, but that was okay. Hannah was pretty sure she had her sights set on art school. Their parents might not appreciate that, but Hannah did.

  “I thought I’d make new signs for the store.” She held up one. It had a pair of jalapeños with cartoon faces. They appeared to be dancing in tiny yellow and orange flames. The word “jalapeños” was done in a cute script and there was a black square below for the price. “I found a recipe for homemade chalkboard paint, so you can change it anytime you want.”

  “That’s pretty cool. And your artwork is great.” It was, and so beyond anything she’d ever come up with.

  “So I can make them for all the produce?”

  Hannah nodded slowly. “I’d love that. I’ll even move up your start date for real and pay you to do it.”

  Clare beamed. “Really?”

  “Yes. That way we won’t have to lie to Mom and Dad.” She waited a beat, then said, “And I can require you to help me in the greenhouse before you go home for dinner.”

  Clare’s smile faded, but only a little. “Deal. Give me a second to clean my brushes.”

  It only took her a minute and soon they were walking along the east field toward the greenhouses. “If you’re going to be hanging around after school, can you work on the signs and cover the register? It would be nice to officially open, even if there isn’t much to sell yet.”

  “About that.” Clare looked at her, but didn’t finish the thought.

  “What? Too boring? I thought anything that didn’t involve tending the cows was your speed.”

  “No, I didn’t mean that. I’ve been thinking about your website.”

  “What about it?”

  “I was thinking I could redesign it for you.” Clare seemed sheepish suddenly, which was so unlike her. “I’ve been learning how at school.”

  She was in a web design class as one of her electives. Hannah had been impressed that it was even an offering—far more fun and practical than the choices she’d had in school. “I’d be open to that.”

  “I’m not a pro or anything, but what you have is pretty bad.”

  Hannah couldn’t take offense at the comment. Three Willows’ website was just a hair above terrible, a fill-in-the-blank template she’d found. It contained little more than their address, hours, and a couple of photos. “I’m sure whatever you do with it will be an improvement.”

  “Cool.” Instead of happy, Clare had a hesitant look about her.

  “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

  She took a deep breath. “I have the chance to do an independent study next year, like an internship or something. Dad hoped I might do it at the dairy, learning the books if not the cows. But I’d rather do it here.”

  That didn’t surprise Hannah, but she wasn’t sure what that had to do with her website. “Okay. Even if he’s a little disappointed, I think he’ll be okay with that.”

  “I don’t want to learn about farming, though. I want to do your marketing.”

  “Huh.” It wasn’t like she’d given no thought to marketing. It was just one of those things that lived perpetually on the back burner. If there were no crops to sell, selling them better or more cleverly didn’t accomplish much.

  “You think it’s a terrible idea.”

  Only then, looking at Clare’s worried expression, did Hannah realize how much this meant to her. She had no idea how it would go, but she committed right then and there to making it happen. “Not at all. I think it’s a great idea.”

  “You do?”

  “Absolutely. I’m not sure how much coaching or guidance I can give you, but we’ll figure something out.”

  Clare’s entire face lit up. “It’s going to be so awesome. We’re going to do the website and a newsletter and Instagram and everything.”

  It occurred to Hannah that she’d probably just signed up for something that would take up time rather than give her an extra pair of hands. Still, she wanted her sister to be happy. And if marketing was what made Clare happy, that’s what they’d do. “Sounds good.”

  “Ms. Grant said I could start the work over the summer even though I won’t be in the class until fall. That way, we can implement some strategies this season.”

  “Implement strategies? Is that marketing speak?”

  Clare looked at her like it was the most obvious thing ever. “Uh, yeah.”

  “Interesting.”

  They arrived at their destination and Hannah held the small swinging door for her sister. To call the structure a greenhouse might be generous. In reality it was a large hoop house consisting of a curved PVC pipe frame and heavy-duty plastic sheeting. It was large, though—tall enough for her to stand up in—and did a remarkable job of capturing heat and light. She aspired to a real greenhouse, but in the meantime, this wasn’t half bad.

