Page 91 of Why Cheese?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Jeweled Jarlsburg
I DIDN’T SEE them again.
Okay, I’m being dramatic, but it’s also true. My mother made certain we always locked up the second the store closed and I had to follow her back to her hotel or else. For a week, the only way I could communicate with any of the guys was via notes scribbled on napkins I tossed into the trash. I prayed they found and read them.
I promised that I’d do something to fix this. That I’ll do everything I can to delay the sale. But each day, more cheese flew out the doors, and no milk came in. The stocks were sagging and I couldn’t get into the vault to see how screwed we were.
“What are you doing?” my mother screeches at me.
I finish packing up the order with a smile, then rush to the cheese-tasting counter. “Here, try this brie. It’s made fresh on premises.”
“Mmm.” The customer waves her cracker at me as if giving praise. “That’s delicious.”
“Thank you.”
“Violette.” My mom grabs my arm and yanks me half across the counter. “What is this?”
“It’s a cheese tasting. People can try out different cheeses, and if they like one—”
“It’s a waste of time and money. You there, either buy something or get out!” my mother snarls at the customer who is eyeing up the array of brie in rainbow-colored wax.
With a sneer, the customer reaches to drop her toothpick in the bag but misses. She mutters something under her breath and leaves without buying any cheese. I hustle around the counter to pick up the dropped toothpick, and my mother comes with me.
“These tastings need to end. You’re wasting your money on scammers who trash this place. We need to keep it clean or we might get screwed in the deal. Violette? Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, mother.” I drop all the errant toothpicks that rolled under the counter into the paper bag and reach to change out my gloves.
My mom inspects the sign advertising the tastings on the counter. Without a care, she hurls Mateo’s old chalkboard to the ground. A snap lurches my heart.
“Oh no,” I cry out, hustling toward it, but it’s too late. The slate is cracked right down the middle. A chunk starts to tip out of the frame. I try to keep the slate in place while my mother shakes her head.
“That piece of junk,” she says with a sniff.
Digging my fingers to the back, I press the old sign against my chest. Tears are coming, but I can’t have that. They need to stop or she’s going to get so angry.
“Violette, what are you doing?”
“Just cleaning up your…my mess.” I stare down at the sign, Brie’s careful letters smudged. It’s broken, it belongs in the trash. I glance at the can behind the counter and make a motion to throw it away.
Four nails click on the counter above my head. Without thinking, I bundle the broken chalkboard up on the shelves below the cheese, hiding it. Dusting off my hands, I rise as my mother glares across the street.
“We’ve been here forever.” My mother rarely lasts long, her cheery demeanor souring within a couple of hours of opening each day.
“Closing time’s not until six. We’ve got—”
My mother waves my words away, and I shut up.
“You could head back to the hotel, rest up after your long day. I’ll close here, maybe pick up dinner…?” I try to keep my voice quiet and respectful for fear she’ll sniff out that I don’t want to go with her.
My mom’s not even listening to me. Her focus is on the back wall. She’s got her head quirked as if she’s smelled something she doesn’t like. I follow her gaze and my heart stops.
Oh, no.Right there is the picture of the guys looking like they did yesterday next to my great uncle from forty years ago. She’s going to figure out that they’re immortal cheese-men. She’ll do something terrible to them. I have to stop her…
“What’s this?” My mother skips right past the picture frame and grabs Brie’s painting of me.
“It’s…a painting,” I say, breathing again. As she stares at the canvas, I try to slip over without her noticing to grab the incriminating photo.
