Chad made a line directly to the chili cook-off area, to the other side of where Dom had turned in his pie. Dom followed, the smell of numerous chilis enticing as they drew nearer. His stomach grumbled—he looked forward to the free tastes of chili that Chad had promised were offered.
“This your lunch too?” asked Chad.
“Yeah. Dill really made a pickle chili?”
“Oh, yeah—what else would he make?” Chad replied as though Dom was an i***t for even asking, and Dom pushed back his irritation. He remembered being the asshole teen and didn’t really think Chad deserved kind treatment for it, but Kiko would be pissed if he dished back what he got.
“Right,” muttered Dom instead. Dill, just graduated from high school like Chad, had recently come into ownership of his father’s bar, the Dill Pickle, a
