Miguel still wasn’t entirely comfortable with their arrangement. This time, however, it wasn’t because of anything Dominic had done. As he leaned against the counter in the kitchen and watched Dominic work, he couldn’t help the feeling of helplessness that had settled over him.

He still had his ability to taste, and Dominic had been fairly attentive to his suggestions thus far, but it still weighed on him that he wasn’t able to physically contribute anything.

“Here.” Dominic passed him a spoon with a sample of the latest batch of sauce.

Over the last several days, they’d tried multiple batches of sauce. None of which was anything close to Mike’s in flavor. Despite their combined efforts they still weren’t making any headway.

“Well?” Dominic pressed Miguel for a response.

“It’s...” Miguel shook his head slowly. The taste wasn’t even close. If anything they were getting farther away from where they wanted to be. “That wasn’t it. We’ll have to try again.”

Dominic growled through his teeth and turned away from the counter in disgust.

“Look, I know this is frustrating, but we’ve got to keep at it.” Miguel tried to reassure him. The most frustrating part about this whole situation was Dominic’s propensity to lose his cool. He’d already taken several breaks to clear his head, and this was their first night on the job. If he kept this up then they’d never be ready on time.

“I know that,” Dominic said as he returned to the counter. There was an edge to his voice that suggested resentment. Despite their promise to set aside old grudges, it was obvious that Dominic still harbored a deep hatred towards Miguel. It was to be expected though. Issues as big as theirs didn’t just go away because you told them to.

“So maybe we should just take a moment, try sampling the ingredients first before starting the next batch?” Miguel had been trying to get Dominic to slow down from the moment they had begun cooking that night. They needed some sort of plan before they wasted a lot of time and money on batches that weren’t going to be what they wanted.

“You’ve been saying that.” Dominic avoided Miguel’s eyes as he cleaned up their most recent batch of sauce. “If you want to sit down, take notes, and try to think your way through this then be my guest. You were the one who wanted to work together. This is how I work. I cook and I taste and I experiment. Some batches are good and some are bad, but I learn from that and move on.”

“Is that the same strategy you used to beat me?” Miguel asked, his temper flared as he stood up straight and clenched his jaw.

“Yes, it is.” Dominic met his gaze. There was a challenge in his eyes. It seemed like he’d been itching for a fight all night long.

Wisdom would’ve suggested that Miguel back down. They’d already ended their partnership once, it wouldn’t take very much to break it apart again. However, just because he was an omega didn’t mean he was going to let Dominic run everything.

“No wonder it took you five years to beat me.” Miguel shook his head. “You just blindly throw things together with no plan until you come up with something that might work.”

“Maybe I do have a plan? Instead of asking about that, however, you just look down your nose and assume that I don’t know what I’m doing.” Dominic folded his arms.

“Okay then, what’s this amazing plan?”

“I start with what I know,” explained Dominic. “The first recipe was one I’ve made hundreds of times. It’s basic. From there I started with flavors I’m familiar with that are close to what I want. I think there were a few that were close. So the next attempts include those and a little something extra to try and bring out that flavor. I’ve already eliminated several different ingredients, but there’s still a lot left to try.”

“If you cook every single batch you’re never going to get through it in time,” said Miguel. “There are too many combinations of ingredients for you to do that.” Not that Dominic’s methodology was inherently wrong, just time consuming. If they’d started this process immediately after the last competition, then maybe it would’ve worked, with their current time frame it just wasn’t feasible.

“Well then, I’ve heard a lot of criticism from you and no suggestions other than ‘we need a plan.’ Which isn’t really a suggestion at all.” Dominic had returned to cleaning up. It seemed that the immediate threat of an all-out argument had passed. Much to Miguel’s surprise.

“Normally, I brainstorm first. I write stuff down and come up with a list of things that I think will give me the flavor I want. Then I start taste testing the ingredients themselves. Then I refine the list. Then I do it again and again until the list is a manageable length. Then I cook maybe two or three batches and one of them usually has what I’m looking for. The rest of the time is spent perfecting that single batch.” Miguel’s entire principle of cooking was to do as little of it as possible. If you went into the kitchen with the perfect plan then you’d come out of it with the perfect meal. No wasted time and maximum yield from your ingredients.

“So what? No one is stopping you from writing stuff down and tasting things. We’ve got a whole array of ingredients here.” Dominic swept his hand towards the counter where various ingredients were laid out waiting to be used.

Miguel set his jaw. “We’re supposed to be working together.”

“And? You want to hold hands? Working together means we divide and conquer. You do what you do, I do what I do. We compare notes and move forward. Both of us working on the same thing is a waste of time.” Dominic turned away and began picking new ingredients out of the pile in front of him.

“Cooking slight variations of the same dish over and over again hoping to stumble into the answer is a waste of time and resources,” insisted Miguel. “We’re not throwing away any more money on ingredients until we come up with a list and a plan.”

