“These are some passionate turophiles,” Harris stated bemusedly beneath his breath an hour and a half later. They were observing the cheese-carving competition. Harris had his arms folded over his broad chest as he attentively contemplated the group of focused cheese carvers. “Don’t you mean turophiliacs?” she asked, and he rolled his eyes at her. Harris had been using the word turophile as often as possible in the hour since he’d first seen it in the festival pamphlet. He was like a kid with a new toy, and Tina thought it was endearing. “Hush, and let me enjoy this. I don’t often learn fun new words. It’s all accrued expenses, assessed values, and capital gains or losses in my world. Boring as hell.” He went back to watching the cheese carvers. Tina was tickled by how genuinely diverting he seemed to find this entire experience. He stopped at most stalls, asking questions and sampling so many different cheeses that Tina felt sick just watching him. She wasn’t lactose intolerant, but she was pretty sure she was developing an allergy just from being around this much dairy. “The guy over there, with the beard? Wearing the orange beanie and the pride…