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Ian nearly stopped in his tracks. The odor that had just wafted over him was one he had not absorbed for nearly twenty-five years. 

“It can’t be ” he said to himself.

Picking up his pace, Ian used his phone to search nearby seafood restaurants. Discarding the more upscale results, he focused on three establishments. Two were within five blocks of one another and relatively close to the tourist traps.  The third was removed from the center of downtown by a few blocks. According to the GPS, Ian was closest to this restaurant. He smiled and headed toward what the GPS identified as The Reel Thing. Ian laughed at the play-on-words as he followed the directions to the restaurant. Ian rounded a corner and saw The Reel Thing sitting three doors from the intersection. The smell of blended spices, french fries, and hush puppies was overwhelming. As Ian stood at the intersection and waited for the light to change, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The scent spirited him away to a much simpler time.

“Ian Marsh.”

The harsh voice of Jerrod, one of the camp counselors, shook Ian from his daydream.

“Here,” he replied.

Roll call was one of the more boring parts of summer camp. But it was made bearable by the sight of the girls standing on the other side of the outdoor basketball court. One girl in particular held Ian’s attention. 

Nichole Rodgers stood nearly a head taller than most of the girls and some of the boys as well. She was not the prettiest girl at camp, but her features blended in such a way to make her memorable. Her light brown skin was almost untouched by acne. Her curly, dark brown hair flowed like a bronze river to her waist, and she had already developed noticeable curves in all the right places. She and Ian had not spoken more than a few words, but Nichole had captured Ian’s heart. 

They had only been at the camp for a few days. There were weeks left in their stay, and Ian was determined to get to know Nichole. 

His chance came one Thursday as the campers prepared to take canoes onto the lake. Ian and Nichole happened to be paired together. The two of them were slipping their life jackets over their heads when Jerrod walked over.

“We need help in the cafeteria today. You two need to report to the kitchen.”

Nichole opened her mouth to protest, but Ian, seizing his opportunity, quickly said, “No problem.”

He grabbed Nicole’s hand and began leading her to the cafeteria.

They were nearly halfway there when Nichole jerked her hand back.

“Who gave you the right to speak for me,” she asked with annoyance.

Ian’s confidence of a moment ago evaporated like water on a hot sidewalk. 

“It’s a chance to not be in the blazing hot sun for a few hours.”

He gestured to his arms as he continued walking.

“I have gotten more than enough sun already.”

Nichole looked at his arms; then she let her eyes roam over the rest of Ian’s body. She had seen Ian around, but Nichole never really looked at him. Ian was a taller boy, but he was shorter than her. Then again, Nichole found that many people had that distinction when they stood beside her. Strawberry blond hair covered one side of his face, revealing one of his green eyes. Ian’s shoulders and chest were well-developed, indicating that he exercised. Nichole’s gaze drifted to Ian’s muscular legs, then back to his face.

He is really cute, she thought.

“What sport do you play,” she asked, lengthening her stride to catch up to Ian. 

“Football and basketball.”

Nichole nodded.

“I’ve been playing basketball as long as I can remember.”

Ian would have joked about her height just then, but he thought better of it.

They talked about their athletic experiences until they reached the cafeteria. Once inside, a woman directed them to the kitchen.

Ian slipped an apron on and then donned a pair of latex gloves.

Nichole stared at him.

“What,” Ian asked. 

Nichole smiled.

“It’s nothing. I’m just surprised a guy knows what to do in a kitchen besides eat.”

Ian blushed a little as he said, “Very funny.”

Nichole laughed as she, too, put on an apron and gloves. Just then, an older, heavyset woman walked into the kitchen as if she owned it. She looked at Ian and Nichole and sniffed.

“My name is Estelle Waters,” she said gruffly. “You can call me Ms. Waters or Ms. Estelle.”

She paused, and Nichole took that as an opening to introduce herself.

“I’m Nichole Rodgers.” She motioned to Ian. “This is Ian Marsh. We were told you needed help.”

Estelle looked between Ian and Nichole and sniffed again. 

“We do need help. But I was not expecting to get two kids who looked like the only time they spent a minute in the kitchen was eating.”

Ian glanced at Nichole, who was trying to hide a smile. He then focused on Estelle. 

“Ms. Waters, I have been helping my mother in the kitchen my whole life. I know my way around.”

“We will see about that,” Estelle said as she turned to Nichole.

“What about you? Do you know your way around a kitchen?”

Ian blushed at the mocking tone in her voice as she used his words.

Nichole nodded.

“My grandfather ran a seafood restaurant before he died. I know how to cut, clean, fry, and broil pretty much anything with fins or feathers.”

Estelle actually looked a little impressed. She pointed to a pile of potatoes and onions, then pointed to Ian.

“You know how to use a knife?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ian said, nodding.

“Good, because we need those peeled and cut up for dinner.”

Ian walked toward the vegetables, grabbing a knife and sharpener on his way there.

Estelle turned to Nichole.

“I need you to make a batter.  After that, cut up some leg quarters. I will fry them for lunch, so we must be quick.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nichole replied. 

She turned to leave, but Estelle stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“I haven't given you the recipe for the batter, dear.”

Nichole blinked and realized that was true.

Estelle leaned back a little and looked at Nichole intently. 

“You were going to make your own batter."

Nichole felt her face grow hot.

“I was.”

Estelle smiled, and the gesture took years off of her.

“You do know what you are doing, don't you?”

Nichole returned the smile.

“I like to think so.”

Estelle handed her an index card.