They’d pooled their money to ensure that the financial burden of perfecting their recipe was shared equally. A jar of cash sat proudly on the counter nearby with a label that read “ingredient fund” stuck to the side.

“We have plenty of money left,” said Dominic without looking up. “Besides, you can’t just dictate how we use our funds. My money’s in there too.”

“We have exactly two hundred and twenty dollars left. That might sound like a lot now, but we haven’t even begun to experiment with meat cuts. We’ve barely scratched the surface on this project, and it’s about to get way more expensive.” Miguel would’ve crossed his arms if he could have. Instead he settled for taking a step towards Dominic and putting one plaster-coated arm on the counter.

“I agreed to this partnership because I needed your help to come up with a recipe that could beat Mike. All you want to do is sit around the table making lists.” Dominic looked over at him in frustration.

“It’ll only take a few days—“

“Days!?” Dominic shook his head, exasperated. “You expect me to spend days just talking to you about what we might cook without actually doing any cooking at all. This is how you choose to spend your time when every second counts?”

“Yes, days. And maybe you need a reminder, but I used that same strategy to beat you for five years straight. Before that I was doing the same thing you were doing and it was always hit or miss which one of us was going to win. I guarantee you, Mike has planned everything methodically.” Miguel was getting tired of this back and forth argument. Dominic just needed to back down already. It was obvious which one of them had the better method.

Dominic was quiet for several long minutes before looking up at the clock on the wall.

“Go home, Miguel,” he said as he began putting things away. “I’m too tired to keep arguing with you. Write your damn lists, taste your ingredients. Figure things out. I don’t care what you do.”

“But...”

“I’m tired. It’s already morning,” he gestured to the clock, “and I’ve got work tonight. If I don’t get some sleep soon this isn’t going to work.”

Miguel looked up at the clock. The blinds had been closed, they had worked straight through the night and hadn’t even noticed the growing daylight outside. He sighed. An entire night gone, and it felt as if they hadn’t made any progress at all.

“Fine, just...promise you’re not going to go buy anything else for now.” Miguel didn’t entirely trust that their limited funds were going to last until the competition. If he’d been working then he would’ve contributed a portion of his paycheck each week to preparing for the competition. This time, however, he was living with his parents and didn’t have any money to spare.

“I...” Dominic hesitated and Miguel was certain he was going to refuse to cooperate. “I won’t buy anything else for now. Just do what you need to do. I’m going to bed.”

* * *

“Miguel, hijo, wake up.” María’s voice slowly dragged Miguel back to consciousness.

His back hurt, his eyes stung, and he felt groggy as he pulled himself upright. He’d fallen asleep at the kitchen table, sprawled around across a notebook where he’d been busily scratching down a list of ingredients.

“What are you doing out here?” María asked, brushing her son’s hair back from his forehead. “When did you get home?”

Miguel blinked and checked the time on his cell phone. It was eight.

“A couple hours ago.” Miguel stifled a yawn.

“Why didn’t you go to bed? You shouldn’t be sleeping like that. Are you going to be out this late every night now?” María chastised her son as she moved towards the front door. “I’ve got to go to work now. Eat some breakfast and then go to bed. You shouldn’t be tiring yourself out like this just to accommodate Dominic’s schedule. You’re going to burn yourself out if this is the way you intend to keep on going.”

Miguel rubbed the sleep from his eyes as his mother left the house. He hadn’t been prepared for her sudden barrage of worry.

He stretched as well as he could and rose from his chair. The list he’d made was fairly complete. Though, if he was being honest, he’d only tasted Mike’s cooking once, and that had been several days ago. It was difficult to recall flavor after that much time had passed, especially when one was experimenting with cooking of their own.

He didn’t have the time to sleep right now. He could sleep after his research was done. Otherwise the partnership would boil down to Miguel standing around watching Dominic cook and making mildly helpful suggestions from time to time. He wasn’t going to hang all of his hopes for this competition on Dominic’s abilities alone.

Miguel grabbed some breakfast, splashed some cold water on his face, chugged some coffee, and headed out. However, despite going as quickly as he could his entire morning routine still took him almost an hour to complete. Having to bend at the waist, or duck his head forward, to make up for the lack of range from his casts left his entire body feeling worn out by the time he was through.

La Bonita was still waking up. Only the most enthusiastic of tourists was up and about this early in the morning. Several joggers made their way down the uncrowded streets at an easy pace. Shopkeepers were setting out signs, stalls were being set up, and the smells of breakfast were beginning to drift out onto the streets.

List in hand, Miguel made his way to the little grocery store that serviced the whole island. As he made his way further from the main street tourist traps, the island became a little more sleepy. The typical Catalejo islander had only just eaten breakfast. Children were still getting ready for school and parents not involved in tourism or the service industry were likely taking it easy.

