Page 41 of On Her Team
She shushes me and points to a woman standing on a stage with a microphone. “Mayor Mandy of Rogue’s Landing is about to speak.”
“Smugglers, mermaids, and people who swear this recipe has been in their family for generations. Welcome to the Annual Rogue’s Landing Chowder Cook-Off!
For those of you who are new to the island, this is the event where we celebrate three things: local pride, questionable seafood choices, and grudges that last longer than hurricane season.
A few reminders before we begin:
One. This is a chowder cook-off, not a street fight. Last year’s incident with the ladle has been forgiven, but not forgotten.
Two. No sabotaging other teams. This includes ‘accidentally’ unplugging slow cookers, swapping salt for sugar, or releasing live shellfish into a rival pot. Yes, we’re looking at you, Dockside Dave.
Three. Cream-based chowder, tomato-based chowder, and ‘experimental’ chowder are all welcome. However, if your chowder contains mango, chocolate, or whatever that was in 2019,please know the judges are not legally required to be kind.
And finally. This cook-off has been happening for over fifty years, which means tradition matters. The recipes are secret, the opinions are loud, and if a raccoon goes missing tonight… well. Let’s just say history tends to repeat itself.
Judges, prepare your stomachs. Contestants, prepare your excuses. And everyone else - pace yourselves. This is a marathon, not a sprint.
Let the chowder – and the chaos – begin!”
The crowd erupts into cheers and there’s a stampede to the tables. People carry their own bowls and spoons and they don’t hesitate to hit each other with them either.
“This town is serious about chowder.”
“Competition is in our smuggler’s blood.” Addy nudges me forward. “There! Rogue is resting on the podium where the mayor spoke. This is our chance while everyone is distracted.”
I shoulder my way through the crowd. It’s nearly as difficult as facing a defensive line when the score is tied and we’re on our fourth down, five yards from the endzone. These people are serious about their chowder. I respect anyone who’s serious about food.
When we reach the podium, I’m sweating from effort and wondering why I didn’t wear shorts instead of these flannel pajamas.
I glance around to ensure no one’s watching us. “What now?”
Addy digs in her backpack and brings out a leash and a bag of marshmallows. I reach for the marshmallows but she snatches the bag out of my reach.
“These aren’t for you.” She removes a marshmallow and offers it to the raccoon. “They’re for him.”
The raccoon plucks the marshmallow out of her hand and stuffs it into his mouth.
“Who’s a good raccoon?” She coos. “Rogue is.”
“What are you doing?” The mayor yells as she barrels toward us.
Addy glares at me. “You suck at being a lookout.”
“I didn’t realize I was a lookout.”
She pastes a smile on her face. “Hi, Mandy!”
“Don’t hi me, you little thief.”
Addy pushes me forward. “I thought you might want to meet Gage Edwards. He’s an NFL player for the Steel City Seals.”
Mandy rakes her gaze over me before licking her lips. “Gage Edwards. I know who you are.”
I offer her my hand. “Mayor, nice to meet you.”
As I shake her hand, Addy clips the leash onto Rogue’s collar. She offers him another marshmallow before picking him up. She backs away and I move to block Mandy’s view.
“How long are you in town?” Mandy winks. I’m on familiar turf. This is how I’m used to women responding to me.
