Page 65 of A Fine Line

I leaned forward, brushing her nose against mine.

“I love you, Winnie girl.”

“I love it when you call me that.” Her lips brushed against mine.

“You always did,” I moved in closer, our lips tangling together.

I wasn’t sure how we got flipped around, but suddenly Winnie was on her back for me and I was in my favorite place to be: nestled between her legs with my lips on hers and my heart in the palm of her hand. With no barriers between us, we gust lost in each other’s mouth.

My hands tested the weight of her below me, cradling her head from the blades of grass below her. Winnie’s hands trailing up my back, under my shirt, her cool hands against my warm skin.

We’re both breathing hard when I finally pulled away.

“So,” I puffed out, chest heaving against hers, her sweat barely concealing her. “The cowboy hat really locked you in.”

Winnie cackled below me, shaking her head gently, staring up at me with this mix of lust and love and something entirely rich. “That’s exactly it, now keep kissing me.”

I obeyed her breathy demands, because without my family, without the farm, and without a kitchen, I was home. That was exactly what she was to me.

Ipushed the cutting board aside and reached for the final round of strawberries. The air, or lack thereof in Crew’s enclosed truck, was already thick with sizzling anticipation, and every nerve in my body buzzed with the thrill of what was coming. Behind me, Crew was organizing his sauces, muttering under his breath about exactly where each bottle should go and what he needed and when.

I’d never seen him so worked up, so organized. He’d made labels at my apartment late last night just in case one of us accidentally grabbed the wrong thing in the rush that was this morning. It was extremely cute to witness. I was bundled up in my orange plaid throw blanket, sitting on my living room floor as he triple checked his ingredient list being ready. He worked until we both passed out on the floor. When I woke up this morning though we were on my floor mattress, his left arm supporting my neck, his right one curled around my abdomen, keeping me close. We both slept in far too late.

Don’t get me wrong, I had my nerves too. After all, we’d worked for this for weeks, but at least now I knew that even if welost we would still be winning in a way. Because I had Crew right by me at the end of this: no matter the results.

Just as I finished slicing the last strawberry in what was allowed for our ‘prep’ time, I felt his hand brush against mine as he passed, close enough that I caught that familiar woodsy scent I’d come to crave. I turned, and before he could go back to what he was doing, I’d leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His chuckle was warm and proud and when he tilted his head to return the favor on my own cheek, the tiny bit of stubble he’d been growing scratched against my jaw and I was living for it. He looked rough and tough and yet inside there was my little Crew. The one with the fake mustaches and the Hawaiian shirts and so many mismatches socks.

Ever since we left the field, we’d hardly kept our hands, our mouths, away from each other. Thankfully, we’d done enough practice for today that each of our movements were second nature. If we’d waited till the week of two prep then we would have been screwed, considering my hands were on his shoulders and his were on my waist far more than they were ever in the kitchen.

“Whatever happens…” I said softly, more to myself than to him, “we’ll figure it out. Together.”

He grinned, that easy smile that had slowly snuck its way into my heart. That I once found menacing and now knew it was the one he had just for me. “Together,” he echoed, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

We were both smiling as we straightened up, getting ready to face the crowd. We only had five more minutes left until the competition officially began.

Essentially, our rules for the morning were to serve an original entree and dessert to forty guests in an hour. Everything had to be made to order, meaning if someone ordered a carne asada taco with no onions, Crew would have to change the originalrecipe to fit them best. So on and so forth. Then, once everyone was served, the people would vote for their favorites and that was that. Points would be deducted if we missed any people in the sixty minute mark.

It didn’t seem hard really, considering Crew and I had both served this many people in an hour before. But the pressure was on us to not only have great timing but impeccable service and quality too.

The biggest problem we hadn’t considered was that we didn’t have someone to take orders, something that suddenly crossed our minds when we realized every truck around us brought an extra volunteer. But, considering my tartlets were finished and all we had to do was fill them and do a garnish, I volunteered to take on the role of taking order and doing desserts. Crew argued but we both knew his job was far more straining than mine, so eventually, with a lot of pleading and promising for our time alone later, he agreed.

Outside the window you could hear the crowd around us, people chanting for their favorite food trucks, all forty judges waiting behind the starting line five trucks down from us. “Sounds like there’s a lot of them.”

“At least we only have to serve forty.”

“Still, it sound like there’s way more than-” I paused, because that was when I heard it. Cheering, louder than it had been this entire time. And… was that singing?

I raised a brow at Crew and he shrugged his shoulders with a confused frown.

Crew lifted the roll up window and looked out before immediately bursting into laughter and turning his back to the window to wipe his eyes with the bottom of his shirt. A smile on my face already, I turned and almost busted out in tears at the sight.

Standing just in front of Crew’s truck, right behind the line where the judges were supposed to come by, was the most outrageous cheering squad I’d ever seen. His siblings, all five of them, and their spouses, were all lined up in bright pink Hawaiian shirts with Crew’s face plastered all over them.

With a very pregnant Marigold and Calla waving absurdly large homemade banners that said, “THAT’S OUR CREW!” and “MY BROTHER IS THE BEST!” they were practically bouncing, shouting his name with ecstatic energy. Liam, Luke, Nathan, and even Adam, all were standing there in their pink shirts cheering him on. Rachel had even put on the fake mustache for him.

My smile turned into a guffaw when I saw Crew’s mom and dad directly behind them with air horns. I knew they were all coming, Calla had texted me this morning asking where everything was at and the best place to park. I didn’t mention it to Crew because I didn’t want him any more nervous than he already was. But, judging by his howling laughter bouncing off the truck, I had a feeling any nerves left went right out of that window.

Crew and I both took off our aprons and ran out to the parking lot, noticing the time. Only three minutes left, but we both knew we couldn’t not see them.

---