Free For Cheddar or Worse by Avery Aames

elaborate yet more feminine.” He continued enlightening us until breakfast arrived, then conversation turned toward what the day’s activities would be.
    I savored every bite of my gluten-free blueberry muffin and asked Erin if she would share the recipe because my niece Clair—actually, Matthew’s girls, Clair and her twin sister, Amy, weren’t really my nieces, more like my first cousins once removed, but
niece
was so much easier to say—had to eat gluten-free. Erin was quick to comply. She hurried to the kitchen and in a matter of seconds reappeared with a recipe card.
    A quarter of an hour later, Erin announced that it was time to head to the facility. The brain trust was about to begin.
    Emerald Pastures Farm had two cheese-making facilities. The one where the farm made goat milk cheeses was a holdout from the earlier days of the farm. The other, where Cheddars were made, was state-of-the-art. The
make room
for Cheddar was much like the one at Pace Hill Farm. It measured about thirty-by-twenty feet and was windowless. A stainless steel vat, which was about half the size of the room, stood in the middle of the brick-tiled floor. Long whisk-like prongs were attached to a metal arm above the vat. Behind the vat was a conveyor belt loaded with metal boxes. Paddles, ladles, and other tools hung on the far wall. Unlike the facility at Pace Hill Farm, the far end of the
make room
consisted of a wall of clear glass. Beyond the glass, there was a visitors’ room where, usually, the public could view the cheese-making process. Not today.
    Twenty of us, each wearing a white coat, latex gloves, and a hairnet—real attractive—clustered between the vat and the conveyer belt. Quigley Pressman, who was standing at the front of the pack, held up a tape recorder as Kandice drew in front of the crowd.
    â€œListen up, everyone,” Kandice began.
    A chill cut through me. My whole body started to shake.
    Jordan wrapped his arm around me. “Are you okay?” he whispered.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œLiar. You’re thinking about Tim.”
    A few months back, we had found our friend TimothyO’Shea drowned in a cheese vat. I hadn’t been inside a cheese-making facility since. I had shared my reservations about doing the brain trust with Jordan, but he had convinced me that I needed to do it. FYI: Riding a bike was definitely easier.
    I nodded. “I’m fine.”
    â€œHey, gorgeous.” Victor, wearing a supercilious grin, pressed in beside Lara.
    She swiveled away and bumped into Ryan, who was slipping in at the last moment. His eyes were red-rimmed and tight, as if he had stayed up all night.
    â€œSorry,” Ryan mumbled, even though he hadn’t caused the collision. He skirted behind all of us and squished in between Erin and Shayna.
    â€œWhere’ve you been?” Erin asked.
    â€œTalking to my kids.” Ryan offered a what-can-you-do look.
    She gazed at him with such desire. How I hoped he wouldn’t break her heart.
    â€œThank you all for coming,” Kandice said. “It is a pleasure to put on such a prestigious event. I’m excited to learn what each of you know. I hope you’ll be open and forthcoming.” She focused on Victor. “No room for smart-mouth remarks in here.”
    Victor held up his hands as if to say:
Don’t look at me
.
    â€œAnd now,” Kandice said, “I’d like to turn the event over to Erin, our hostess.”
    The group applauded.
    â€œWelcome!” Erin said in a booming voice.
    I chuckled. Did she think she was in an auditorium and needed to project? Jordan elbowed me. I curbed my giggling.
    Erin must have realized how loud she had sounded. She blushed and in a softer tone said, “Welcome. First of all, let me tell you what our process is, and then we’ll dig in. We bring the milk from the holding tank at the dairy to here.” She spread her arms. “By the way, the dairy is way