“What do you mean, ‘working together?’” Frederico sounded completely exasperated as he sat on the bar stool beside Miguel.

The barroom was slightly less crowded tonight. The regulars had finally managed to trickle back into Guillermo’s bar now that the rush for Mike’s barbecue had died down. George was back in the kitchen once more, and the food was back to normal.

“You don’t need this broken armed little twit, Dom. You’re more than capable of winning the contest without him.” Frederico continued, gesturing to his son behind the bar.

Dominic was busily mixing up a batch of drinks for some of the customers. “Dad, you tasted Mike’s food, right? There’s no way I could beat him alone.”

“Nonsense.” Frederico shook his head before draining his beer. “Nonsense,” he repeated. Grumbling to himself, he reached for the bowl of peanuts on the counter and dug out a handful of them.

Miguel shifted slightly away from the angry, peanut munching man and tilted his head away. He would’ve changed seats, but the other bar stools were occupied. He self-consciously reached down to scratch at his ankle, reassuring himself that his epipen was firmly secured in the special holder strapped to his leg and hidden beneath his jeans.

“In all honesty,” interjected Peter from his seat on the other side of Miguel, “I’m not sure even that will be enough. I hate to admit it, but in over twenty years of judging the barbecue contest I’ve never tasted anything like it.

“I’m surprised he isn’t here tonight,” Frederico said around a mouthful of peanuts.

“He said he’s taking the night off,” piped up Guillermo as he returned from serving a round of drinks. “Apparently he’s going to try out another venue in a different part of town tomorrow night.”

“You can beat him with your eyes closed, Dom,” Frederico insisted. “You don’t need him.” He jerked his thumb towards Miguel. “Besides, his arms are broken. It’s not like he can really help you very much.”

“There’s a reason I won five years in a row, Frederico,” said Miguel at last. “Dominic may have beaten me this year, but I would have taken my crown back next year. There’s much more to cooking than just using your arms. Dominic knows this. That’s why he agreed to my plan.”

Frederico said nothing as he glanced down into his empty glass.

“Look Dad, this is just a temporary thing. We’re not friends. We don’t even like each other. But we hate this new guy more. We’re not letting some outsider come in here and win our contest. Miguel and I have been first and second for years. Catalejo will sink into the ocean before we let that change.” Dominic loaded up a tray with drinks and headed out to deliver them to waiting patrons.

“You’d better not bring him down,” growled Frederico, slipping down from his bar stool and glaring at Miguel. “My son has what it takes to win without you. He doesn’t need you.”

“Okay there, Fred, time to head on home I think,” suggested Peter, fishing out his wallet and tossing some cash onto the bar by his empty drink. “I’m sure the missus is waiting for you.” He climbed down from his stool and ushered Frederico towards the front door.

“Oye, Frederico, tomorrow night we need to discuss your tab!” Guillermo called after them as they disappeared out into the early twilight. The bar owner shook his head slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry about that, he’s pretty defensive when it comes to Dominic.”

“It’s no big deal,” said Miguel, doing his best to force a smile. “It’s not like anyone else is particularly happy about this either.”

“Look, has Dominic said anything? I just...” Guillermo exhaled sharply and met Miguel’s gaze. “I just want to make sure he’s not mad at me for letting Mike cook here. I know he’s wanted the job in the back for a while.”

“I’m the wrong person to ask,” said Miguel. “Like he said, we don’t even like each other. The day we start sharing our problems with one another is the day the world ends.”

* * *

“Miguel! Miguel!” The shouting echoed through the house and rousted Miguel from sleep. He was still blearily blinking his eyes when the door to his bedroom was unceremoniously yanked open and his mother breathlessly invaded the room.

“What’s going on?” Miguel awkwardly dragged himself upright.

“Is this true?” she asked as she shoved a newspaper towards him.

“What are you talking about?” he groaned, struggling to focus on the front page of the paper she was showing him.

Large print headed up the top of the page. “Rivals Unite!” the Headline announced. Pictures of Miguel and Dominic from the most recent competition had been edited so that it looked as if they were facing off against one another.

“What is that?” demanded Miguel, sitting up fully and reached for the paper.

María yanked it away and began reading. “The barbecue masters team up to take down a new challenger from the United States. Will this dysfunctional duo be able to bring down the King of Barbeque? Or will they face defeat on their home turf?” She looked up at him with a flash of anger in her eyes. “What is this, Miguel? How can you be competing? Your arms are still broken. And teaming up with Dominic? After he punches you in the face and treats you like garbage all the time? Why didn’t you tell us about this?”

“Mom...”

“Tell us about what?” Pablo entered the room behind his wife, his face still covered in shaving cream.

“Your son is apparently teaming up with his enemy in order to compete in the contest!” María shoved the paper into Pablo’s hands.

Miguel sat uncomfortably on the edge of his bed as his father skimmed over the article. He should’ve expected something like this with Peter at the bar last night. He’d wanted to keep all of this from his parents for a long as possible, but that ship had already sailed. He was going to have some choice words for the editor of the local newspaper the next time he saw him.

