Page 36 of Pitcher Perfect

Caleb stood from the picnic table we’d commandeered at the Southeast Portland food truck pod he’d brought me to and shot me a conspiratorial smile before walking back to the food truck we’d ordered from.

He returned a few minutes later and handed me a small bag. “A container of the slaw. It’s great on chicken breast. Or cook up some ground beef and mix it with rice or quinoa, add in taco sauce, then top with the slaw. Quick and easy dinner.”

I accepted the bag and smiled like a hopeless goober. Not only did he get me the slaw, he gave me ideas on how to use it with my limited cooking skills. The reasons to like Caleb were stacking up fast and furious, like fluffy snowflakes in a snowstorm.

Though we’d only been in Portland for about an hour, it was already one of the best days I’d had in a long time. Conversation on the drive had flowed with lots of laughs. I was amazed by how much we had in common, from taste in TV and movies to politics, but we had enough differences to keep things interesting. A taco was a sandwich, and I would die on that hill. Caleb was supremely incorrect on that one.

“Thank you,” I said with as much meaning as I could reasonably infuse into a gift of food.

“You’re welcome. I have a cooler with ice packs in my trunk to keep it fresh.”

I laughed. “Used to picking up edible souvenirs on your Portland trips?”

His answering smile was shy. “Habit. If I’m not here to shop for the truck, I still end up getting cheese from my favorite markets or more obscure produce not found at the Dahlia Springs grocery store.”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating. I’ve always found everything I need there,” I teased.

“Peanut butter and jelly? Shocking.”

“Don’t forget the bagged salad and pre-flavored chicken breasts. I’m a man of many talents.”

His gaze wandered over me, lingering on my lips. “I’ve had your beer. I know.”

I swallowed and resisted the urge to tug at my collar. It wasn’t that warm in May. “Where else did you want to try?”

Caleb pointed over at a dark-green truck with gold lettering. “Fancy some soup dumplings?”

“Hell yeah.”Who knows where inspiration for Portland Pairing might strike?Plus, it was adorable how he was practically skipping with excitement.

“Come on!” He walked backward and gestured for me to hurry.

I picked up the pace as I laughed. Once we reached the truck, I studied the menu. I wanted one of everything, but it was dumb to fill up so early in the day when we still had a lot more tasting we wanted to do.

“Caleb! How the hell have you been, man?”

A shorter Asian guy with spiky black hair and red streaks and a wide, happy smile popped out of his truck and hustled over, pulling Caleb into a bro hug.

“Hey, Yang, good to see you. Glad you settled here.”

“It’s not the same as our pod but better than nothing. I’m still pissed about what happened.” He shook his head. “I heard you moved out to some podunk town. Are you still in your truck?”

Caleb glanced at me. “Yeah, I moved to Dahlia Springs, northwest of McMinnville. Still going strong with the truck. I’m the only one there, but I’ve heard some rumblings of other people thinking about opening one or moving to town.”

He has?That would be amazing. Maybe we could get a rotation of trucks to park outside Tap That once we opened the outdoor seating. If we ever got it approved.

“A pod could do well there with all the traffic from people traveling around wine country or taking a scenic route to the coast. It’s a great town.” He repositioned himself to include me in the conversation. “This is Austin. He owns a brewery there. You gotta come try it sometime.”

“A beer guy.” Yang held out his hand. “I love beer almost as much as I love food. There’s a brewery in that town? Nice. Maybe it’s not as podunk as I thought.”

“Nah, still podunk but great too. It’s good to meet you,” I said, though my mind was already tripping over Yang’s comments.Does Caleb think it’s too small a town, deep down? He defended it, but does he share Yang’s worries?

As Yang and Caleb chatted, my worries over whether Caleb would be happy in Dahlia Springs grew. Caleb was a grown man, and it wasn’t my responsibility or problem to consider whether he was happy or chose to stay in Dahlia Springs.

But if I were being honest with myself?Caleb had worked his way to the edges of my circle. It was easy to imagine spending time with Caleb at the brewery, swinging by his truck, hanging out whenever I let myself have hang-out time. I rarely let myself get close to people because people left. I didn’t want Caleb to be one of those people.

Hopes aside, how long will he really last after the contest?Especially if we performed well, people would be knocking down Caleb’s door to get him back in Portland. He could probably make a killing rotating around and parking outside taprooms all over the city.

“Here you go.” Caleb handed me a container.

---