Who Moved My Goat Cheese?. Lynn Cahoon
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feet, watching her take each bite.
Holding out the spoon, she pointed it at Angie. “This is good.”
Angie went over to the counter and made a couple of tuna fish sandwiches since neither of them loved the onion sandwiches like Mrs. Potter did. After pouring her own bowl of soup, she finally sat. Blowing on the too hot soup, she studied her friend. “You’ve been burning up my email today. Tell me what’s got you all worked up. We have three weeks before opening, everything is on track, and we’re meeting with the city council for our liquor license next week. Nothing’s going to go wrong.”
Felicia set her sandwich down on her plate. “That’s where you’re wrong. Something already has. The guy that runs the farmers’ market is refusing to work with us. He says we’re too ‘corporate’ for his liking.”
Angie almost spit out the spoonful bit of the soup she’d just put in her mouth. She grabbed a napkin. “What do you mean we’re too corporate? He realizes the ‘company’ is me and you, right?”
“Apparently, he has a strong no-corporation policy, so when he found out you’d filed papers to incorporate the restaurant, he got nervous.” Felicia fed the crusts off the bread to Dom, who swallowed the bite without tasting it. “It’s an easy fix. All you have to do is sweet talk him into changing his mind. No harm, no foul.”
Angie pulled out her phone and made another notation on her already growing list for tomorrow. “Who did you talk to? The owner or the manager?”
“One and the same.” Felicia took a business card out of her oversized designer purse. “Here’s his deets.”
Angie looked over the formal business card. Ian McNeal was listed as the owner/manager of River Vista Farmers’ Market. He’d made the market a 503(c) nonprofit for the local farmers. She’d have to remind him that it was almost the same thing for little businesses. If she had to build her own vendor process, opening day needed to be pushed out at least a week. She could use a local produce supplier, except it was hard to claim farm-to-table when the tomatoes for the caprese salad came from California.
Felicia stood, taking her empty bowl to the sink and put a hand on Angie’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. You can talk the devil into serving ice cream as an afternoon snack in hell. You’ll be able to handle this guy, no problem.”
“When I was talking to Mrs. Potter just now, she mentioned I also need to charm Old Man Moss. He has a goat dairy up on the river canyon and only sells to people he likes. She said told me not to mention her name, because he doesn’t like her. Some old argument that’s festered for years.” Angie laughed at the memory of the woman’s chatter. “What was I thinking when I agreed to a farm-to-table concept? I’m going to spend all my time chatting up every farmer in the Treasure Valley.”
Felicia paused at the kitchen door. “That’s what the executive chef does. I’m just front of the house. Which reminds me I still need to find a local craft beer or two to add to our bar stock. Maybe I’ll get lucky tonight.”
“You mean with the beer, right?” Angie motioned Dom to come sit next to her.
Felicia shot her a wicked smile. “Whatever do you mean? Anyway, thanks for dinner. I’m going into Emmett for the Cherry Festival. Do you want me to pick up samples?”
Felicia had already been on more dates in the last month than Angie had since high school. “Get business cards from some of the local farm stands. I might need to reach out directly.”
Felicia threw her a cockeyed salute as she opened the screen door, keeping her gaze on Dom who had left Angie’s side to find his food bowl, deciding it was his dinnertime as well. The dog had a habit of thinking he needed out every time the door opened. She paused briefly. “You could come along.”
“I don’t want to be part of some blind date setup. You go have fun and be careful. This may not be California, but it doesn’t mean bad things don’t happen here.” Angie opened the business plan for The County Seat and started scanning for things she’d have to change if she couldn’t talk the farmers’ market guy into being reasonable. Besides opening day.
She’d taken a loan to start the restaurant, buying the small building where she’d be cooking four nights a week for the rest of her life, hopefully. Her projections were all based on opening in three weeks. They’d already been taking reservations and had bookings for at least two weeks after opening night. If she had to push it back, she shook her head, not wanting to go down that road. Dom had cleaned out his dinner bowl and was looking at her unfinished dinner.
“Sorry guy, I’m not as much of a soft sell as Felicia.” She took her dishes to the sink, putting a cover over the soup pan. Even though she’d fed only four people tonight, she still cooked as if she was in el pescado’s kitchen. She’d freeze the leftovers as soon as they cooled.
The evening light had softened the kitchen. Angie picked up the blue leash hanging on the corner. “What do you say, want to go walking?”
He sat in front of her, motionless except the constant wag of his tail.
“I should rent out your talents as a floor cleaner.” As Angie locked the door and tucked her key into her capris pocket, Dom strained on the leash. Mabel was still clucking around the front of the coop. “You’re in charge,” she called to the hen, who looked up at her like, “Aren’t I always?”
The evening was still warm and the light that pulsed in the valley appeared soft and inviting. June had always been her favorite month. Not deep summer, but out of the chill of the spring. The good thing about River Vista is they got all four seasons. Winter, spring, summer, and fall. And the area residents celebrated each one. If Felicia liked the small local festivals, she’d have her choice year-round. Since high school, the Cherry Festival in nearby Emmett had been one of Angie’s favorites. She’d met her first love there, had her first kiss, and it had been the first festival her grandmother had let her go to with friends rather than as a family. Of course, nothing got past the woman and at the breakfast table the next morning, her grandmother asked her about the new friend she’d met. Grandma’s spies had been everywhere.
As they crossed the empty highway to the next mile of their walk, Angie considered the field to her right. Whatever was growing wasn’t corn. Instead, the plants were more bean like, but didn’t seem to be green beans. She took out her phone and snapped a picture of the field and one close up of the plant. The crunch of tires on the gravel side of the road made her freeze as a vehicle rolled to a stop behind her.
“Can I help you, miss?” The southern twang in his voice told Angie the man wasn’t a local. She turned and a well-used red Chevy Silverado with a pile of silver siphon tubes piled in the bed sat parked on the side of the road. The man’s appearance screamed farmer, from his worn Levi’s to his flannel over shirt unbuttoned to show a sweat-covered tank underneath. Worn cowboy boots and an old Chevy baseball cap finished the look. He could be a model for Rural Farmers Quarterly, if there was such a magazine. “It’s not safe for a pretty little thing like you to be out alone after dark.”
“Not quite dark yet. We’re just out for a walk.” As to emphasize the point, Dom wiggled by her side, wanting her to release his leash. The puppy thought everyone was his friend, and wanted to get a whiff of the guy to add to his catalogue of humans. “Sit,” Angie said, the command in her I’m-serious-voice and for once, Dom listened.
“Beautiful pup. My friend Cindy’s girl just had a litter a few months ago. This guy’s not from her litter, is he?” The guy stood still, leaning on the hood of his truck, watching Dom. He squatted down to the dog’s level. “You mind if we meet?”
Angie could feel the shiver going through her dog. Dom seemed to like the guy, but what good was getting a dog for protection if he liked the entire human race. She released the leash and Dom bounded over to meet his new friend.
“I’m Kirk Hanley.” He looked up from one of Dom’s full body hugs. “Local vet so I would have met you guys sooner or later.” He glanced at Dom’s tags. “I guess I must have met