“Here, honey. You follow this to the letter. After we are done, I will let you make your batter, and maybe we will serve your recipe next time.”

Nichole’s smile grew, and she said, “Yes, ma’am. I won't let you down.”

Ian watched the exchange from across the room, and the sight of Nichole’s smile was enough to light up the whole room. 

“Pay attention, Ian,” Estelle said without looking at him. “I don’t want you to cut your finger off because you let your eyes wander.”

Ian blushed.

“Yes, ma’am.”

And that is how it began. For seven weeks, Nichole and Ian worked in the kitchen three days a week.

Nichole and Ian bonded over their athletic pursuits and their love of food. When they were not working, they spent their time together, even though they had come to camp with their own group of friends. One Thursday night, as he walked Nichole back to her cabin, Ian took a chance and asked Nichole if she wanted to be a couple.

“I know that it’s kind of lame,” he said. “The whole summer camp romance thing, but I really like you and want to see where this goes.”

Nichole stopped walking and placed her hand on Ian’s cheek. 

“It’s not lame,” she said. “I like you too, and honestly, I was going to ask you the same thing.”

They faced each other, both afraid to speak and ruin the moment. After what felt like a very long time, Ian leaned toward Nichole and lightly kissed her lips. 

When she did not respond immediately, Ian stepped away and said, “I’m sorry. I should not have kissed you.”

Nichole touched her lips and smiled.

“Don’t apologize,” she said as she took Ian’s hand.

Nichole led him to a dark space between two cabins, almost invisible from the sidewalk. She sat on the ground and pulled Ian with her. 

Nichole brushed his hair out of his face and asked, “Are you going to finish what you started?”

Ian replied, “If that’s what you want.”

Nichole leaned in and kissed him. 

After a few seconds, she broke off the kiss and said, “I want it very much.”

Before they knew it, the last week of camp had come upon them.

Ian walked into the kitchen and donned his apron. As he turned to walk to his station, Nichole nearly ran into him.

“I get to make my fish fry,” she exclaimed.

Ian was confused for a moment; then he realized what she meant. 

“Ms. Waters is going to let you cook the main course.”

Nichole nodded. Her excitement infected Ian.

“What can I do to help?”

Nichole smiled.

“I need you to cut potatoes, of course.”

Ian rolled his eyes as Nichole laughed.

“You make the best fries,” she said after she recovered.

Ian gave her a half smile.

“I get told that a lot.”

Nichole kissed his cheek.

“Thank you so much, Ian.”

Ian squeezed her hand and said, “You are welcome.”

They both then turned to start on their tasks. 

As Ian peeled and cut potatoes for french fries, the smell of spices reached his nose. Salt, paprika, garlic, and multiple pepper varieties made his eyes and mouth water. There was even a hint of what Ian thought might be saffron.

“What are you cooking over there,” he called to Nichole.

She turned and smiled at him.

“I haven't started cooking yet,” she said. “This is just the breading. You will know when I’m actually cooking.”

Ian smiled at her confidence. 

Not long after that exchange, Nichole put the first breaded pieces of fish in the fryer. All of those aromas that Ian had smelled earlier wafted around the kitchen. Everyone in the room stopped and sniffed the air, looking for the source of the incredible smell.

Ms. Waters approached the fryers and took a deep breath.

“I can’t wait to taste your fish, Nichole,” she said.

“You will get the first plate, Ms. Estelle,” Nichole said with a smile. 

Estelle placed her fork in the middle of the place and sat back with a satisfied sigh.

“That was damn good, young lady,” she told Nichole. “Damn good.”

Nichole tried to hide the happy tears she was shedding.

“Thank you,” she said in a trembling voice.

Estelle rose from her chair and hugged Nichole.

“You have a real skill for cooking.”

Nichole wiped her tears and said, I have always enjoyed cooking, but I am supposed to play basketball.”

Estelle considered her words momentarily, then said, “I can't tell you what to do. I am not your mother. But I know talent when I see it and taste it.” “Cooking makes you happy. I saw that your first day in here. I don’t know what your plan is, but I do know that somewhere in that plan, you have to arrange to make yourself happy. Do what you love, and love what you do. Everyone else can go to hell.”

Estelle grabbed the empty plate, left the small office that doubled as a break room and returned to the kitchen.

Nichole and Ian stood looking at the empty space where Estelle had been sitting. 

“What do you think about that?”

Ian looked up at Nichole.

“What do I think about what?”

“About what Ms. Waters said about being happy.”

Ian leaned against the wall.

“I think that she's right. No one can live your life for you, and nobody will go out of their way to make you happy.”

Nichole approached Ian and leaned her head on his chest. Ian wrapped his arms around her. They stood there awhile before Ian asked, “What do we do now?”

Nichole raised her head. 

“Do about what?”

Ian looked away from her and then said, “Us.”

Nichole took Ian’s face in her hands and turned him to face her.

“We take us as far as we can go. After that, I want to be your friend, always.” 

Nichole kissed Ian’s lips, then moved out of the room to the kitchen.

Ian smiled as the memory slipped away. That had been the best summer of his life up to that point. Ian could admit now that spending the summer in that kitchen with Nichole had been the first time he had truly fallen in love with someone. Ian did not know how to define it but knew it was love. He stood outside The Reel Thing, surrounded by aromas that had helped him become the man he was now. Those aromas also held a mystery. Was Nichole Rodgers, his summer romance, on the other side of those doors, or was his mind playing tricks on him? 

“Only one way to find out,” he said as he gripped the handle and opened the door.