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Gary
Later that week, Cecilia stared at the picture of the flier. It had been slow at work. She made a low wage only when she had clients. The receptionist took pity on her and generally tried to schedule her clients close together, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped. Today, she’d had a 9:00 facial and a 2:30 consultation. That’s it. Her bank account was screaming for help.
She re-read the details of the ad.
Wanted: cook to make three dinners per week for old farmer and his hand. You choose the nights. Will pay for groceries plus $50/dinner. Contact Gary Brunn.
The ad ended with a phone number. She wondered if Gary was the old farmer. And had he really described himself as old? What a funny man.
Cecilia pondered if she could really do this. She absolutely loved cooking. Making dinner for Caleb had been one of the best parts of their short years. In the last 6 months, however, she had become an expert pot pie-microwaver. She hadn’t pulled out her pots and pans in so long, and yet, she had oh-so-carefully packed her favorite cast iron skillet and brought it with her. It was, after her ring, the best gift Caleb had given her.
Yes, she could cook for an old farmer and his hand. Farm hand, she assumed. Would he be old, too? Or just a kid, with a huge appetite? Either way, working on a farm was a lot of physical labor. She might love making appealing vegetables the most, but she would almost bet her skillet these farmers would be meat-and-potatoes men. Well, potatoes were basically a vegetable, so it would be fine.
After dithering for way too long, at 7:30 she dialed the number on the ad.
“‘Lo?” a gruff voice responded.
“I’m calling about the ad for a cook,” Cecilia spoke, definitely too quickly. When the man didn’t say anything right away, she tacked on, “At Bethel.”
“Who’s this?” the man asked.
“My name is Cecilia Chatsworth,” she introduced herself.
“Hmmf,” the man grunted. “Never heard o’ ya.”
“I just moved to New Albany two weeks ago,” she explained.
“And ya go to Bethel?”
How to thread that needle? She still wasn’t sure. “I did last week,” was the most honest thing she could say.
Honestly, though? She could really use an extra $150 a week.
“Hmmf,” was all he said. This time, she let him think. She had no clue what to make of him, and began idly wondering what he looked like. She pictured a short man wearing denim overalls and a faded plaid shirt, squinting over reading glasses while complaining about the font size of his book.
“And yer can cook?” he prompted after a minute.
“Yes, sir,” she replied simply. Then a thought occurred to her. “I could show you, if you like. A trial run.”
“Huh. An audition, ya think?”
“Yes, like an audition.”
“What night?” he barked.
“I’m free tomorrow evening.”
“Kin yer have dinner ready at 6?”
“I can.”
“Hmmf. Save yer receipt from anythin’ ya buy.”
“Yes, sir.”
The man gave his address and was about to hang up.
“Sir?”
“Hmmf?”
“Are you the Gary Brunn from the ad? The farmer?”
“Who else would I be, girlie?” the old voice rasped, then promptly hung up.
Cecilia chuckled as she set down her phone. Gary Brunn was a force to be reckoned with, and she looked forward to getting to know the man who went with that distinct voice. Had she seen him on Sunday? Perhaps, but then again, she barely remembered anyone besides Sam, Sophie, and Sam’s pushy mother.
Now she could turn her thoughts to the infinitely more pleasant topic of what to cook tomorrow night for dinner. She wanted him to be pleasantly surprised without setting the bar so high she wouldn’t be able to sustain it if he were to offer her the job. Even though he told her to bring a receipt, she also didn’t want to break his bank.
Come to think of it, $50 to cook dinner seemed like an awful lot. She could cook many dishes in under two hours, which would mean being paid $25/hour. That was a lot of money for something that seemed pretty simple to her. But maybe it was worth it to Gary Brunn.
She grabbed a scrap of paper and wrote out a short menu of pork with herbed butter (she’d get whatever cut looked best or was on sale, depending on what the store had), garlic mashed potatoes, some roasted vegetable (again, dependent on the store’s offerings – it just needed to be fresh), a salad, and dinner rolls. She could do all that in a few hours.
Did Gary have a sweet tooth? She wasn’t that much of a dessert baker. She’d tried a few things, but they never looked or tasted like she wanted them to. Should she pick up something store bought? No, Gary could buy his own desserts if he wanted store bought. She’d either bake or do nothing.
In sticking with her thought of not setting the bar too high, she figured the potentially fancy-ish dinner was enough. No dessert. She wouldn’t put herself through that much stress when this was just a trial run.
And with any luck, come next week she’d have a second job, filling out that sad-looking bank balance into something perfectly respectable and non-anxiety-inducing.