Page 13 of The Way We Score

The tiny fruits are red and shriveled, and I watch as she carefully cuts a long strip down the side of one.

Craig is all the way on the other side of the room holding a towel over his nose and mouth as he reads from his phone. “Grilled poblanos with nacho cheese sauce, Muhammara…”

“Muha what?” Dylan’s brow furrows.

“Muhammara,” he shouts. “It’s roasted red peppers, bread crumbs, walnuts, and pomegranate molasses.”

“Roastedredpeppers?” Dylan’s voice goes high. “As in redbellpeppers? They don’t even count!”

“And you call yourself her sous chef.” I walk over to where our lifelong friend and former across-the-street neighbor is standing.

“I never called myself Dylan’s sous chef. Why do you think I stand all the way over here with a towel over my face? I don’t like touching Satan’s fruit!”

Nudging his shoulder, I laugh. “You’d touch Satan’s ding-dong.”

“Not if it had the same effect as one of those peppers.” I arch my eyebrow in a disbelieving look, and his lips twist. “Okay, Iamintrigued by the thought.”

“Cause you’re a kinky motherfucker.”

He holds a finger in my face. “I’m easily distracted.”

“You two are gross,” Dylan sniffs, continuing her careful slicing.

“He set me up,” I defend.

Craig fights a laugh. “I won’t mention this to Clint. It might be a bit much for him at this point in our relationship.”

“I need to get to know Clint better, make sure he’s right for you.” My brow lowers. “Has he come out of the closet yet?”

“He’s escorting me to the wedding.”

“That’s a good start.”

Holding up a hand, we high-five as he returns to my sister. “You asked me to cover for you, and I told you, I’m not preparing any recipes that require me to wear goggles and plastic gloves, Danger Girl.”

“That’s Dylan Danger to you.” Logan saunters in the room with my older brother Zane right behind him.

The two of them host a sports-talk radio show every Thursday at Logan’s radio station, and they’ve been pre-recording episodes all day for the next two weeks while Logan and Dylan are on their honeymoon in Mexico.

Logan chose the location so she could scout out new hot-pepper recipes. It’s the birthplace of her hot pepper passion. She helped chaperone a high school senior cruise a few years back and came back obsessed.

He wraps his fist around Dylan’s ponytail, and gives it a tug so he can steal a kiss. It’s their standard greeting, but when he sees her protective gear, he hesitates.

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

“Not tonight.” She winks, poking out her lips for a kiss. “But don’t touchanything.”

He kisses her briefly, lifting both hands before going to stand on the other side of Craig. Those two wimps melt like snowflakes just thinking about capsaicin oil. Come to think of it, Olivia was always the same way.

“I like the idea of serving it over ice cream.” Zane’s voice is low as he inspects the dark blue sauce my sister is simmering in a large pot on the stove.

She carefully slides in the diced peppers and gives it a slow stir. “It’s festive, and the ice cream will help cut the heat so more people can try it. Also, the blueberries and the lime juice will make the capsaicin less potent.”

“Sorry I’m late!” Allie, our summer waitress and one of Dylan’s best friends breezes into the kitchen, grabbing an apronoff a hook. “You wouldn’t believe how crowded it is out there tonight! They must know Captain Vanilla’s taking over for a while.”

She elbows Craig, and he sniffs. “I am hardly vanilla.”

“I bet you don’t have a single hot pepper recipe on tap. Show me.”

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