Page 41 of Anchored

“I think that one’s in the living room.” In fact, I know it is. I saw it when Doctor Ahmed was finishing with Grandma’s exam. I was embarrassed it was sitting out in the open, what with a purple alien in a loincloth grinning evilly while a buxom woman lay across his lap. I tossed it under the couch cushion. “Since when did you switch to alien romances?”

Grandma doesn’t look convinced, but follows me out to the living room where I retrieve the book and hold it up to her. “Huh. Could have sworn that was on my nightstand.” Her expression clears like the tantrum never happened. “You should read that when I’m done. Might pick up a thing or two.”

She winks, looking just like the grandma I remember from our summers together. Then her expression clouds. “Did we miss the chili cook-off, honey?”

I can only hope my smile masks my worry. The confusion and forgetfulness seem to be increasing. Threading my arm through hers, I point us toward the door and push the worries aside. “No! Let’s head there now.”

We take our time, enjoying the path that leads to the recreation center. Sunny Shores must spend a lot of money on landscaping. The place almost looks like they’re vying with Disney’s Magic Kingdom for best kept lawn. I have to hand it to Holt: he runs a beautiful facility. I end up having to roll up the sleeves of my plaid flannel shirt. Grandma waits patiently while I untuck the bottom from my shorts and tie the sides together, leaving a good inch or two of midriff showing. Maybe wearing costumes to the chili cook-off wasn’t a good idea.

Stepping inside the rec center, several rows of six-foot tables are set up with red-and-white checked tablecloths. Dozens of people are already chopping vegetables and manning their crockpots. The residents who aren’t cooking are sitting around drinking coffee and socializing. Grandma Gracie points to Pat and Nancy, so we head that way. I try not to grimace at the smell of cooking meat that permeates the air. Surely someone here will produce a vegetarian chili, right?

“Did you finishCaptain of the Alien Breeders?” Pat asks loudly as soon as Grandma takes a seat in their circle. I shake my head at their antics and excuse myself from the conversation.

I quickly get distracted by seeing the bombshell redheaded nurse feeding Holt a bite of chili at the far end of the room. I head that way, irritation bubbling up in a way I haven’t felt since Macy Bechtol shoved her tongue down Holt’s throat around a bonfire when I was thirteen years old. The nurse giggles and has the audacity to reach up to his face to wipe away a drip of chili. Thankfully, Holt pulls back and wipes it himself.

“Hey there. Ready to get cooking?” I say breezily when I feel anything but. Holt agreed to help me with Grandma Gracie’s chili. There’s more sausage and beef in it than I prefer, but I want to stay true to her family recipe. Plus, I’m kind of hopeless in the kitchen.

Holt smiles at me before placing his hand on my lower back. “If you’ll excuse us,” he says, not looking at the nurse. My ruffled feathers smooth down a bit as we walk away, Holt clearly focused on me and not her. He looks amazing in the plaid shirt that matches his eyes. Still think the chaps would have been a nice touch though.

“She looks…nice,” I say, still shooting for an easy-breezy tone.

Holt side-eyes me, then pulls me behind the table marked with a tented card with the number ten on it. “This is us.” He spins me around so his hands are on my hips and my gaze is locked with his. “That’s Megan and she means nothing to me.”

Relief floods through my veins. “It’s okay if she does. I know we’re just temporary.” I’m a liar. And probably not even a good one based on the way Holt’s eyebrow lifts in challenge.

“While we might be temporary, we’re exclusive. Right?”

I nod. “Definitely.”

Holt plucks a kiss from my mouth. “Then let’s get to cooking, woman.”

I pull out the vegetables from the paper grocery bags, chopping them up while Holt empties the sausage and ground beef containers into the pre-heated crockpot. I wrinkle my nose as the smell of burnt animal floats by me. Holt tries to wave away the scent but there’s no use.

“You know tofu would be good in chili too.”

Holt stirs the meat. “I asked around this morning and Daphne is cooking up a vegetarian chili. You could try hers. Number twenty-six.”

I lean into his strong arm. “Thanks.” I can’t help but think he’s considerate in a way Dexter never was.

“Oh shoot.” Holt hands me the spatula. “Stir this for a bit. I forgot Pamela asked me to walk her down here. Debbie’s been extra busy with the cook-off, which means she doesn’t have time to babysit me with reminders.”

He looks sheepish, which I don’t like. He’s got a brain that doesn’t work like the rest of us. He shouldn’t feel bad about that. “I got this,” I say confidently, stirring the meat with a gusto that turns my stomach.

He rushes away to find Pamela while I distract myself from the meat by staring at his impressive ass in scrubs. When he exits the rec center door, I turn my head left and see Megan was watching him leave also. I narrow my eyes at her as she glances my way. She narrows hers right back. I stir the chili a little more aggressively. She stirs hers. I dump in my chopped vegetables and she salts her chili. We have our own little standoff from twenty feet away.

I dig into the grocery bags and find the seasoning Grandma’s recipe calls for. Ripping off the top of the cumin, I measure out one teaspoon and sprinkle it in my crockpot. Glancing up, Megan puts a spoon to her mouth, taste testing her recipe. Her smug grin is annoying. I grab the bottle of chili powder and rip the protective seal off, only to tug too forcefully and end up dumping a dust cloud of indeterminate amount into the crockpot. I watch in horror as it dissolves into the chili. I can hear Megan’s laughter all the way over here.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I mumble, putting the lid back on the chili powder and stirring quickly. Maybe more salt would help? I sprinkle in some of that and hope for the best. Grandma always liked her chili spicy anyway.

I look down at the pot and frown. Something’s missing. I go through the grocery bags and find the cans of red kidney beans. Aha! Of course. My favorite part of chili. The hand-crank can opener is finicky, but I manage to get all three cans open while only spilling the contents of one of them.

Holt slides back to my side. “What did I miss? Oh shit!” He hurries to stir the chili that’s bubbling. He turns down the crockpot with his other hand.

I wince. I kind of forgot to stir as I got the cans open. “Did I mention cooking isn’t my thing?”

Holt just smiles. “Not really my thing either, but after the fire department came to the cabin twice last year, I set timers to remind myself to turn burners off.”

I dump in the kidney beans and decide not to mention the chili powder incident. “Maybe I need to use your anchoring technique too.”

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