Tasting Notes

by Cate Ashwood

  The children, who had been sitting patiently waiting for the parade to start, were now all on their feet, dancing and swaying under their parents’ watchful eyes as the marching band passed and the fire truck rolled behind them. The firemen hung out the windows of the truck and off the ladders in their bunker pants and American flag T-shirts, throwing candy to the crowd.

  It was identical to the Fourth of July parade from the year before. The floats—or rather the flatbeds pulled by tractors—were the same, the music was the same, and as was tradition, kids on bikes decorated with balloons and streamers for the occasion brought up the rear. Rush had seen it all before, but this time somehow it felt different, seeing it through West’s eyes. The sun-faded paint on the pickup truck that carried the happily waving Miss Canyon Creek seemed shiny and new as Rush saw it for the first time through West.

  The music faded into the distance as the parade procession made its way further into the distance, and Rush realized how much he loved having West with him. He felt like a different person, as though his days had purpose beyond maintaining his business. The fervor with which he had despised the man when he first rolled into town transformed, and the thought of West returning to Chicago left Rush feeling empty.

  He’d never been the type of guy to dodge doing what was right, no matter how difficult the situation was, and in this case the right thing was for West to stay in Canyon Creek. He didn’t belong in Chicago. He belonged here, with Rush.

  The mayor announced the end of the parade, thanking all the volunteers and participants, then invited everyone back to the park for the picnic. Rush resolved to ask West to stay. He wanted it to be the right time, but he knew it would have to be soon. The summer was speeding by, and West would need to return to Chicago eventually. Rush intended to see to it that West’s return was brief.

  By the time they returned to the park, everything was set up for lunch. Even in the few hours they were gone, the area was further transformed from city space to a patriotic wonderland, and the mounds of food that were presented on the table would have been enough to feed two cities, rather than the few hundred people who would be filtering in through the gates as the parade-goers made their way over.

  “This is incredible,” West said.

  “It is. I forget sometimes how lucky I am to live in this community. Every year is like this. It’s kind of nice, actually.”

  “It’s really nice. Not that I went to many celebrations in Illinois, but they were nothing like this. Even when I was a kid. This looks like Mayberry on crack. It’s too perfect.”

  “It is, but it’s home, you know?”

  “Yeah,” West said, and Rush thought he heard an air of something in his voice. Longing? Sadness? He wasn’t sure, but he intended to ask him about it later. For now there were hot dogs to consume and beer to drink. They made their way over to the table where the food was piled high and filled their plates with more than even Rush thought he could eat. Stopping at the grill, they thanked Jack Monroe, who was in charge of barbecuing the hot dogs Gleason’s Market provided for everyone in town.

  They found a spot at a picnic table in the shade and sat with their plates and bottles of beer to watch the kids hop across the lawn in a potato sack race.

  “From here we go to the lake for the fireworks?” West asked.

  Rush shook his head. “Oh no. There is still the anvil firing and the baseball game before we ride up to the lake.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask,” West said.

  “About what?”

  “Anvil firing?”

  “You’ve never seen it?”

  “I don’t even know what it is.”

  “Well, don’t let me ruin the surprise for you,” Rush said, grinning wickedly. He knew exactly what was coming, and it sounded much more exciting than it actually was, but he wasn’t going to let West know that. The letdown was half the experience.

  By the time they finished their meals, a crowd was already beginning to gather in the east corner of the park where the grass faded into a gravelly area. West looked intrigued, and Rush smiled, knowing what was coming next.

  “Should we go watch?” Rush asked as he grabbed West’s empty paper plate and tossed it into the trash along with his own.

  “I don’t even know what we’re watching.”

  “It’s a Fourth of July tradition for us that dates back to God knows when. Something about cannon fire? Anyway, basically, they take two anvils and sandwich some black powder between them. Then the bravest of the bunch lights the powder on fire.”

  West’s expression could have been interpreted as impressed or disbelieving, but he grabbed Rush’s hand and pulled him farther into the crowd. Dan Strickland had already set the anvils into place.

  “Should he be wearing flip-flops?” West asked, leaning into Rush.

  Rush laughed. “Probably not, but I guess if an anvil is going to be launched onto your foot, a pair of sneakers isn’t going to save your toes much more than sandals will.”

  “I guess,” West agreed. “Does it really launch? Are we okay standing here?”

  Rush judged the distance between them and the main attraction to be a little over fifteen feet or so. “We should be good here.”

  Dan struck the match against the side of the box, and with his body angled, ready to run, he lit the fuse. Rush could feel West tense next to him, waiting for the bang, and he wasn’t disappointed. He jumped a little at the explosion, and then a burst of laughter fell from him.

  “That’s it?” West asked.

  “Disappointed?”

  “Kind of,” West admitted. “I expected more than two and a half inches of air on it.”

  Rush laughed. “Yeah. Lots of noise but not exactly a spectacular show. I’m not really sure why we do it every year, to be honest. It’s this big buildup and loud noise but always disappointing in the end.”

  “Tradition, I guess?”

