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NINETEEN

MICKEY

I pulled my parka hood tighter over my head. It wasn’t the pre-dawn cold or light drizzle that had me bundled, but a desperate need for anonymity as I lurked in the shadows behind Sparky’s. I clutched the strap of my soft-sided cooler tighter and waited.

Headlights illuminated the brick wall next to me, and I ducked. I couldn’t get spotted on enemy territory. A minute later, footsteps approached, so I moved deeper into the shadows and away from the streetlamp doing its best to light the ground through the encroaching fog.

A startled yelp echoed between the buildings. “All I have in my purse is stale candy and empty gift cards.”

I lifted my head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Flynn. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She pressed her hand to her chest. Even through the thick coat, I saw her chest heaving. “We don’t open for another hour. You’ll have to come back later.”

I glanced around to make sure we were alone before I dropped my hood. I really hoped there weren’t security cameras.

“Mickey? Is that you?”

I took a step closer. “Yeah. I guess I didn’t think this through well.

I didn’t mean to scare you.” I blamed the lack of sleep.

I’d been restless since I’d given Amos the green light to talk to his mom about my cheese.

He’d offered to pick up the product and act as liaison, but I needed to talk to her directly.

“Finally come to your senses and want to bring your skills to Sparky’s?” Her tone was light and teasing.

I laughed. “I don’t need Dad sending me to an early grave. Or me sending him to one from shock.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Are you going to tell me why you’re loitering outside the restaurant? Hankering for one of our omelets?” She moved to the back door and typed a code into a keypad.

An omelet would hit the spot, but I couldn’t accept. I’d never actually eaten Sparky’s food before. Well, except for that one time in college, when a friend lied to me about where he’d gotten the takeout for our study session. The fries had been too greasy for my tastes.

“Tempting, but I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“You can talk while I prep for breakfast. Come on in.”

Wordlessly, I followed Mrs. Flynn inside, but I kept my face down in case there were prying eyes—human or digital.

She hung her coat and purse on a hook near the door before facing me. “Ready to tell me why you’re here? Not that I mind the visit, but you wouldn’t be creeping around if there wasn’t something going on.”

I handed her the cooler. “Amos said he talked to you about my cheese. Mystic Rind.”

Her eyebrows shot toward her wild halo of curls. “ Your cheese?”

“Please don’t be upset with Amos. He was just trying to help me out.”

She smiled at the mention of her son. “He’s a sweet boy.

You’ll have to forgive my slow brain, but it’s the butt crack of dawn and I haven’t had coffee yet.

” She moved to a nice coffee pot on the corner of a gleaming stainless steel counter and pressed a couple of buttons, which made it whir to life.

I took in the foreign kitchen. It was a strange sensation to have a building and business take up so much real estate in my life without ever having stepped foot inside.

The kitchen was huge. Ours was cramped because Dad insisted on keeping the rail car as authentic as possible and wasn’t interested in expanding to a bigger, upgraded kitchen, but he’d probably change his mind if he saw this.

“Nice kitchen. Amos said you expanded after the fire.”

She stilled and turned to me. “He talked to you about the fire?”

I nodded slowly. Should I not have said anything?

Mrs. Flynn smiled softly. “He doesn’t usually open up about that. I’m glad he talked to you about it.”

I fidgeted where I stood as warmth spread through my belly.

After setting the cooler on a counter, I pulled out the plastic container of cheese cubes I’d cut an hour ago when I’d given up on sleep. “It pairs with a lot of things, but I’m not sure about coffee.”

She plucked several cubes. “Don’t care. I’m starving, and my son inherited his cheese obsession from me.” As she chewed a piece of my bleu, her eyes widened. “You made this?”

I nodded. “I’ve been making cheese casually for a few years, but I got licensed earlier this year.” I explained who I partnered with for the milk and facilities to make the cheese. It wasn’t something I could make in my home kitchen and sell because of strict rules for selling dairy.

“This is amazing. Creamy and flavorful.” She took a cube of mozzarella. “Oh wow. This would be so good on a caprese salad.”

Mrs. Flynn peppered me with questions about the different types I made, then she kicked around ideas for specials. When the coffee machine beeped, she filled two Sparky’s mugs. When she handed me one, I expected to be smote on the spot.

“Kid, this is delicious and would sell like hotcakes. But I’m curious, why are you here ?” Her tone was gentle.

I blew on the steaming mug as I tried to find my words. “I wouldn’t feel right letting you put your name behind this without knowing I made it. It’s a risk.”

Mrs. Flynn nodded. “I appreciate that. It’s simple though.” She selected a package of cheese from the cooler. “It’s nothing more than Sparky’s supporting local goods from a new artisan cheesemaker, Mystic Rind.”

“You really don’t mind?”

“I really don’t. Takes guts to come over here. You could’ve easily let us carry your cheese and not said a thing.”

That wasn’t an option.

“Your dad must be so proud.”

My stomach soured. “He might be, but my cheese isn’t appearing on a Red’s special anytime soon.” I cleared my throat. I was already here, so I should put it all on the table. “He turned me down when I pitched him on some menu ideas.”

Her expression softened. “I’m sure it’s complicated, sweetheart.”

“It always is. Thanks for this, Mrs. Flynn. Absolutely no pressure if it doesn’t hit, but if it does, I’m happy to bring you more.”

“It’ll hit, hon. I’m sure of it. And please, call me Beth. Now get out of here before someone sees you and it ends up on that damn blog. Amos will let you know when we’re ready for more.”