“You were living on your own…at eighteen? Jesus, Anna. I didn’t know that. We were roomies and you never said a word.”
I shrugged nonchalantly. “I wasn’t going to burden you with my problems. Besides, it was fine. I was better off on my own. It may have been a little lonely for me at times, but meeting you at camp was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Then I remembered that our time together, as well as our friendship, was going to be coming to an end soon and my heart sank. My vision blurred slightly from the building tears threatening to fall.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one. Bobbie Jo’s glistening eyes shone brightly in the blinking lights. “Now stop that before you make me cry.”
I blinked back the moisture pooling in my eyes and offered her a sincere smile. Bobbie Jo was the only true friend I’d ever really had…even though I’d never shared my secrets with her. She had no clue our friendship would be ending, without warning, in just a few short months when I dropped off the face of the planet and moved to a place no one would ever find me. But it wasn’t like I had a choice in the matter.
She giggled gleefully as she looped her arm through mine and dragged me toward the entrance. “Come on, you’re going to love this.”
We strolled into the fairgrounds as Bobbie Jo explained all about how a chili cook-off worked. The contestants were composed of teams from various local clubs and organizations. They gave themselves fun, clever names and even dressed the part. For example, the ladies of the Genealogy Society were dressed as sexy saloon girls and called themselves the “Red Hot Ladies,” while the men from the Moose Lodge were dressed as meat market butchers and called themselves the “Blazin’ Butts.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
Since it was Friday night, the early start gave each group a chance to perfect their homemade dish before judgment day because each team’s chili would be judged by a panel of pre-selected officials in a blind taste test on Saturday afternoon. I had to work the next day, so I wouldn’t be able to attend, but it didn’t matter. Throughout the entire weekend, they sold samples to the masses to earn money for their local club’s individual fundraisers. Which meant we could be unofficial taste-testers while donating money to great local causes.
We started at the first chili vendor and worked our way down the line, purchasing small sample cups from each and comparing one’s flavor, texture, and heat level to the next. The degrees in temperature ranged from sweet to spicy to holy-crap-I-think-they-slipped-me-a-habanero, and they all tasted amazingly different. Who knew there were so many different ways to make chili?
As we reached the last vendor, I froze in my tracks. Apparently, the firefighters had a booth and their long line brimmed with an overabundance of female customers. The firemen’s team name was “Too Hot To Handle” and they were serving chili in their bunker gear. While they wore pants, suspenders, boots, and even their helmets, the brawny men all seemed to be conveniently missing their shirts. And the ladies didn’t seem to mind.
That’s when I recognized a familiar face behind the counter.
Mandy stood on the far side of the booth, beneath the tent, wearing the same shirtless outfit as the men, although a bikini top had been added to her ensemble. Not that the two little black triangles covered much more than her suspenders did.
She stood in front of a folding table lined with several stainless steel chafing dishes and used a ladle to transfer chili into small Styrofoam cups on a tray. She glanced up and smiled, then motioned for us to come around and join her inside the tent.