Recipe for Two Page 3

  It sounded good, so Izzy had to ask. “Are you saying you’re hiring me?”

  “I don’t see why not. Wanda vouched for you. I guess the trial period will tell how you actually fit in, but you know, I believe in giving people a chance to show what they’re made of.” Justin got to his feet and Izzy followed suit, unable to not smile with relief.

  “This is…I mean, I haven’t had any call backs and only a handful of interviews, and I’ve been looking at anything. So thank you, Mr. Abbot.”

  “Oh, just call me Justin. We’re pretty informal here.” Justin shook his hand again, then gestured toward the front of the house. “Let’s go check out where you’ll be working and check the office to see if we can get you a schedule already or if I’ll just email it to you once we have it.”

  His head spinning a bit, Izzy led Justin to his car and drove his new boss to his new job site, and holy shit did thinking of those words feel good.

  Chapter 3

  There were butterflies in Wyatt’s belly as he packed the cookies into large containers, and from there into his backpack. He’d made three big batches: oatmeal for Justin, and white chocolate and macadamia, and chocolate chip. It was a lot of cookies, but Wyatt knew that any leftovers would be taken home for people’s families. And okay, it was still a little excessive, but Wyatt couldn’t stop thinking about the bad boy who was starting work today. How lame would it be to turn up with cookies just to try to impress the guy? It would be pretty lame, which was why Wyatt was glad nobody would guess that was what he was doing. He turned up with something for Justin and the workers at least once a week, so it wouldn’t look too suspicious at all.

  The walk to the greenhouses was only a short one: Wyatt had to go down the long driveway, cross the road, and then he had to walk about a quarter of a mile up the next driveway to the greenhouses. Justin had got lucky when that land had come up for sale—and luckier still that the owner had offered it to him privately before putting it on the market.

  The day was warm already, even though it was barely nine, with the sort of heat settling in the foothills that promised a long hot summer, and hopefully one free of California’s catastrophic wildfires. Everything was just so dry lately, and the underbrush crunched under Wyatt’s shoes as he reached the other side of the road.

  There was a sign at the side of the road: Abbot’s Organic Produce. A car was pulling off the road in front of Wyatt as he crossed, tires crunching on dirt as it pulled in out the front of the little open-air stall. The stall was packed with open crates of fruit and vegetables, and also jars of honey from a guy a little farther up in the hills who kept a bunch of hives.

  “Hi, Wyatt!” Patty called out to him as he approached. Patty was an older woman with gray hair that she wore in long braids. She was wearing a patchwork skirt and a faded Jimi Hendrix shirt today, and a purple crystal that hung from a leather thong around her neck. “How are you on this beautiful Saturday morning, my sweet, sweet boy?”

  Wyatt flashed her a grin. “Yes, I have cookies for you.”

  Patty raised her arms in a silent cheer. “I would have called you a sweet boy anyway!”

  Wyatt laughed. He knew. He slipped behind the counter to join her, and unpacked some cookies while Patty spoke to the customers who’d come in the car. Patty looked like a gentle old hippie, but she was a total shark. The people had only come looking for tomatoes, but by the time they left they were lugging three boxes of produce to their car—and one of Dad’s cookbooks.

  Patty took one of the macadamia cookies and bit into it. “Oh, this is delicious as always, Wyatt! When are you going to start baking some for me to sell?”

  Wyatt wrinkled his nose, like he always did, and his stomach clenched. “I don’t know. It’s just a hobby.”

  “Right,” Patty said with a laugh. “You want to make all those fancy-schmancy pastries and things, don’t you?”

  Right. People thought he was going to be a pâtissier in a Michelin-starred restaurant, making mille-feuilles and croquembouches, not the cupcakes and cookies you could buy in any baked goods section at any Walmart.

  Wyatt managed a smile. “Yeah, that’s the plan.”

  Another car turned off the road.

  “I’ll see you later,” Wyatt said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and stepping back out into the sunlight.

  Patty waved after him. “Bye, sweetheart! Thank you for the cookies!”

