(As an aside, “Manleigh Cheese is about to hit 55,000 words. Thank you all for reading and sharing this as it grows towards novel-length!)
Something, an unfamiliar intuition, gave him pause, so he didn’t immediately follow everyone over to the big steel building. Instead, he sat on the long plastic container that did double duty as a rugged bench for those infrequent barbeques… the ones that Logan always wanted to organize, but never quite got off his behind to make happen.
The seasons were definitely changing, John silently observed. It was colder than previous nights had been, and he found it strangely refreshing—which was a little odd, since he’d always been more fond of Spring and Summer—another thing, he guessed, that could be chalked up to whatever exchanges were brought about by marrying a supernatural entity.
In the distance, he could hear merry laughter. Etty was enjoying herself, learning about the craziness they endured to make a living. Logan was probably going to share some of his super-secret stash of cheeses that never saw daylight. They were worth keeping away from the rest of the world, if only to stem the tide of insane people screaming for more of Logan’s private stash.
He always wanted a more interesting word for people who were passionate about curds. Certainly, “cheese-lover,” covered the bases, but it sounded so bland. “Caseophile” was an interesting use of Latin, but he wasn’t sure that it didn’t include erotic love of cheese. That was a realm John Frost had no desire to enter, much less know that it existed in the first place.
Sometimes… he did wonder about Logan… but it was safer to quash those concerns before they played out like David Lynch films across the inside of his head. Logan was eccentric enough without adding a “schmear” of bent sexuality to the bagel of his personality.
John closed his eyes in the cool of the night, and was waylaid by Ninja Sheep of Sleep.
He jumped when he heard the truck turn into the driveway. There was no mistaking that noise; he knew it too well. Dark-suited Secret Service agents disembarked from the Manleigh Cheese truck, and approached him as he wiped his eyes.
“Mr. Frost?” One of them asked.
“Good evening, sir. We’ve returned your vehicle. Would you like the keys, or shall we leave them in the ignition?”
“Uh, can I have them?”
“Certainly. Where is Mr. Manleigh?” The agent looked around.
“He’s chilling out with his precious curds in the cheese cave under the building.” John pointed. “Do you need him for anything?”
“Not at all, just being diligent. By the way, the head technician who examined the vehicle sends his compliments. He has never seen anything as clean and well-equipped.”
“Oh!” John was slightly surprised by the message, but pleased, none-the-less. “We do our best.”
“Yes. My team and I will be down the street, keeping an eye on things, and we’ll be escorting you in the morning. Will 9:30am work for your schedule?”
“Very good. Will you be going home tonight?” The agent probed.
“Probably in an hour or so.”
“In that case, drive safely. We look forward to seeing you again in the morning.” The talkative agent said.