Page 11 of Hot for the Hockey Player (The Single Moms of San Camanez: The Vino Vixens #2)
Fred’s Ched Shed was open, and a man who absolutely had to be Fred was busy in a field next to the barn that served as a store.
“Be right with you,” he called to me, before giving a woolly sheep, who was rubbing against his leg, an affectionate scratch behind the ears.
I gave him a wave and headed into the barn.
From the looks of things, Fred not only ran a cheese shop, but he also had a full-blown farm, with sheep, goats, and cows. At least the subtle scent of manure in the air mixed with the cacophony of bleats, mehs, and moos would suggest as much.
I wandered around the small storefront, which appeared to be just the front quarter of the barn.
The rest of the long building was separated from the store by a thick, floor-to-ceiling wall painted white—along with the rafters.
There were loads of fridges filled with all kinds of cheeses, spreads, and more.
Some samples under a clear plastic cloche near the till called my name. Aged white cheddar.
Don’t mind if I do.
I grabbed a toothpick and popped the little cube into my mouth.
Hot damn, it was good. Just the right amount of sharpness to it, along with that crystallization that crunched in a really good aged cheddar. I was quick to grab two more.
“I saw that,” came Fred’s friendly voice from the door.
Luckily, I could tell the man was smiling before I even spun around.
“That’s one of my favorites,” he said, coming to stand next to me, rather than behind the counter.
He held out his hand, but before I could grasp it, he pulled it back and glanced at it, then wiped it on his dirty, dark denim overalls.
“Uh, the sheep don’t believe in showers. ”
I grabbed his hand anyway. “All good. I’m not a germaphobe”. We shook hands, his milk-chocolate-brown eyes crinkling deep at the corners. “I’m Maverick.”
“Nice to meet you, Maverick. I’m Fred. You just visiting the island?”
“Kind of,” I said. “I’m staying in one of the cabins at the brewery for a bit, and I’m just trying to get the lay of the land, find some classes I could take.
I’m on medical leave from work, so I’ve got a lot of time to kill.
” I waited for Fred to possibly recognize me, but he didn’t seem to—which was so nice—and he simply smiled.
“You want to make some cheese then?” he asked.
“I was thinking about it. You have any openings in some upcoming classes?”
“Let’s have a look.” He left me on the customer side of the counter and walked around to the staff side, grabbing a big, black binder from below.
“We’re old-school here. My wife takes care of the online booking system, but then she has to write it into the calendar for me.
And vice versa.” He flipped through until he found March of this year.
“Looks like our mozzarella, burrata, and bocconcini class on Saturday has one opening left. And our ricotta, paneer, and queso fresco class in a few weeks has two available spots.”
“I’ll take them all,” I said quickly. “I’ll find someone to come with me to the second one. I’m bound to make a friend by then, right?” I snickered at my own joke.
Fred smiled and grabbed a pencil from a small jar on the counter. “You got it. I’ll just shoot the missus a text so she knows to block those off on the computer calendar.” He tugged his phone out of his back pocket and texted Mrs. Ched Shed, then glanced at me. “You said your name was Maverick?”
“Maverick Roy.” I nodded.
He wrote my name and added a plus one for the second class.
“Are those the only cheese classes you offer?” I asked.
He flipped to the next page. “Looks like we’ve got a gruyere and cheddar class in the middle of April with a few spots left.”
“Sign me up. But make it for two again.”
Fred smiled and did just that, then texted the missus.
Pulling off his red, tattered baseball cap to reveal an almost entirely bald head, he grabbed the POS machine and punched in a bunch of numbers.
“We require a deposit for each class in order to hold your spot. It’s refundable up to seventy-two hours before.
However, we live on an island and know the ferries can be temperamental.
So we’re flexible with credits and stuff.
” He handed me the machine and I tapped my credit card.
Then he spun it back around and passed me the receipt. “You’ll pay the rest after the class.”
“Looking forward to it, Fred.” I glanced at the cloche with the cheddar under it. “In the meantime, I’ll take a brick of that cheddar there, please.”
His brown eyes lit up. “Coming right up.”
Fred rang me up again for my cheddar, then followed me out to my truck, the sheep and goats in the field closest to us following him along the fence like curious toddlers who just liked to be in Dad’s orbit. “They seem very happy,” I remarked.
“We treat our animals almost better than we treat our kids,” he joked. “Our farm is small, but it’s mighty. And if you turn your cheese around and read the label, we list the names of all the cows—or sheep, and goats—that helped make that cheese.”
I spun the chunk around in my palm. “Daisy, Marigold, Jasmine, Lavender, Moo-lissa—”
“Our youngest daughter named that one,” he said with a chuckle. “My wife prefers to name them after flowers.”
“Honeysuckle, Clematis, Blossom, Lilac, Dahlia, Rhodo …” I smiled at the friendly cheesemonger who was probably a half-foot shorter, and ten years older than me. “I love it. And while I like all the flower names, you can tell your daughter that Moo-lissa is my favorite name.”
Fred reached through the fence to scratch between the horns of a very happy looking goat. “Will do. Looking forward to seeing you on Saturday, Maverick. Thank you.”
“You take care, Fred.” Then I climbed into my truck, set my phone to the next artisan on my list, and headed off to go see a man about some pottery. A man by the name of Hugh Tapper.
My plan—while not necessarily a good one—was to fill up my dance card with activities, to keep me from pining after Gabrielle.
However, I also wanted to book a couple of things for two people, in the event she might want to join me, considering the woman claimed to have no time for fun and zero hobbies.
Worst-case scenario, maybe Logan would want to join me for a bro-date.
Either way, I needed to occupy my mind and my hands, and making cheese and getting mud under my fingernails on a pottery wheel seemed like a good place to start.