  “Yeah. The kids get a kick out of it anyway, and the fireworks tonight should satisfy your craving for explosions.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. I haven’t seen fireworks in person in years. I’ve watched them from through my car window the last decade or so.”

  “Canyon Creek doesn’t have the largest budget for pyrotechnics, but we do pretty good. We’ll be three sheets to the wind at that point, anyway.”

  “I’m already starting to feel it. Between the Baileys in the coffees this morning and the beers at lunch, we’ve set up a good base level.”

  “Good,” Rush said, pulling West into him and pressing a kiss against his temple. “Let’s head over to the field and get settled in for the baseball game. It should be starting soon.”

  They turned around, and Rush looked up to see Sebastian standing there, his hands shoved into his pockets and a weird expression on his face.

  “Hi, Rush,” he said.

  There was something off in his voice, and Rush felt his stomach tighten. He hadn’t seen Sebastian in months. Not since their awkward dinner at the pub. He called a few times, left a couple of messages, but Sebastian never called him back. This encounter felt awkward too, but in a different way. Sebastian wasn’t angry this time. He seemed… defeated. Rush wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  “Hey, how are you?” he asked. The small talk felt wrong.

  “I’m doing pretty well. Been keeping busy.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  “This is West. I don’t know if you two have actually met. West, this is my friend, Sebastian.”

  Rush watched Sebastian’s gaze dart between him and West.

  “Nice to meet you. I should be going, though. Gavin is waiting for me.”

  “Oh, okay. It was nice to see you,” Rush said. And he meant it. They had been close, and he wasn’t sure what drove the wedge between them. He felt the guilt creeping in at the edges. He was partly to blame. Sure, Sebastian was acting weird, but Rush hadn’t been persistent in trying to find out what was wrong. He would fix it. “Maybe we’ll see you at the f
ireworks tonight?”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Sebastian said before turning and leaving.

  “That was awkward,” West said when Sebastian was out of earshot.

  “You noticed too, huh?”

  “Yeah. What was that?”

  “I have no idea. We were good friends until a couple of months ago. Hell, Sebastian used to help me out around the farm from time to time in the busy season. And then last time we had dinner together, he freaked out on me for no reason, and that was the first time I’ve seen him since.”

  “You guys used to sleep together?”

  Rush shrugged. “Yeah, but it wasn’t like that. We were never together. And it was a long time ago.”

  “Seems to me like he still has some residual feelings, and maybe he’s not too happy about you and me.”

  “I don’t think so. He would have said something.”

  “You sure about that?” West sounded dubious.

  “Pretty sure. He’s never lied to me before. I’ll talk to him later. I should have forced him to talk to me ages ago, but I’ve been busy.”

  West smiled. “Yeah. Very busy.”

  Rush rolled his eyes. “Let’s go, or we’re going to miss the start of the game.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The seats were slightly uncomfortable, and the sun was beating down on them, but West was having a blast. He had never been to a baseball game before, and although this wasn’t exactly major league, it was great. The firemen, cops, and nurses were playing against the staff from a couple of the restaurants in town. It was the start of the last inning. Rush stepped up the frequency of the beer runs, and West was feeling more than a little lubricated. Despite the uniforms, which were conspicuously similar in color, West had no idea who was on which team, and if it hadn’t been for the giant scoreboard, he’d have had no idea who was winning. Still, they ate peanuts and nachos, and he lost count of the cups of beer. He was having a great time.

  In the end it was a close game, but team Code Blue walked away with the victory. At least West thought they had. He wasn’t entirely sure. All he knew for certain was he was warm and happy, and the bubbly feeling had just as much to do with Rush as it did with the alcohol. Maybe his feelings were amplified by the beer, but the gentle stroke of Rush’s thumb across the back of West’s hand as he held it made his insides feel gooey and his head light. He wouldn’t have given it up for anything.

  They stayed seated until the bleachers cleared out almost entirely before West stood—with more than a little help from Rush—and followed him out to the parking lot.

  “How are we getting to the lake?” West asked, suddenly aware no one in town was in any shape to drive.

  Rush just smiled and pointed across the way to where a handful of school buses were parked, their doors open, waiting for passengers. “There are a few people who choose to remain sober today—Lord knows why—and they drive all our drunk asses up to the lake. So let’s go,” he said, pulling West toward the first bus in line.

  West stumbled a moment but caught his footing, and they climbed aboard. They were the first ones on, and they walked to the very back, sat down, and relaxed against one another.

  West reached forward and ran his finger across where someone had carved Chris + Erin in the seat ahead of them. The worn brown vinyl was the same stuff they used on the buses when he was a kid. “This reminds me of my high school fantasy,” West said in a whisper that was likely much louder than he intended.

  “What? Being drunk on a bus?”

  “Nope. Being with the hottest guy in the back of the bus.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yup.”

  “And what kind of things did this fantasy entail?”

  Rush’s voice was low and gravelly, and West knew that tone well enough to know what Rush was thinking. He leaned in and brushed his lips across Rush’s, closing his eyes and letting himself get swept up in the feeling of Rush’s breath against his skin and the taste of his mouth. It was heady and overwhelming and perfect. The kiss stretched out between them, close and intimate, and for a moment, West forgot he was sitting on an uncomfortable bench seat, making out with his boyfriend like he was fifteen. All that existed was him and Rush, and it was everything.

