Page 33 of Kind of a Dirty Talker

“I hope they have homemade gnocchi. And a killer charcuterie board.”

Tessa rubs her hands together as the engine rumbles to life. “Yes, please. I love charcuterie boards. I make a pretty mean one, if I do say so myself.”

“Oh yeah?” I pull out of our spot, guiding the camper toward the exit.

“Yeah. I know they’re trendy now, but I’ve been charcuterie-ing for decades. I made my first one when I was only twenty-three. It was Valentine’s Day, and my boyfriend did not appreciate my flower radishes and homemade pickles, but he did eat all the horseradish cheddar and leave me exactly zero slices.”

“Monster,” I say. “Horseradish cheddar must be shared.”

“I know, right?” She shakes her head. “I should have known the relationship was doomed right then and there.”

“But at least it wasn’t Stilton with dried apricots.”

She laughs as she shifts in her chair, facing me. “Oh my God, yes! Stilton is so good! But almost unanimously overlooked by charcuterie board makers everywhere. What’s up with that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it sounds too British or something? It’s sad, really.”

“So sad.” She chuckles. “We should start a campaign to raise Stilton awareness. Maybe then Marcy would stock it in the cheese section at The Farmer’s Way. She eventually got on board with more than one kind of goat cheese, once I convinced her that there are actually several different kinds and they have wildly different flavors, textures, and cooking applications.”

“Love goat cheese. Slap it on a pizza with some arugula and a little fig jam…heaven.”

She moans. “Damn, that sounds good. In the summer I like to grill a little bit in a corn husk and then top it with a corn salsa and honey to make a dip.”

I curse in appreciation.

“Amen,” she agrees.

I shoot a glance her way. “I like it when you talk cheesy to me.”

Her enthusiasm dims as I merge onto the highway. She sits back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “Yeah, well, I do love cheese. It’s a very honest food. Cheese is never going to trick you into thinking it’s good when it’s not, you know? Cheese will start to stink to high heaven or grow visible mold of some kind. It gives very clear warning signs that you should stay away from it if you want to avoid gastrointestinal distress.”

Taking her meaning, I put my own twist on her metaphor, “But a little mold doesn’t mean the cheese is all bad. Slice it off and there’s still plenty of perfectly good cheese left to enjoy.”

“But the cheese is past its prime by then,” she counters.

“Past its prime cheese is still good cheese. And past its prime horseradish cheddar is still far superior to most other cheeses, even if they’re brand new.”

She arches a brow. “Now it sounds like we’re talking about me. I’m the only past their prime cheese in this vehicle.”

I shake my head but keep my eyes on the road as I say, “Not even close. You’re clearly in your prime. And besides, you’re not cheese, you’re a fine wine, who’s only going to get better with age.”

She snorts. “Now who’s talking cheesy?”

“Too much?”

“Nah. I’m a sucker for compliments, even cheesy ones. Especially after being called a wrinkled old prune last night.”

“Daria is a liar and an asshole,” I say. “That’s been proven in multiple clinical studies.”

Tessa laughs. “Can you imagine? She’d give the scientists heart failure.”

“Nightmare. But maybe not our nightmare for much longer. Christian texted earlier. Your door is all cleaned up, the security system went in this afternoon, and there’s been no sign of Daria. Hopefully, she sobered up, realized she was a maniac last night, and came to her senses.”

“Hopefully,” Tessa says with a sigh, “but she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who comes to her senses. She gave me more ‘gator with its jaws locked in the middle of a death roll’ vibes. And that mannequin…it gives me the willies just thinking about it.”

I want to reach out and take her hand. Instead, I promise, “If a week away doesn’t cool her down, I’ll camp out in your yard and keep watch every night until this is over.”

“You’d look pretty rough in court after a night in the front yard. And what about the gnomes? What if they come to life and attack you for calling them creepy?”

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