Page 10 of Smoked

"Come on, Wade. You talked to her long enough to know she's smart as a whip and could pick it up in no time." She pauses. "Take a chance on her."

The highway hums under the tires. Out the windshield, the Yellowstone River is a dark line through the valley, and the late sun is turning the bluffs the color of rust. I've driven this stretch so many times I could do it with my eyes closed, which is probably why my brain has all this free bandwidth to know Sloan’s right.

I hate it. I do need the hands. I’ve needed the hands for two years, and every competition I show up to alone and muscle through on caffeine and stubbornness while guys with actual crews look at me like I've got a death wish. Coming in fifth last year was a miracle. I guess I can't do that again and expect a different result.

But I don’t want to give Tess the wrong idea.

I’m not boyfriend material for someone like her. She deserves a guy who writes her love letters and takes her to nice places. Spoils her in every way.

Hunks of meat, truck stops, and a thick belly are the most unromantic things I can think of…and that’s my life in a nutshell.

"I’ll give her a try," I say. "A couple of practice cooks. If she hates it, if she can't handle the hours, if she looks at me like I'm crazy when I tell her she's gotta be up at three a.m. to check the fire—we're done, no hard feelings. And Sloane…" I pause for dramatic effect. “These are not dates.”

"Of course not."

"It's work."

"Absolutely."

"Sloane."

"I'm agreeing with you, Wade."

"Yeah, with a tone that says you're suppressing joy."

She laughs. “I’m not allowed to be happy that you’re taking a chance to make your dreams come true?”

“My pitmaster dreams.”

“Yes, Wade,” she replies, but I’m not convinced.

She gives me Tess's number and gets off the phone without another word.

I drive another thirty miles with Tess's number glowing on my phone screen and the audiobook still paused. I can't go back to the recliner scene. My head's not in the dungeon anymore.

The light starts to go soft over the plains and I'm running out of reasons not to text her.

hey it's Wade. Sloane gave me your number. if you're serious about the competition, I'm doing a practice cook this saturday. come by around four. wear clothes you don't care about.

I give her the address and hit send before I can talk myself out of it.

Three dots appear almost immediately.

I'll be there. Should I bring anything?

maybe a notebook. there's a lot to cover.

I always bring a notebook.

Well, she is a teacher.

I take my audiobook off pause and try not to think about what I just agreed to.

Donut the cat is mid-rant about property rights in a post-apocalyptic game show, and even that makes more sense than what I'm feeling right now.

The fire's been going for an hour and the rig is settling into its rhythm—a low, steady draw of heat through the firebox, the smoke pulling clean and thin through the stack.

Then I hear a car pull up out front.