  The six greenhouses were a short way down the road, just past the bend. As a little kid Wyatt had loved visiting. Justin’s first greenhouse had been damp and humid and smelled of soil, and the panes had been grimy and thick. It has been bursting with life, and so different from the dry, brushy foothills around Oak Glen. Wyatt had thought it was magical. Since then, Justin had upgraded to more modern greenhouses that were built on clean and sleek lines. Two of them were fully hydroponic, and reminded Wyatt more of laboratories than rainforests, but the rest still smelled overwhelmingly of rich, damp soil.

  He kept to the edge of the road as a truck roared past, and the driver—Carlos—lifted his hand to wave. Wyatt waved back. Carlos was one of the guys that had been working for Justin for ages. He lived on site as well, in one of the trailers nestled in the dip of the land behind the greenhouses and served as temporary housing for some of the workers. Not everyone came to work here had a bank balance in the black and a good credit rating, and not everyone—even if they had those things—was in a position to commute to Oak Glen every day. Justin liked to take care of his workers wherever he could. He remembered what it was like to worry that he couldn’t afford a roof over his head.

  Wyatt pulled out his phone as he approached the first greenhouse.

  I’ve got cookies. Where are you?

  He got his response a moment later: Break room.

  Wyatt headed for the second greenhouse, dodging a forklift on the way. In the space between the first and the second greenhouses was a squat utility building that had a few showers, lockers, some bathrooms, and the employee break room. The break room contained two long tables with a bunch of mismatched chairs, two ratty couches, a couple of refrigerators for lunches and drinks, and a television on the wall that was usually playing ESPN. An air-conditioner unit rattled on the wall.

  Justin was digging into some celery sticks and hummus when Wyatt entered the room, and he shoved them aside immediately, his face lighting up. “Let me grab some oatmeal cookies before everyone else finds out you’re here.”

  “I brought plenty, don’t worry.” Wyatt set his backpack on the table and began to unpack it. “Are you busy today?”

  Justin made a so-so gesture with his hand. “Not crazy busy, but I’m a bit behind because I spent the morning showing Izzy around.”

  Izzy.

  “Is that the new guy?” Wyatt asked, trying to keep his tone even and worrying he was failing.

  Justin didn’t seem to notice, too busy opening the container of oatmeal cookies. “Yeah.”

  “You think he’ll work out?”

  “Too early to tell,” Justin said. “I hope we’ll be a good fit for him though.”

  “Is he around?” Wyatt asked.

  Justin threw him a sideways look. “He’s helping Sam pack the deliveries for the food bank. Why?”

  Wyatt set the chocolate chip cookies on the table. “Oh, nothing. I just thought it’d be good if you could make sure the new guy gets a cookie.”

  “I think you baked plenty,” Justin said. “What is this? Six dozen?”

  Wyatt flushed. “I wanted to make sure there was enough for people to take home.”

  Justin smiled, the tan skin at the edges of his eyes crinkling. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to be an issue, Wy.”

  Wyatt looked at the stack of containers on the table. “Okay, so maybe I went a little bit overboard.”

  “I’m not complaining,” Justin assured him with a grin. He slung an arm around Wyatt’s shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. Hugs were kind of a thing with Justin and
Dad, and Wyatt liked them too. Also, he figured they didn’t get their quota now since Harper had left home, and Lettie preferred fist bumps to hugs. Wyatt was kind of their go-to kid for hugging, and he didn’t think he’d ever outgrow that. He didn’t want to outgrow it. He liked being in a family that was so quick to show love and affection. Things hadn’t started out that way for them at all.

  “I’m gonna head back,” Wyatt said. “Don’t forget to save some cookies for the new guy.”

  Like he didn’t remember his name.

  Izzy.

  He looked around as he left the break room, hoping to catch a glimpse of Izzy, but he didn’t. That was probably for the best in so many ways, since Wyatt was terrible at meeting new people without coming across weird and awkward, but it didn’t stop him from feeling a little bit disappointed as he headed home again.

  * * * *

  Dad arrived home just before lunch, and in less than ten minutes was in the kitchen, his hair pulled back and his sleeves rolled up as he chopped vegetables with the sort of fierce intensity that meant he had something on his mind. Dad’s hair was mostly gray now, but still shot through here and there with dark strands.

