Page 22 of Moon Blind Hearts
He nods. “We start off with milk. Then we add the cultures.” He taps the vat and it makes a hollow thunk sound. “I just added cultures to this one this morning. The cultures we add include mesophilic DVI MA and Penicillium Candidum. We also add in some yeast to foster the white mold.”
“You’re really messing with my love of cheese right now,” I tease, listening closely. When Sawyer starts talking about cheese, he lights up in a way that only people passionate about what they do can. I can’t really blame him. Everyone loves cheese.
He chuckles. “Just wait until I show you the curd process.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Curd is such an unattractive word.”
“You’re not wrong,” he says, smiling. “Come on. I’ll show you how everything works.”
So he does. I get a run down on all the machines that they use for each process. He shows me how they add rennet after the cultures have been left to ripen which makes the milk curdle. I get a run down on the best way to cut the curds—small cubes to help release the whey—and a lesson on how to fill the molds. At the end of it all, I’m certain I can make my own brie cheese if I wanted to. Listening to Sawyer talk about all of it is a delightful info dump that I don’t really want to stop. But when he grabs a wooden charcuterie board and pulls out a bunch of ingredients including a wheel of the brie he’s made, I forgive the abrupt stop of information.
“So, this is one you’ve made?” I ask, pointing to the small wheel of brie cheese wrapped up in cheesecloth.
“Yes,” he answers. “This is a special one from Valentine’s Day I made. It has dried strawberries in it.” He smiles without looking at me. “We called it Brie Mine.”
Laughter bubbles past my lips. “That’s adorable.”
He shrugs. “It was popular. We kept selling out of it, but I kept this wheel because I like it, too.”
I watch as he deftly cuts it into small slices. Not once does he catch his fingers, fully trusting his instincts even when he can’t see as well.
“Did that take practice?” I ask softly.
His lips quirk up. “You mean did I cut my fingers a bunch before I could do this? Yeah, I did. I haven’t been blind my whole life, so it was an adjustment.”
I hesitate, my lips partly open ready to ask the question, but I pop them closed again.
“You can ask,” he murmurs. “I can feel it hanging on your breath.”
I push out the air from my lungs on a heavy sigh. “You know, you’re almost physic with how perceptive you are.”
“Maybe the one perk,” he replies. “The other senses get stronger when you take one away. It’s pretty common.” He hands me a cracker with a piece of the brie on it and I take it. “You wanna know what happened,” he finally says. It’s not a question, more of a statement.
“It felt rude to ask,” I offer apologetically.
He laughs. “You’ve straddled my waist, Jules. At this point, it’s not rude.”
I join in with his laughter. “You’re right. I’m sorry for forgetting that fact.”
He waves away my apology. “For future reference, ask whatever you’d like. The three of us aren’t shy and there’s not really anything you can ask us that would be rude considering our business partnership.” He pauses as he spreads some cheese on a cracker. “I have Fuchs’ Dystrophy. It’s a genetic disease, apparently.”
“So, your parents had it?” I ask.
“That’s the assumption.” When I frown, he adds, “I was adopted. Never really knew my biological parents other than trying to track them down when I was eighteen.”
“Did you find them?”
He nods. “Yeah. They had more kids after me. I was the only one they gave up. They didn’t have any interest in talking to me, let alone give me any information once I was diagnosed, so I wrote them off.”
Reaching out, I put my hand on his shoulder and his head tips toward my touch. “That must have been hard.”
“It wasn’t . . . the best,” he agrees. “But I’d already had another family by then in Oak and Cash. We were all adopted by the same family, so they’re my brothers. I wouldn’t change it for the world.”
Three adoptive brothers. It makes sense that they’d be so close. “So what is Fuchs’ Dy . . .”
“Dystrophy,” he helps. “Essentially, it just slowly damages your cornea. It affects the cells lining the cornea’s inner surface. Those cells die off, fluid builds up, which causes the cornea to swell and become cloudy.” He gestures to his eyes. “Only a small percentage have it this severe so young. Guess I’m one of the lucky few.”
I find myself reaching out to comfort him again, touching his arm. He covers my hand with his, holding it to his skin, as if he needs the comfort.