  “So, what’s on the agenda?” Clare asked, surveying the rows of baby spinach and chard.

  Hannah handed her a basket. “Harvesting.”

  Clare gave her a look of suspicion. “Already? Are you really thinking people are going to stop by this early in the season?”

  “This isn’t for the stand. It’s for Fig.”

  “Oh.” Clare dragged the word out, as though there was some juicy story behind the answer.

  “They don’t open for another week, but the new chef has arrived and will be working on the menu.” That didn’t qualify as juicy in her book, even if she’d found herself thinking of Drew at odd moments over the last few weeks.

  “Kristen says she’s from New York City and super queer.”

  Hannah closed her eyes for a moment. Nick’s daughter and Clare were in the same grade at school and best friends. Of course they’d have talked about the person Nick had hired. “You shouldn’t assume people are queer based on how they look.”

  “You only say that because people never assume you are based on how you look.”

  Clare had a point. It irritated her that she was so often read as straight because she skewed toward the feminine end of the spectrum. Even being a farmer and driving a tractor didn’t seem to balance her penchant for dresses and makeup when given the occasion. But that didn’t negate her initial comment. Or the fact that her own gaydar lit up the second she was in the same space as Drew. “Chefs have a funky aesthetic. You can’t assume anything about them.”

  “Kristen says her car has an HRC sticker on it.”

  “Okay, then. Now you can assume she’s gay.”

  “Kristen says she’s hot.”

  Neither Kristen nor Clare had come out at this point, but they both embraced a certain fluidity in how they expressed their own genders and what they found attractive. It annoyed her that Kristen found Drew attractive, but it didn’t surprise her. Hannah shrugged. “Maybe, but she’s way too city.”

  “Aren’t we Judgy McJudgerpants today?”

  She was beyond done with this conversation. “Chard. Basket. Please.”

  Clare rolled her eyes and huffed, but Hannah could tell she wasn’t really mad. She went to the end of a row and starte
d picking. She’d helped out at the farm enough that Hannah didn’t need to coach her on technique. She took her own basket to the spinach and began plucking leaves. Once the plants were fully established, she’d be able to go at them with kitchen shears. For now, she plucked leaves off one at a time to make sure the stems and baby leaves remained intact.

  Even with the more delicate method, it didn’t take long to fill the basket. Of course, she was picking enough for Drew to make some sample dishes, not enough for a dinner service. Hannah shook her head. She wouldn’t have signed the contract with Nick if she couldn’t keep up with the demand. She simply hadn’t had to navigate specific, large-scale demand before. Even the CSA shares they offered were a farmer’s choice kind of thing.

  She stood up and squared her shoulders. This arrangement was no different. She had a commitment to supply the restaurant, but they’d get what she got. For as much control as she had over that, they’d get the best. Hopefully, Mother Nature wouldn’t disagree.

  “Are you going to take these over now?”

  Clare’s question pulled her back to the moment. “I don’t think Drew will be there until tomorrow, so Nick’s probably home for the day, too. I’ll run them over in the morning.”

  “Drew? Is that the new chef? You’ve met her?” Clare’s voice pitched higher with each question.

  Great. Clare would want to make this a thing. “Only briefly, the day of her interview. She stopped by for ingredients.” Hannah sighed. “And last night. She was at Atlas for dinner. Just a passing hello.”

  Clare punched her in the arm as they began the trek back down to the barn. “I can’t believe you’re holding out on me.”

  No way was she telling Clare about the way Drew looked at her, or the way her body reacted to that look. “I’m not holding out. There’s nothing to tell.”

  Clare looked at her. Why were teenagers such masters of the withering look? “Do you think she’s queer? And hot?”

  Drew’s face popped into her mind. Even when fussing over her shoes, she’d been attractive. When she saw Hannah’s winter vegetable stash, and her eyes lit up and that killer smile came out, hot would have been an understatement. “I’m choosing not to have an opinion on the matter.”