  “How was LA?” Wyatt asked.

  Dad set his knife down and turned to get a hug. “The traffic was terrible.”

  “You always say that.”

  “That’s because the traffic in LA is always terrible.”

  Wyatt snorted. “Fair point.”

  Dad leaned back, smiling at Wyatt and staring at him like it’d been years since he’d seen him, and not days. “Missed you, buddy.”

  “I missed you too.” Wyatt snaffled a piece of carrot and crunched it between his teeth. “How were your meetings?”

  Dad reached out and ruffled his hair. “Let’s save that for lunch, huh? That way I can tell you all at once.”

  “Okay.”

  He and Dad fell into an easy rhythm as they worked. Wyatt took over the vegetables while Dad cut the chicken into strips. Stir fries were easy and quick. Wyatt soaked the kelp noodles while Dad ground the ginger and the garlic for the sauce. Kelp noodles were lower in carbs than Hokkien noodles, and Dad was always looking out for ways to keep Justin’s blood sugar from spiking, and always looking to experiment with alternatives anyway. Dad approached cooking like he was telling a different story with the ingredients every time.

  Lettie and Justin turned up soon after, and Lettie made gagging sounds when Justin and Dad kissed like they were newlyweds.

  They ate at the kitchen table, and for a while any conversation took second place to the food as they dug in. Dad got that small, happy smile on his face he always did when he watched his family eating, because Dad didn’t just love cooking, he loved providing for the people he cared about.

  “Not too spicy, Lettie?” Dad asked. Lettie sometimes had sensory issues with food. Dad always joked she’d live on cereal if they let her, and it probably wasn’t too far from the truth.

  Lettie shook her head and said, around a mouthful, “‘S’good!”

  “So how was LA?” Justin asked. “How did the meetings go? Are we gonna be doing another holiday special this year?”

  Dad shook his head, but he was smiling. He stabbed a piece of celery with his fork. “Nope, not a holiday special.”

  Wyatt felt a thrum of anticipation. “What then?”

  “A new show,” Dad said. “A limited first season of twelve episodes, with options to expand on that if it’s picked up for a second season.”

  “Wow!” Justin’s mouth fell open.

  “I haven’t said yes,” Dad said.

  Lettie made a face. “Why not?”

  “Because it involves traveling,” Dad said. “They want to call it Home Recipes. Instead of just me cooking, it’d be me going around the world and visiting chefs who are at the top of their game in their own kitchens, and seeing what they cook for their families. Like not the fancy restaurant stuff, but their favorite home recipes.”

  “That’s, um—” Justin looked suddenly anxious. “How long would you be away?”

  Dad shot him a worried look. “Twelve weeks.”

  “Oh,” said Justin, and a silence fell over the table.

  “It’s a big opportunity,” Dad said. “But I told them I needed to speak to my family first.”

  Wyatt and Lettie watched for Justin’s reaction.

  “It’s a big opportunity,” Justin echoed at last, setting his fork down. “And I think you should go for it.”

  “Are you sure?” Dad asked softly.

  “Yes.” Justin sounded more certain now. “You’ve worked so hard toward this and I think you should give it a shot. I mean, I’ll miss you like crazy when you’re filming, but Del, you’re gonna be amazing!”

  “Thank you, babe.” Dad smiled, looking both proud and relieved. He drew a deep breath and let it out again. “Okay, so there’s one other thing too.”

  Justin raised his eyebrows. “If you say you’re really filming for twelve months, I take back everything I just said.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” Dad promised him. He looked at Wyatt. “I want to take Wy with me.”

  Wyatt’s stomach clenched and flipped at the same time. “What?”

  “They’re looking at getting Alain Donadieu on the show,” Dad said.

  The name didn’t mean anything to Justin or Lettie going by their blank looks, but Wyatt knew it. Alain Donadieu was one of the world’s most famous pâtissiers. Famously creative, famously wealthy, and famously temperamental. Wannabe pastry chefs would sell their souls to the devil for the chance to meet him.

