Warming Trend (9 page)

“Catering must be successful, because I seem to recall you doing it for a number of years.”

Eve made an answer, but Ani didn’t follow it. Instead, she was recalling the first time she’d heard Professor Tyndell talk about global warming. The local public television panel had been blown away she’d easily overshadowed a local politician wannabee arguing that global warming wasn’t real, who used cleavage and big hair as her credentials to talk about creationism. Ani saw the miracle of the region every day, and felt she was properly appreciative of God’s design, but that didn’t mean she thought the earth was only a few thousand years old.

Not scathing, not rude, Monica had said, “If the crucial balance of nature’s magnificence is purely God’s work, then global warming is purely the Devil’s influence. Every inch of preventable damage to our retreating glaciers should be an affront to anyone who loves what God has made for us.” And by golly, by the end of the program the airhead agreed that maybe, just maybe, human activity was contributing to climate change.

“She knows so much about the ice it’s intimidating.”

Ani belatedly realized that Eve and Monica had turned to include her in their comments. She glanced at the grad assistant she now realized had been walking in the garden with the professor. Shannon something Ani couldn’t remember the woman’s name, but knew she was in the midst of writing her dissertation was walking with her gaze on her own feet.

“I think her tips have given me some ideas on how to make better ice cream,” Eve said. “I didn’t realize how much of a temperature difference there is between the melt of quick-frozen and slow-frozen ice. If two degrees makes a difference to an entire climate, it’s bound to make a difference in my little ice cream freezer.”

Ani knew she was blushing. She always felt sort of flushed around Monica, but then everybody did. Shannon whatever-her-name-was looked a bit red, too. It was doubly bad to have Eve looking at her as well.

“Is that how you sweet talk a date, Ani?” Monica laughed and fondly touched Ani’s arm.

Ani hadn’t thought she could get redder, but she could feel the heat rising from her cheeks. Still, she was oddly pleased that Monica recognized Eve and she were probably dating. The gay community in Fairbanks was pretty darned small and Monica’s casualness about her own sexuality made it easier on all of them.

“Well, I don’t know anything about making deviled eggs.”

“Play to your strengths,” Monica said. She gestured at Shannon as an indication of changing the subject. “Shannon’s undergrad work was in arctic organics, and she has a plot of experimental herbs we were going to check out.”

“Outside a greenhouse?” Eve looked intrigued. “I thought chickweed was pretty much it.”

Shannon came to life. “It’s a variation of celeriac.” She gave Monica a slightly apologetic look as she corrected, “A hardy tuber, not an herb. If it can survive winter here, it would be good for most of the region.”

Eve’s eyes were an even lighter blue and her smile broad as she and Shannon debated the reliability of tubers. Ani trailed along after them, not sure what to say to Monica, who seemed to be listening to their conversation.

She couldn’t look away from Eve’s curves and the bouncy way she walked, full of energy. Shannon plodded, by comparison. Okay, Ani admitted, the physical attraction to Eve was there. She’d lusted before and most of the time never did anything about it. There was something else with Eve, and she wasn’t sure how to even describe it, but she did know that when Eve said something that made Ani laugh, it felt like a kiss, but on the inside. Scary, but she didn’t mind that kind of fear. It was like rappelling out of a helicopter to a glacial camp. Heart rate accelerated, wariness of getting hurt, but a smile on her face that wouldn’t quit.

Monica waved them off with, “I’m sure you two have better things to do.”

Ani stole a glance at Eve, who looked composed, but maybe, around the edges, a bit pleased.

They made their way to the parking lot, swinging the empty picnic basket between them.

Eve sounded gratifyingly reluctant as she said, “I have an event tonight, so I really have to go now. Just a party, but they want hot hors d’oeuvres, which makes timing a huge deal.”

“Can I help? I’m okay on my work. It’s not like I keep regular hours yet. I’m just helping out.”

Eve hesitated. “I’d love that, believe me, but my license requires me to only have helpers in the kitchen who have done the state health screening. I’m a stickler about it.”

“Oh I understand that. It makes sense.” Ani couldn’t help the disappointment in her voice. “When are you next free? We’ve done middle of the day and middle of the night. How about something more traditionally evening time?”

“That sounds a lot like you’re asking me out on a real date.”

