Page 22 of Heartland
“Helping out in the kitchen.” I don’t tell herwhichkitchen, because I haven’t told Kaitlyn about Operation Caramel. It’s just an idea at this point, anyway.
“Is she there?” Kaitlyn asks.
“Who?”
I can hear her dismissive sniff through the phone. “Chastity. Be honest. You have athingfor Chastity.”
I laugh. Where did that come from? “Buddy, that’s just the Kahlua talking. I miss you, too.”
“You don’t. Why won’t you just admit it?”
I hold back my groan. “Kaity, honey. Go listen to some bad poetry, and we’ll talk later. I’ll be home on Sunday afternoon.”
“She’s there with you, isn’t she?”
“Nope.” The lie just slips out. Because you can’t win a pointless argument with a drunk girl, and I’m not that interested in trying.
Unfortunately, that’s the exact moment Chastity calls me. “Dylan? It’s getting hot!”
“What’sgetting hot?” Kaitlyn yelps. “Are you shitting me right now?”
“Listen,” I grumble. “You already picked a fight with me that I can’t win. There’s no way to prove to you that I wish I was there tonight.”
“Because youdon’twish that!”
“I do so!” Jesus. “And you already know why I have to come home on the weekends. You have a standing invitation to come with me anytime. I invited you about four hours ago, and you turned me down.”
“Your mother hates me.”
“Not true.” There is nobody my mother hates. No one. “Look, I have to go and finish up here so I can milk things before dawn. And then I have to sell apples and do laundry.”
“You’re a good time,” she mumbles.
Fuck, that stings a little. “It was your idea to date a farmer. That’s how it is. Now go have fun.”
She hangs up without saying goodbye.
“Dyl?” Chastity calls.
I dart inside. “Sorry. Shit.” Chastity is holding the giant pot off the stove, trying to keep the temperature from rising any further.
“Steady that buttered pan?”
“Sure. Got it. I hope I didn’t fuck up the batch.” She’s been stirring it forever. I slap the buttered pan down on the counter and she immediately tips a stream of glossy, molten caramel out onto the surface. The smell is so delicious that I nearly start to drool. “Holy shit. You did it.”
“Of course. I mean, if YouTube can do it.”
I laugh as the smooth, shiny caramel puddles in the pan. “And this will cool into a solid?”
“Some version of a solid. That’s why I’m going to cook the rest of this a little longer. So we can decide how nice and hard we like it.”
There’s a joke about nice and hard things in there somewhere. But I never make sleazy jokes with Chastity. “When can we taste it?” I ask instead.
“Tomorrow,” she says, crushing my dreams. “Both batches have to spend a night in the refrigerator. I’ll cut them into pieces tomorrow morning and bring you some.”
“This really is going to work, isn’t it?” I realize suddenly. “We could use up a lot of goat’s milk this way. I mean, what kind of freak wouldn’t want a caramel that we made?” The scent of caramel is turning me into an optimist. Who knew?
She sets the pot on the burner again, and I grab the spoon and start stirring immediately. “This will only take a couple more minutes, right? Eat your chicken.”