  “He’s a pâtissier in Paris,” Dad explained. “Well, he’s the pâtissier in Paris. I’ve met him before and he’s an interesting guy, but I got the chance to talk to him yesterday about the show, and I mentioned Wyatt, and he said he’s willing to meet with him.” He turned his gaze on Wyatt. “And he said if you’re good enough, he can find a place for you in his kitchen.”

  Wyatt felt suddenly sick.

  Dad mistook his expression. “You’re more than good enough, Wy. You’re incredible.”

  Wyatt managed a shaky smile.

  “What do you say?” Dad asked softly.

  Wyatt had always been the good kid. The easy one. The one that didn’t cause trouble or push back. He didn’t want Dad or Justin to be disappointed in him. And, more than that, he didn’t want them to know just how scared he was of the idea of leaving Oak Glen—of leaving home behind. He didn’t want them to know just how much he was still a frightened little boy inside. He wanted them to be proud of him, not feel like they had to coddle him. He’d never corrected them when they told people he wanted to be a pastry chef, because he had wanted that once, and when he’d told them that it’d made them both so happy. And because Lettie was only sixteen and knew exactly what she wanted to do, and because Harper was twenty-two and she was already out in the world doing what she wanted, and Wyatt knew just how lacking he was. Lacking and scared and ashamed of it, because he was surrounded by nothing but love and support.

  He forced his smile wider. “Wow. That sounds amazing, Dad.”

  And Dad’s smile in return was so proud it made him want to cry.

  * * * *

  There was a small rocky outcrop on the southern side of the property that nobody else ever went to. It was nothing special—the view it offered over the foothills wasn’t spectacular or anything. From the edge, Wyatt could only see a tree-covered hillside, a dirt road that cut through it, and the roof of a dilapidated shed that belonged to one of their neighbors. There were a hundred nicer views of the hills from every turn of the winding road that slowly climbed the hills from the Yucaipa Valley. But it was Wyatt’s special place, and he knew nobody would look for him here.

  Wyatt sat on a wide sun-warmed rock and squeezed his eyes shut.

  Breathe in for four. Hold it for seven. Breathe out for eight.

  His hands were shaking, and he wanted to be sick.

  In for four. Hold f
or seven. Out for eight.

  He wondered if he should call Harper, and then almost laughed at the thought, imagining himself blubbering down the phone at her. He wondered if she’d still be able to do that thing she’d done when they were kids, where she’d somehow understood everything he wanted without him talking at all. That had probably been pretty easy back when he’d just wanted a juice box and a snack though. Not…not this. Why would Harper know what he wanted, when Wyatt couldn’t even tell?

  He was being stupid. He couldn’t live in his childhood bedroom forever. Not just because he was an anxious socially maladjusted freak.

  The word stung, even in his own mind, and a sob rose out of him as he struggled to control his breathing, struggled to damp down his panic. His eyes stung and hot tears slid down his face. He scrubbed at them angrily with his shaking hands.

  Breathe in for four. Hold it for seven. Breathe out for eight.

  Why did he have to be scared of everything? Why did he have to have days where he didn’t even know who he was? Why couldn’t he just be normal?

  The sound of a dry twig snapping was as loud as a gunshot, and Wyatt spun around on his rock, his heart racing.

  The guy was tall, dark-haired, tattooed and swaggering, a corner of his mouth already turned up in what looked like a sneer.

  Izzy.

  Wyatt slapped a hand over his mouth to prevent another sob escaping him, and shrank back, eyes wide, as Izzy took another step toward him.

  Chapter 4

  It was Izzy’s first day at work. He’d barely been able to sleep, because he was so fucking nervous. How hard could it be, right? Would he be able to learn the ropes quickly enough for Justin to keep him on the payroll?

  He’d get slightly-above-minimum wage for the first two months that was the trial period. After that, it would be bumped up, but by how much, depended on the quality of work he did. Justin had told him it made people work better, smarter, when they knew they could actually get more money if they put effort into it.

  It had shocked Izzy to hear that not only were the workers insured for workplace injuries, but they also had regular health insurance. There were also bonuses to be earned on the times when extra hours needed to be put in, and you could even get an emergency advance after you’d worked there for six months.