  A shadow fell across them, and West became aware of someone standing over them. He broke the kiss and looked up sheepishly. “Sorry,” he said.

  He was met with a broad grin as Rosie looked down at him. “Oh, don’t mind me,” she said, giving him a little wink and sliding into the seat across from them. “In fact, carry on.”

  She cupped her chin in her hands and watched them intently. West and Rush both started laughing. A moment later, others climbed onto the bus, grabbing seats as they found them, and before long every row was filled. A woman in her mid-fifties stepped on last, and with a great flourish, she sat down in the driver’s seat and declared they were on their way.

  As the bus pulled out of the parking lot, a man in the front stood and began a count. As he reached eight, everyone on the bus began to sing Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.”

  West looked around incredulously. He turned toward Rush to ask if they always did this, to find him singing right along. His red cheeks and wide smile as he sang caused a strong surge of emotion in West. He laughed and joined in, singing as loudly, even though he couldn’t remember all the words.

  The first song was followed closely by a round of Don McLean’s “American Pie,” and just as they sung the last few notes, the bus parked in the same large open space they parked in that morning. West waited patiently as everyone filed off the bus. He followed behind Rush, jumping excitedly off the last step and onto the dry, dusty ground. The pathway between the parking area and the shoreline wasn’t long, and in no time at all they were stepping through onto the beach.

  It looked like most of the town was there already. Tables were set up similarly to the way the park was. There was still more food and a dessert table that made West’s mouth water from across the beach. People laid out blankets on the sand, and families and friends gathered, sitting together, eating and drinking and waiting for the show to start.

  Dusk was creeping in, making the edges of the trees look softer and the water more soothing as Rush grabbed a blanket from the pile and they found a place to spread it out.

  West sat, crossing his legs and leaning into Rush. They faced the water, where the small barge rocked gently.

  “Shouldn’t be long now,” Rush said, his voice soft.

  “Doesn’t matter. This is nice. I kind of don’t want the day to end,” West admitted. He was feeling particularly affectionate. Maybe it had something to do with the drinks, but he had a sneaking suspicion it had more to do with the man whose embrace he leaned into.

  “You’ve had fun?”

  “So much. It’s different than when I was a kid. There were fireworks and food, but it wasn’t like this. It was a big city, and even though I was with my grandfather, it felt like we were strangers to everyone else, you know? This feels more like—”

  “Family?”

  “Yeah. Like family.”

  “That’s how it’s supposed to be,” Rush said.

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Well, now you do. Now you get it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I love you, you know,” Rush said.

  “I love you too.”

  Silence fell between them. Words weren’t needed past that. They watched everyone settling in, and before long, the show began. It started slowly, a sparkler here and there, and built steadily until the whole sky lit up in bright colors. It reminded West of music, the way it crescendoed to a peak before ebbing away and then building again. The finale was by no means the most spectacular display he’d ever seen, but it was enough to make him feel a little breathless and incredibly grateful.

  When the show was over, West helped Rush fold the blanket and place it back in the pile where they found it. There would be a lot of cleanup to do the next day, b
ut for now everyone was tired. The bus drivers made sure everyone got home safely, dropping the families with children off first before moving on to the others’ homes.

  “You staying with me tonight?” West asked.

  “If you want me to.”

  “Always.”

  The bus dropped them at the end of West’s driveway. The alcohol had mostly worn off, but it left a deep ache of exhaustion in its place. The incline was difficult to negotiate, but with a little help from Rush, they reached the top. With marginal effort, they made it into the house. As West was toeing off his shoes, he noticed his phone vibrating on the table. He walked over and picked it up, but he was too late. The screen glowed with seventeen missed calls from Scarlet.

  West’s stomach tightened. Something was wrong. He pushed the call button, waited as it rang once, and then she answered.

  “Scarlet?” West said. “Is everything all right?”

  “Mr. Weston, I’m sorry to bother you, but I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t urgent.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Everything was running smoothly, and Helena has done an excellent job of keeping it that way. I don’t think you could have found someone better suited to keep Forge West afloat in your absence, but Alex is not who we thought he was. Things are starting to unravel, and Helena and I believe he is manipulating information gained from confidential interoffice e-mails to make it appear as though Forge West is going under. He’s sent correspondence out to almost every client we have. Helena believes he is actively trying to destroy your company and steal the clients for himself. Clients are unhappy, and there’s talk of breach of contract with some of them. Not all, but enough. I’m so sorry. Alex was careful. We only just found out what he was doing.”

  West’s temper flared, the betrayal sharp. Alex had been one of his closest confidants in the company. West had chosen him out of a thousand candidates to mentor. To hear he’d done his best to sabotage West’s company had his head spinning. It had been so long since he clicked into the business mind-set, but as the thoughts began to filter through, everything snapped easily back into place. Suddenly the weariness from the day melted away, and all that was left was a staunch determination.