“This wasn’t a real date?” Ani stooped slightly to better read Eve’s expression. “There were flowers. And the first date we had special lighting and dancing.”

“Oh, you’re right.” Eve sighed. Ani realized she loved the way Eve looked up at her through her lashes, manipulatively feminine but patently obvious about it. “Well, if that’s all…”

“Would this make it a real date?” Awed by her courage even though she was certain this was what Eve wanted, she ducked her head and kissed Eve softly on the lips.

“Yes,” Eve breathed. “That’s exactly what I had in mind.”

Ani was no fool, and she wasn’t made of ice either, so she kissed Eve again. Eve was so incredibly soft, every bit of her. Little kisses, exploring the corners of Eve’s mouth, longer kisses, trying to give away something of herself but not sure what. Eager kisses, and little giggles when their noses bumped. Eve’s lashes fluttered against Ani’s cheek, and they shared a gasp of air between them. Ani’s stomach did flip-flops and the tingle didn’t stop. Eve sighed against her and Ani hid her eyes, certain that if she met Eve’s gaze it would melt what was left of her bones.

“Sunday night,” Eve breathed. She cleared her throat. “I’m free Sunday night. For another date.”

Ani struggled to steady her voice. She wanted to sound like she was in control. Eve didn’t seem very experienced, even though she was older, and that made two of them. It seemed important to be casual and confident. “Sunday night it is. Do you like the Red Moose?”

“Actually…” Eve gave Ani a shy look. “I’d love to make dinner for you.”

Ani’s knees felt as if they’d buckle any minute. Eve was so warm, and so pliable, and they fit perfectly for kissing, and most of Ani wanted to go back to kissing. What was left of her brain was equally divided between imagining how they’d fit horizontally, and focusing on the conversation. She managed, “That would be great.”

“Six o’clock?”

“Sure. Can I bring something? A couple of steaks? Trout?”

“A nice red wine? Or bread from Benneton’s?”

“Oh my pleasure. I’ll take any excuse to go in there. It smells heavenly. And I’ll bring wine too.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Ani echoed.

Neither of them had made a move to separate, so it had seemed like the only right thing to do was to kiss her again. If the first kisses had been melting, the second round was intoxicating…

The touchdown of airplane wheels on the runway brought Ani back to the present. Everything with Eve had been so easy. So mutual. She missed that. She missed Eve. Of course she hadn’t tried to replace her, and she didn’t care if it was unhealthy. Eve was…they had been…perfect for each other.

“All in all,” Lisa said as she yanked her carry-on out of the overhead bin, “you haven’t told me anything I didn’t already know. I already knew you loved her. I haven’t a clue why you’re slinging drinks in Key West.”

“Well, it’s a tragedy,” Ani said, trying for a philosophical tone. She followed Lisa down the narrow stairs to the asphalt. If Key West had been stewing in the heat, Atlanta was baking. They quickly made their way into the commuter terminal. “In a tragedy you get the good parts first.”

“So next I get the sad part and coffee, right?”

For a moment Ani was disoriented. She didn’t know why she was in another airport, with stale air and plants that never changed. Home was so real she could smell the cedar, but a waft of frying oil from the food court washed it all away. It was all a memory, and just as easily lost under the weight of the real world.

Lisa paused, looking over her shoulder. “C’mon you. It’s forward or backward now. We can’t stay here.”

“I want it to be a proper shepherd’s pie.” Eve dropped the cooking spray back into its slot alongside the cooktop. “Anyone can sling veggies and meat chunks into a crock and cover it with mashed potatoes. Good gravy is the real key. It’s what makes you feel like you can’t make it yourself. It’s what sticks to your ribs when it’s twenty below.”

Neeka watched as Eve whisked in a slurry of flour and cold water left from boiling potatoes, her face a study in concentration. “I’ve only made gravy from base. Industrial, in five-gallon pots.”

Eve grinned at her. “This is going to taste a whole lot better, and the potato water is going to bind with the other thickeners so it won’t separate and get greasy. We can refrigerate a batch and use it for up to forty-eight hours, thinning it slightly each time we reheat a portion of it. Caterers don’t get to do much of this kind of cooking, but I love it.”

