Page 87 of While the Sun Shines

“I can make you some,” Drew says. “At least a cream cheese or something else quick.”

Penny looks up at him. “You can make it right now?”

“Sure,” he says. “If I can use the kitchen.”

Courtney’s hand shoots into the air. “Judge! This is cheating!”

“Well, the rules stipulate you have to use cheese, and I suppose given the cheese I brought, it’s inherently understood that it has to be Drew’s cheese,” Cooper says. He glances at Abelardo, who shrugs. “After an official review of the regulations of this very professional competition with my co-judge, we rule that the answer is: we really want to see if Drew can pull this off.”

Drew grabs the cream. “C’mon, of course I can.”

He’s never been back in the kitchen before, but it’s obvious enough how to turn on a burner on the industrial stove. Easy to adjust the gas flame too, turning it low so hopefully the cream won’t burn.

“Here.” Penny stands on her toes and reaches for a small stainless-steel pot up on a wire rack. Her fingers just brush it.

“I got it.” Drew leans over her and grabs the handle. “Got a knife to cut the lemon?”

“’Course. Need a thermometer?”

“I can eye it.” Drew pours the cream into the pot. “Cheesecloth?”

“Clean towel?”

“That’ll do.” He swirls the pot over the burner.

When the cream’s hot enough, he squeezes the lemon juice in, stirs it, and then pulls the pot off the heat. It’s not ideal, not without the carefully chosen rennet he keeps at the farm, the fresh cream from that day’s milking, and his choice of weights of cheesecloth, but when he stirs through the curds and whey, it looks close enough to work.

Whit crowds into the kitchen behind Cooper as Drew fills the sink with an inch of cold water and gently sets the pot in it to chill. “This really can’t be legal.”

“Drew’s a fucking magician,” Cooper says.

“I think you’re just addled by your love for dairy.” Drew tests the temperature with a finger. When it’s cool enough, he pours the cream into a colander lined with the towel, letting the extra liquid drain away from the curds. He gathers the towel up and the curds inside are a bit warm but not so hot it burns him as he twists the towel around, pressing as he tries to squeeze as much whey out as he can.

“I’m so sorry, Drew,” Cooper says as he presses closer to watch, “but if you’re expecting points awarded for burly arm muscles and flexing forearms, I’m going to need my own personal cheese made at the drop of a hat too.”

“You can’t award any points. This is definitely cheating,” Whit says. Drew dumps the curds into a food processer and sprinkles salt over them, blending it until it’s smooth.

“We’re celebrating ingenuity,” Cooper says. “’Cause damn, what the hell are you going to make with this, Penny?”

“Just wait.” She takes the small bowl of cream cheese Drew presents and jogs to her table.

“Mine tastes like an old boot,” Courtney says, poking a half-full cocktail glass in front of her.

“And this…” Penny grabs a cocktail shaker. She grins, dumping in the cream cheese along with a glug of vodka. Amaretto, ice—Drew watches as she pours in ingredients before shaking the drink and pouring it back out with a flourish. “This is a cheesecake martini. You’re welcome. I’ll accept my winning prize now.”

“Wait, not fair. You can’t just declare yourself the winner,” Whit says.

“You got fired from your own team,” Drew says.

“Let’s say we tied,” Courtney says.

“Or that we all lost by spending our evening doing this,” Penny says, but she’s laughing.

“Or won,” Cooper says. “Which is convenient because, cue the trumpets, please…” From behind the bar, he grabs a plastic trophy. A plastic trophy with a soccer player on top of it. One that’s dusty and old, the base chipped from a long-ago fall from the top of a bookshelf.

“That’s mine,” Drew says.

“Yep.”