“If this is true then, María, I don’t see what the problem is. Our son loves to cook, and he’s very good at it. With that sort of reward perhaps he won’t have to keep trimming trees for the rest of his life,” said Pablo as he folded up the newspaper and handed it back to his wife.

“Thanks, Dad,” said Miguel. “That means a lot.” Even though he didn’t intend to use the money for himself, it was a relief to know that his father supported him.

“Yes, but he needs to be resting. His arms need to heal.” María folded the paper up several more times until it was a compressed little square of worry.

“María, he can’t just sit around in the house all day. I think this will be good for him. Give him something to focus on. With a partner, even a rival like Dominic, he can still do something he loves. There’s nothing to worry about.” Pablo patted her shoulder before leaving the room to continue his morning shave.

“Just...be careful,” said María, hovering in the doorway a few more moments. “I don’t want you to get hurt. Physically or...otherwise.” She turned and left the room before he could reply.

Her concern was appreciated, but unnecessary. There was no way that Miguel was going to let Dominic get close enough to hurt him. Physically or...otherwise.

* * *

“Obviously the first step is pinpointing what, exactly, Mike is using that makes his sauce so perfect,” announced Dominic as they stood in his kitchen. “I picked up a couple of things that I think might be the cause.”

Miguel frowned as he scanned the interior of the apartment. The room was dark, despite the fact the windows were open. The dirty clothes and dishes gathered and stacked around the room were more than a little distracting. The warmth of the room was almost unbearable and they hadn’t even started cooking yet. The countertops were cluttered, and it was difficult to locate any free space for preparing ingredients.

He hadn’t been sure what to imagine when Dominic had suggested they use his apartment for their experiments. It’s not like he’d ever actually been inside.

“Is something wrong?” asked Dominic, following Miguel’s gaze.

“U-um, n-no,” said Miguel, forcing a smile and turning back to the ingredients Dominic had laid out. “There’s nothing wrong.”

“I get it, okay? The place is a mess. I’ll clean it up tonight. It’s no big deal. There’s still plenty of room to cook. I’ll get the fans going so it’s not so hot in here. Just take a look at these, and figure out which one you want to try first.” Dominic excused himself from the kitchen and began dragging a couple of fans around the room and plugging them in.

Miguel tried to redirect his attention to the stack of ingredients on the counter. However, as the fans kicked into gear tufts of dust and debris began blowing around the room. Every pass of the oscillating fans sent a new cloud in Miguel’s direction.

“Dominic, this isn’t going to work,” announced Miguel. “The fans are blowing dirt right towards the food. This isn’t sanitary. We can’t cook like this.”

“What do you want me to do?” snapped Dominic, defensively. “It’s too hot in here without them.”

“Right, yes, but...” Miguel’s voice trailed off as he tried to come up with the right words. “It’s not really the fans that are the problem. It’s...the environment?”

“I told you I’d clean it up tomorrow.” Dominic folded his arms as he returned to the kitchen. “So either we cook in the heat or we cook in the dust. It’s your call.”

Miguel shook his head slowly as he looked around the room once more. “I just...the food will get contaminated.”

“Then why don’t you do something about it instead of just complaining?” asked Dominic. “I know your arms are broken, but you could at least give me suggestions instead of just telling me what’s wrong.”

“We could cook when it’s not so hot.” Miguel glanced at the clock. In just a few hours, the sun would go down and it would cool off dramatically.

“I work at night.”

“Okay, what about after that?”

“I don’t get home until about 3 o’clock in the morning. You really expect me to start cooking then? And are you really going to walk all the way over here from your parents’ house that late at night?” asked Dominic.

“You asked for suggestions, I gave them to you. You don’t like them then just say so.” It was Miguel’s turn to get annoyed. It had taken a lot of effort for him to even consider asking Dominic for help in the first place. Their animosity for one another hadn’t just evaporated, and it was taking a lot of effort to maintain a level of civility towards one another.

“I wasn’t the one that came crawling to me out of desperation,” countered Dominic. “Working together was your idea. If you don’t like the working conditions then maybe you don’t belong in the kitchen.”

“Oh, this is a kitchen?” Miguel couldn’t hold back any longer. “I thought it was a pig sty.”

Dominic ground his teeth and clenched the edge of the counter so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He seemed to be trying to restrain himself.

“Leave,” was all he said.

Miguel hesitated, instantly realizing that their partnership was crumbling before it had even fully started.

“I said, leave!” snapped Dominic, glaring daggers at Miguel.

Miguel retreated back several steps. They needed each other to have any shot at winning this competition. They both knew that, they had recognized it. Yet, there was so much enmity built up between them that they’d sabotaged themselves.

Without this partnership, neither of them would be able to beat Mike.

“If you’re not out that door in the next two minutes, I will throw you out myself,” threatened Dominic, stepping towards Miguel.

“Fine,” Miguel snapped back at him. “You don’t have to be such a brute.” He turned and forced himself to march towards the front door. Yet, even as he stepped out onto the porch, he was aware of two things. The first was that his dreams of winning the competition had just died and the second was that it was pretty much entirely his fault.