A quick study, Neeka followed directions to build the gravy from scratch. Her experience had been in supervising the correctional facility kitchen, then the university student union. When she’d walked into the Dragonfly for an interview, Eve hadn’t needed to see her resume to know her work experience—the stain proof polyester pantsuit had said it all. She was pleased that the suits had given way to more comfortable trousers and blouses, very flattering to the matronly figure. Neeka understood time pressure and the importance of all the kitchen workers doing their part. But the production of food on an industrial scale had stunted her originality. Their recipe conference was one of Eve’s favorite parts of the week. She could go on, just like this, very happy and for a long time.

“I know fresh veg is better, but seems like a good gravy might let you get by with some frozen in a pinch.”

Eve nodded. “You’re right. Come dead of winter and all we’ve got is fresh carrots, we’ll need instant potatoes to extend the fresh ones, so frozen corn and broccoli is the answer. We might have to do mixed meats—little steak, little ground, little ham—January is never a time of plenty.”

“I see that, boss.”

Eve looked up as a shadow fell across the kitchen’s back door. She expected the dishwasher but it was Neeka’s son. Tall and lanky, his outline was unmistakable. For just a moment, though, Eve thought it was someone else. Tall, all legs and arms, thin face and short, wildly curly hair…someone else. “Pelle’s here.”

Neeka glanced at her youngest and said, “I don’t have any money to spare today.”

“It’s okay, Mom.” He bobbed his head. “Thought I’d tell you I got a job, next two months. I can pay you back the rest for my car by the end. That Mr. Russ you sent me to. If I like it, he might keep me on. Organic gardening is a lot to learn, though.”

Eve watched in amazement as Neeka turned back to the gravy, her face flaming with color. “I hope you thanked Mr. Russ.”

“I did.” Pelle bobbed his head some more.

Her suspicions aroused, Eve decided asking any questions wasn’t a good idea in front of Pelle. She said, “Seems to me that a gainfully employed man could use a piece of pie.” Neeka had often complained Pelle had hollow legs. “I’ve got a piece that’s not pretty enough to serve.”

Eve got a highly approving grunt for the slice of pie. With Pelle out of earshot at the far end of the dining room counter, Eve returned to the kitchen. Maybe Neeka’s flattering clothes weren’t all just for comfort.

“So… that’s nice. Pelle working for one of our suppliers. You can keep tabs on him.”

“Uh-huh. That was the idea. I don’t want him going the way of his father.”

“John Russ strikes me as a straight shooter. Good people.”

Neeka flushed again. “Yes, he’s a fine man.”

Barely concealing a smile, Eve said, “We’ve been getting such great service lately, too. Advance notice on what’s coming in season, the pick of the peaches…”

“Uh-huh.”

Eve left it there. Neeka’s husband had died some four or five years ago from a crystal meth overdose. Well before Ani left, Eve thought. It would be great if romance had found Neeka again. And high time, that nagging inner voice added, that you do the same. Waiting until next summer is just more denial. You’ve been hiding in a cave, waiting for…waiting for what, exactly? To find out it was all a mistake? Didn’t matter—Ani had run away rather than talk. She had thought Ani had loved her, but without trust how could there be love?

She and Neeka worked well as a team to assemble a dozen pies, ready for baking. The dishwasher finally checked in and tackled the stacks the morning dish dude hadn’t finished. Eve took a break herself, carrying a fresh cup of coffee and a stack of produce and meat receipts to the dining room counter. Pelle finished his pie and mumbled thanks on his way to the kitchen, empty plate in hand. Without being prompted he rinsed it and set it in the wash tub. An exceptional teenager, she decided.

Her coffee went cold after she realized that some of the paintings from the university art collective were dusty. Working quickly, before there were any additional customers, she whisked a cloth around their edges, lined them up, and made sure the cards giving the artist’s name and the price were neatly displayed. Art on consignment was free décor, and she’d been able to avoid the usual Alaskiana vistas of moose feeding in forests, or blue on white stretches of ice floes. Instead, she’d said she’d display any art that used in some way the iridescent hues of dragonflies. The students had been so grateful for a chance to display their work—let alone sell it—that some had banded together to paint a wall-length mural of a summer meadow to show off their work. Hidden in the mural were at least six dragonflies. More than one bored and cranky toddler had been distracted when told there was ice cream if they found them all.