The buildings were older here but well maintained. More traditional Spanish architecture dotted the streets, and people seemed less concerned with updating everything.

Despite the fact that Catalejo had only really popped onto the international scene in the last few decades, there was a deep-seated culture here. The former Spanish colony had created its own customs and cultures that, while influenced by its mother country, were entirely its own.

It was September. Four months until the new year. The weather was still warm and the rains had yet to truly start. Tourism was still high but would drop off a bit once the weather turned. Despite that, most hotels still managed to maintain around sixty or seventy percent occupancy and that would continue on through the bad weather.

There were people that worried that their economy was too heavily focused on tourism. But with little land, and a small population, there weren’t too many other options.

The island was too small for a true airport. A very small runway was situated on the far side of the island and was only used by government officials. Everyone, and everything, else came and left the island by boat. Thankfully, they were only a few hours away from Florida and several cruise ships had added them to their list of stops in the Caribbean. All of this meant that there was a near constant influx of new arrivals on days where the weather was clear.

Away from the hotels and the clubs, a very small-town feel reverberated through La Bonita. It was a small community. Many families had lived here for generations and knew no other home. People were generally accepting, though they held to some staunch traditional values as well.

Their acceptance of their openly gay president and his family had signaled to the world that they were open to embracing a more progressive mindset from time to time as well. Their only complaint had been that the president’s son was born out of wedlock. The following wedding had been a cause for several days’ worth of celebration by the residents.

In recent years, the number of immigrants from other countries had begun to rise. Some feared that the outside influence would degrade the sense of community that Catalejo valued. On the whole, however, the type of people willing to move their entire lives to a small island managed to fit in with little problem.

A soft smile twitched across Miguel’s lips as he waved hello to a man kissing his husband goodbye before heading off for work. Several small children played in the yard with a scruffy looking dog. Scenes like that had become more common. Advances in medicine had made male pregnancy less risky and the associated stigma had begun to disappear. There were still parts of the world where people spoke against it but that wasn’t the case on Catalejo.

The walk to the grocery store took about thirty minutes total. Cars weren’t common on the island as most places could be reached on foot without problem. Foot traffic was generally high, and as a result, most of the islanders were relatively fit despite a culture that favored the afternoon siesta and large meals.

Miguel had climbed trees every day for a large majority of his life. That sort of work had kept him muscular and trim. Evenly toned muscles and strong legs made a thirty minute walk to the store, a walk in the park for him.

The grocery store was mostly empty this time of day. A few employees stocked shelves, and a couple of early birds picked up essentials.

As he walked the aisles of the store, however, a new problem made itself apparent. Miguel couldn’t unbend his arms. Anything on upper shelves or stacked up, was out of reach for him. Picking through the produce section was also difficult since he couldn’t reach items he truly wanted to look over.

He’d intended to pick up a few things on his list, just to get started, but all he felt now was frustration. He glanced sidelong at one of the store employees near the tomatoes. He didn’t want to ask for help. Somehow, he’d managed to get by with minimal assistance from others. He’d managed to maintain a decent amount of his independence despite the fact that most things took him twice as long to accomplish now. He wasn’t ready to admit defeat just yet.

Even if that meant staring at the tomatoes instead of actually buying any of them.

“What are you doing here?” Dominic’s voice grabbed his attention from very close by.

Miguel flinched, reflexively, and spun to face the other man. “I...I...” he struggled to regain his composure. Dominic had a basket slung over one arm with several ingredients tossed inside.

“What am I doing here?” Miguel repeated. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be sleeping, not shopping for ingredients. Especially since we agreed you weren’t going to buy anything else.”

“I need to eat too,” said Dominic, glancing down in his basket. “I wasn’t aware that you were banning me from buying stuff for my own kitchen.”

“So you just happened to need brown sugar?”

“I was out. I like it in oatmeal.” Dominic shrugged. “Anyway, you looked like you needed help.”

“I don’t.” Miguel answered before he could stop himself. “I was just browsing.”

“With a shopping list?” Dominic snatched the list out of Miguel’s hands. “Looks like you’re shopping for sauce ingredients. So what? Was the ban only for me then? It’s perfectly okay if you spend our money?”

“I was going to use my own money for this,” said Miguel defensively. He felt like a child that had been caught sneaking cookies. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“I was hungry, and I couldn’t sleep. Don’t change the subject.” Dominic locked eyes with him. Funny, Miguel had never noticed how long Dominic’s eyelashes were. They made his gaze more alluring than Miguel remembered.

“I already explained myself. You told me to do my thing, I’m doing it.” Miguel managed after breaking eye contact with Dominic.

Dominic sighed. “But you can’t reach anything so you’re just standing here like an idiot.”

“Maybe.”