Chapter 2: Mac and Cheese Diplomacy

"What’s that you’re holding?" Grant asked, his eyes flicking to the package in my hands.

His tone was more curious than accusatory, like a coach asking about a weird new play.

"Oh, this? Maple Ridge BBQ Mac and Cheese."

I held up the plastic tray, the wrapper crinkling in my grip. The bold red logo and cheesy photo looked utterly out of place among the old maps and sabers.

"Would you like to try some, General?" I offered, stepping forward and setting the meal down with both hands, trying to sound braver than I felt.

I tried to act casual, but my voice cracked. I placed the tray on the table, like I was laying down an offering to a king.

Wyatt’s hand hovered near his saber, but Grant looked more interested than alarmed. He let my weird introduction slide and asked, "Is it really food? How do you eat it?"

Wyatt’s fingers tightened on his saber, but Grant just cocked an eyebrow, curiosity outweighing suspicion. He seemed like the kind of guy who’d try anything once.

I peeled back the plastic film, and the aroma of BBQ mac and cheese quickly filled the tent, mixing with the scent of old books and candle wax.

The cheesy, smoky smell cut through the mustiness. Heads turned. Even Wyatt, ever the skeptic, leaned in and sniffed the air, looking both suspicious and hungry.

Before taking a bite, Grant glanced at me, a little sheepish. "If you insist, I won’t say no."

He gave a half-shrug, as if to say, "Why not?" He picked up the plastic fork with surprising ease, twirling it like he’d used one before.

I waved him on. "Go for it, General. I swear it’s not poison."

Wyatt growled, "Sir, this guy’s dressed like he lost a bet, and that food is from who-knows-where…"

His voice was gravelly, the kind that could clear out a bar in two words. He eyed me like I might sprout a tail.

Grant shook his head. "Wyatt, it’s fine. This kid’s eyes are honest—he’s not here to hurt us."

Grant’s words were gentle but firm. He had a way of making you feel like you belonged, even if you were a total outsider.

I pursed my lips. So, apparently, I have honest eyes. If only my professors could see me now—being vouched for by a legendary tactician.

Grant took a cautious bite of the mac and cheese. His eyes widened. "I never imagined food this easy to carry could taste so good."

He chewed slowly, savoring the flavor. For a moment, he looked like a kid at a county fair, the weight of the world gone from his shoulders.

But then his face fell.

"If only every soldier and family back home could eat like this. We’re all in this together. Now the North is in chaos, people are starving, and it’s all on me."

His voice broke. He set the fork down, his shoulders sagging. The tent seemed to close in, shadows thickening with his regret.

He let the fork drop, sighing so deeply it made my chest ache. He couldn’t take another bite.

The silence was suffocating. I wanted to say something to comfort him, but my throat was tight. I’d never seen anyone care so much about people he’d never even met.

Watching Grant’s face, I felt something shift inside me. My hands trembled, and my eyes stung. This wasn’t just a legend—this was a man who’d lose sleep over every empty stomach.

My heart pounded. I bowed low, voice shaking. "General, my name is Ethan Cole. I come from two hundred years in the future."

I tried to sound confident, but my voice wobbled. I met his gaze, silently begging him to believe me.

Wyatt looked shocked, but Grant didn’t flinch. He reached across the table and shook my hand—his grip strong, his eyes kind. "No wonder I couldn’t place you."

He shook my hand, his grip steady and reassuring. There was no mockery—only a spark of understanding.

I grinned, rubbing the back of my neck. Leave it to the greatest strategist in history to take a time traveler in stride.

Trying to collect myself, I stroked my chin and started sorting out the timeline with Grant. After a few pointed questions, we figured out this was right after Garrett’s defense of the southern border, but before Silver Hollow fell.

We spread out the maps, tracing rivers and towns. Grant listened closely, nodding at each fact. It felt like prepping for a final exam—except the stakes were life and death.

I let out a long breath and smiled. Garrett was alive, the New Union was strong, and I had knowledge that could change everything. This was my chance.

For the first time, possibility buzzed in my veins. Maybe I could make a real difference here.