In the pantry doorway, Blythe is dancing while she fills a big bag with various snacks. She’s wearing jean shorts and a baby blue bikini top, and her shoulders are white from what I’m assuming is a generous amount of sunscreen.
Heston is sitting at the kitchen island now, and when I step toward the chair next to him, he pulls it out for me. I take a seat and watch as Tripp and Blythe put on their own version of a kitchen karaoke dance party. A few times, Heston looks over at them from his phone and shakes his head.
I tried to be sneaky looking behind me and around the open space of the bunkhouse for Warren. I think Heston notices though, because he leans toward me and speaks over the loud music.
“He’s in the hay field,” he explains.
I miss him.
I miss him and I’m not panicking while admitting that to myself.
I can’t put my finger on the exact moment my inner hesitancy evaporated. Everything he said to me last night, the way I feel when he’s not here, a combination of every little moment we’ve shared . . . I have half a mind to leave this kitchen and go find him andtellWarren instead of sitting with it in my head.
“Bon Appé Titties,” Tripp shouts from the other side of the island. As if he’s a bartender in an old saloon, he slides two plates across the counter and Heston catches them before they fall off the edge.
I look down at the plate and laugh at how much shredded cheese he put on the scrambled eggs. Right next to the eggs is a biscuit that looks like it was made from scratch and three sausage links.
Can all of them cook? I mean, other than red meat, of course. This is not the first time a man has made me breakfast in this place and I’m starting to think I don’t ever want to leave again.
After a few bites of his food, Heston gives his review.
“Six out of ten,” he declares in a sure tone.
Tripp is standing at the sink, and with a dish towel in one hand and a soapy pan in the other, he whips around to face Heston with a scowl.
“You’re kidding me,” he pouts.
“Youknowhis system,” Blythe says while grabbing a plate of food for herself and sitting next to me. “Major deduction for no gravy.”
“I like butter on my biscuits,” I say to Tripp with a casual shrug to make him feel better.
“That’s what she said,” he replies, pointing the dish towel at me with a smirk.
“Mm,” Blythe moans while she tries her food. “Well seasoned. A solid eight out of ten.”
Tripp rinses the pan and puts it on the drying rack, turns around to lean his hips against the sink, and folds his arms. Irealize after a moment that he’s staring at me like he’s waiting for my score. Blythe and Heston both look in my direction as well. This must be a game they play, rating each other’s food. And they want me to do it too.
They’re just having fun, but to me, this feels like my initiation to the friend group. I smile and laugh nervously while putting a perfect bite—a combination of all three items on the plate into my mouth.
The eggs taste like cheese and green chile and the sausage is a little well done, but I like it that way. The buttery biscuit is fluffy but still has a subtle crunch to the crust.
They continue watching me, waiting for the verdict. I swallow, place my fork down next to my plate, and clear my throat.
“Nine out of ten,” I say confidently.
Tripp howls with enthusiasm and throws the dish towel in the air. Blythe catches it, laughs, and then digs back into her food. Heston turns his hat backwards and shakes his head mumbling something about the travesty of biscuits with no gravy.
Just then, the music from the jukebox cuts off and we all turn to see Gage standing next to it across the room.
“Thought you weren’t going to start without me,” he says, walking straight toward Blythe for a kiss. He stands behind her, leaning over her shoulder. After they kiss, she lifts her fork to put a bite of food from her plate into his mouth. It’s sweet and I realize that I’m staring, so I turn my focus back to my food before they notice.
I used to think that love was devastating in the worst way. Friends can lie and stab you in the back. Parents fight. Boyfriends break your heart. But if love is so devastating, then why is everyone here so happy?
Maybe in the past, I wasn’t loving the right people. I’m not going to push it all away this time just to try and protect myself.
“Mm,” he nods. “Ten out of ten. Where’s Warren?” Gage asks while reaching for a water bottle on the counter.
“I’m assuming he left out early trying to get the last bit of hay done before it’s supposed to rain a little this afternoon. I think I saw the tractor in the field when I pulled in,” Blythe answers.
