Page 24 of The Interception
I gaze down at this amazing woman and my heart warms. “Yeah. Thanks for being here to remind me.”
Layne’s eyes soften. “What are friends for?”
Chapter Eleven
Layne
Ender was so tiredafter bringing me home yesterday, I’m worried he might be just as exhausted today. Day two of the competition is no time to slack off. I know he knows that, but that doesn’t mean his mind will be in the game. After spending half the day yesterday with his family, I understand why. How tragic it was for Sarah Beth to lose her husband, especially with such a small child to raise on her own. I adore Sarah Beth and Lula, and in the time we spent together, I realized I’d love to maintain contact with them. It’s hard to find people you immediately mesh with enough to have a karaoke party with a toddler in the living room.
On the way to the lot to pick up the truck, Ender didn’t say much. He kept up light conversation, commented when appropriate, but it was clear he needed rest. I spent the remainder of the day reading, relaxing, and thinking about what we might do for the main course finale.
When I arrive at the stadium, I find he’s already there and has sorted out most of our ingredients. I approach and look over everything.
“Hey, how’s it going?” he asks, seemingly much better rested than he was yesterday.
“I’m nervous but good. How are you? Rested up?” I pull my hair into a ponytail and wash my hands at the sink station.
“Yeah, took a nap and had a quiet afternoon with my sister and Lula. Sorry I was a little off yesterday,” he says, and leans on the table.
“No worries.” I dry my hands and try to put yesterday aside so I can focus on winning this round of the competition.
Soon, the judges arrive and take their places. The crowd is a little bigger today, which I’ve been told is to be expected with live events. It will likely grow with each level of the cook-off, right along with my nerves. I had hoped I wouldn’t notice all the cameras this time around, but no such luck. The inspectors come along and check everyone’s tables, then we’re ready to go. The timer goes off, and we enter into our routine. Just like last time, Ender and I seem to work well together, taking turns and handing off tasks in the most efficient manner possible.
Making the pies today is almost like second nature, primarily because we made it sweet and simple. I make the crust while he preps the inside ingredients, then we switch to him stuffing while I fry everything. When I placed the grocery order, I added powdered sugar for a sweet adornment to the tops of the pies.
I accidentally mess up one of the s’mores pies, but we have plenty, so I try not to sweat it too much. Ender pats my shoulder for encouragement, reminding me I’m harder on myself than anyone else. When the next pies come out perfectly, I shake it off and plate them up. Ender dusts them with powdered sugar and we send the plate up to the judges. There is still fifteen minutes on the clock and I realize we are the first ones to turn in a plate.
“I think we’ll still be in the top five today,” Ender says. The field is divided again today, with fifteen of the twenty-five remaining teams getting cut.
“I’ll just be happy to stay in it another round,” I admit and hand him one of the extra pies to taste-test.
He bites into a gooey, salted caramel s’more pie and groans. “This is even better when I’m not tired.” He swallows but pauses before taking another bite. Turning the pie over in his hand, he glances between it and the vat of oil. He sniffs it a few times and his eyes go wild.
“What’s wrong?”
“Uh…is that peanut oil?” He points to the fryer with wide eyes.
“Yeah, why?”
He doesn’t respond but digs in his bag.
“Ender? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I kneel on the ground beside him while he rummages in an all-out panic. Finally, he yanks a smaller bag from inside and unzips it, revealing a tube-shaped instrument. When he injects it into his thigh, I realize it’s an epi-pen. “Oh, my gosh! Are you allergic to peanuts?”
Ender nods and lays back, taking a deep breath. Sweat breaks on his forehead and several people surround our table. A medic edges in and kneels beside us. I’m two seconds from all-out panic as my throat tightens and my heart races.
“Are you okay?” the medic asks while he assesses Ender.
“Yeah, I think so.” Ender takes a deep breath and lets his gaze travel to me. “Given that this is a food competition, I probably should have told my partner I’m allergic to peanuts,” he huffs.
“Ender, I almost killed you!” I shriek and shake him by the collar.
He grasps my hands to slow the onslaught. “I’m okay. That’s why I have this.” He holds up the epi-pen, but that does not soothe my freaking out.
“His vitals are great. We still need to get him to the hospital though, just to be safe,” the medic says.
“I’m so sorry. Oh, my gosh, I’m so stupid.” Tears well in my eyes. “I should have asked before switching from canola to peanut oil. I don’t know why I didn’t ask you.”
Ender’s hands slip from my wrists to my face. “You are not stupid. Stop saying that. I should have told you from the beginning that I have allergies. If anything, I’m the stupid one. Can you call Sarah Beth and ask her to meet me at the hospital?”
