Page 22 of The Autumn We Fell in Love

Brie

I’m not supposed to be here, sweating on the BART as the train meanders through San Francisco. I’d rather be just about anywhere than this stuffy car, trying to avoid making eye contact with a man who I’m pretty sure is dressed in a trench coat and nothing more.

No, I’m supposed to be back home in my tiny hometown of Paulson, Montana, whipping up all sorts of delicious goodies — but especially fondue, my speciality — at The Thinking Cup Cafe. It’s the best diner in the Rocky Mountains if you ask me.

Which no one ever does.

That’s exactly how I ended up here.

Instead of making sure it was okay with me, my parents colluded with Reggie, my gay middle-aged boss who is too damn nice to hate, even though I really kind of want to right now, given how Trench Coat Man is trying to catch my eye. They saw a commercial on T.V. about how this big-name culinary school in California is hosting its annual cooking competition, and this year it’s going to be televised.

They saw that and, without asking me, entered me and my best fondue recipe in it.

Of course I got selected to compete. My fondue is legit. People come from five counties over to have it — and Montana counties arebig.

I refused to attend, though. A televised cooking competition? Uh, no thanks.

Until I read the fine print.

By entering my recipe, Reggie and my folks also entered into a contract on my behalf.

Guess who has to fulfill it.

Go on.

I’ll wait.

(Here’s a hint: it’s the twenty-something-year-old with knotty blonde hair, a body that’s more like the Venus of Willendorf than the Venus de Milo, and an aversion to all things big city who’s currently getting eyeballed by Trench Coat Man.)

Still, I guess I can’t be all mad about it. As Reggie pointed out, there’s a sizable cash prize. With that kind of money, I could finally get my mom the hip replacement surgery she so desperately needs but she and my dad can’t afford.

My parents work hard for the simple life they enjoy. But it turns out that Mom’s nannying and my Dad’s grocery clerk gig don’t exactly come with multiplying returns.

They’ve got next to nothing, and my mom’s been limping for way too long with her bum hip. I’ve been hustling at The Thinking Cup, but winning the California Culinary Institute’s prize would fully finance Mom’s surgery in a way that I’ve never been able to through diner tips.

And if any of the prize is left over, I could maybe start thinking for real about the cooking bar I’ve been wanting to open, a place for folks to come learn how to create new recipes while enjoying delicious cocktails with their friends.

That will come later, though, if it happens at all. Mom comes first.

I hate big cities. But I’ll do just about anything to make sure my folks are provided for.

Including making a damn fool of myself on television.

Still, I have no doubt that my fondue is prize-worthy. The other competitors in the cheese sauce category of the CCI competition better watch out. They’ve got nothing on me.

Trench Coat Man stands up, eyes locked on me, swaying with the movement of the train. My belly tightens and I get ready to haul ass.

But then the skies part and a miracle occurs — the BART lurches to a halt at my destination. And I do haul ass — off the train and away from Trench Coat Man, who mercifully stays in the car.

The doors close and the above-ground subway trundles off, leaving me to navigate the last few blocks to the hotel near CCI where I’ve rented a room.

Like I said, I don’t like big cities.

But I don’t have to like San Francisco.

I just have to be here long enough to get what I came for.

Then I’m out of here without a second glance back.

---