by Fiona Grace
Ali shivered again and shut the door behind her, wondering how exactly the local mob’s penchant for hanging around in the shadowy alleyway behind her store had stopped being a source of suspicion for her…
She double-checked the back door was locked, then grabbed the box of buns and hurried away.
“See you, Pipes!” she called brightly to her busy assistant as she hurried past and out the door.
Out on the boardwalk, it was shaping up to be a glorious day. The sun was growing bright and stronger in the sky, making the palm trees lining the boardwalk look nothing short of picture perfect. The tourists who’d descended on Willow Bay for the championships certainly seemed to think so too. Ali heard more than one exclamation about how beautiful the town beside the beach was as she walked rapidly toward the pier. She couldn’t help but beam with pride.
“Oh, excuse me, please!” Ali said over and over as she attempted to maneuver the awkwardly large box in her arms through the crowds without accidentally losing a bun. “Staff member, coming through!”
She nudged and wedged herself through the crowds, finding the people becoming even more closely packed the closer she got to the pier. By the time the stage came into view, it was like canned sardines, and there was still so far to go!
Why is everyone so much taller than me? she wondered with frustration, attempting to dodge, weave, duck, and slide her way past the tightly packed bodies.
“Excuse me!” she cried as a solid block of bodies formed in front of her.
No one moved, so Ali used her box like a battering ram.
The people turned and frowned. Ali flashed them a polite and innocent smile.
“Excuse me, please,” she said, sweetly.
They grumbled but let her through.
At last, Ali popped out of the crowd and found herself at the cordoned off staff area by the pier entrance, gazing up into the eyes of the bald security man.
He looked down his pudgy nose at her. “You again?” he said with a growl.
“That’s right,” Ali said, and she quickly scooped her lanyard out and held it up to him. “Only this time I’m allowed through!”
The security man scanned the pass. He puckered his lips like he’d sucked a lemon. Then, without another word, he reluctantly ushered her through.
Triumphant, Ali slunk past and scurried with her box of buns along the wooden pier toward the catering tent.
But just as she got closer, she heard raised voices. Male. One Italian. One New Yorker. It was Seth and Emilio, and by the sounds of things they were having a very heated argument.
Ali hurried inside the catering tent to find out what on earth was going on.
Inside, it reminded her of circuses and festivals. It was basic to say the least, with several camping tables set up for all the various foodstuffs to be put on. There were refreshments laid out for the staff and crew, which mainly consisted of paper bowls filled with chips, platters of sandwiches, and open packets of cookies. There was also a big metal tank of filter coffee.
Ali headed straight for the competition food table, where Seth and Emilio were standing, the hot dogs from their evening’s cooking bonanza sitting on top in an enormous Tupperware. Seth was standing with his hands on his hips, his thick dark eyebrows pulled down with anger, listening as Emilio, his back to Ali, monologued something while gesticulating wildly. Whatever was going on between the two of them, it didn’t look good.
Cradling her box of buns, Ali rushed to them. “What is going on?” she yelled.
Emilio swirled. “Ali, you’re here. I was trying to tell you earlier—”
“It’s Sullivan!” Seth yelled over the top of him.
“What’s Sullivan?” Ali asked, looking from one to the next and not comprehending. “I don’t understand!”
“You didn’t see on your way in?” Seth asked.
“See what?” Ali replied.
“I can’t believe you didn’t notice,” Seth said, shaking his head as he lifted the box of buns from her arms and dumped it unceremoniously on the picnic table. He grabbed her hand. “Come with me.”
He promptly began dragging her toward the tent exit.
“Seth!” Ali exclaimed, taken aback and digging her heels in. “What is going on?”
“I’m showing you,” he replied, huffily yanking open the tent flap and leading her through, before whisking her all the way out of the staff area and into the crowd.
Ali had only a brief moment to think about how much easier it was for a tall man to get people to move out of his way than it had been for her, when Seth stopped her directly in front of the main stage and turned her by the shoulders so she was facing it.
And there, in all its glory, Ali saw the cause of the whole debacle.
The huge Mad Frank’s sign she’d seen hanging across the entire stage before had been amended. It now proclaimed: Sponsored by Raine Construction. And in the corner, so small an ant would have trouble spotting it, were the Best Hot Dogs logo and the Seaside Sweets logo.
Ali gasped as she realized what this meant. Their promised advertising slot had been stolen from right under their noses by Sullivan Raine and now she and Seth would get next to zero promotion for all their hard work.
She turned, her mouth dropping open with disgust. She was about to wax lyrical about the injustice of it all when Emilio muscled his way through the crowds to them.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I truly am. I had no idea the banner would look like that. I will of course give you both the money for your work rather than take it myself.”
“No, no,” Ali said, shaking her head. “You didn’t know. It’s not your fault. If anyone is to blame it’s Sullivan, and Mad Frank, of course, for taking his money.”
Seth glowered at her, and Ali couldn’t tell if it was from his fury over the situation or from something she’d said.
“Are you kidding?” he exclaimed. “We did this for the advertising slot, not the money. Why aren’t you more mad?” He put his hands on his hips petulantly. “The fee is paltry! The only reason any of this was worth my while was for the advertising!”
He was really going off, and Ali was surprised to see him behaving this way. Of course she understood the disappointment—she was feeling it too—but it wasn’t Emilio’s fault. The blame lay squarely at Sullivan Raine’s feet. The ruthless businessman had obviously swooped in at the last minute and snapped up all the advertising, and the greedy organizers of Mad Frank’s cared less about screwing over two small business owners than they did about getting a paycheck from a hotshot like Sullivan Raine. It was frustrating, sure, but it wasn’t the end of the world, and neither she nor Seth was naive when it came to business. His outburst just seemed out of proportion to her, and, dare she say it, a little bit childish? It must’ve been partly the fatigue from having worked all night, Ali thought, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. She often found her own emotions more frayed when she was exhausted. That and the fact he already hated the hot dog contest going into it, and had put his doubts aside. He was probably annoyed at himself as well for not trusting his gut in the first place.
“I feel awful,” Emilio continued.
Ali could feel his anguish. The poor man was having to grovel for Seth’s forgiveness, and that just wasn’t right to her. The other reason she’d wanted to do this was to help him get together the money for Italy. If there was any good to come out of the whole debacle, at least there was that.
But none of that seemed to matter to Seth. He seemed perfectly happy to make a big public scene and shame Emilio in front of all the jostling spectators.
Ali felt overwhelmed with the need to stick up for Emilio. “Seth, why don’t you go home before you say something you regret,” she said sternly.
“Gladly,” Seth snapped back. “I’ve already had enough of this disgusting contest as I can stomach, and I can’t bear to be here to actually watch it. Enjoy your vom-fest!” And in a blaze of fury, he stormed away.
Wow, Ali thought
. He’d taken his anger out on Emilio and the crowd around him. What a way to burn every bridge in his path!
Ali turned to Emilio. “I’m so sorry about him. I know this wasn’t your fault, and you can still have my portion of the money, even if Seth won’t give you his. I’m just so sorry this is happening. It’s the last thing you need right now.”
“Thanks, Ali,” Emilio replied in a sad voice. Then he trundled, head bowed, back toward the staff area.
Ali felt awful for him. So much for helping her friend with his predicament. The only real way to help Emilio at this stage was to buy the pizzeria herself—wood-fired pizza oven and all! If only she could.
But as he went, her eyes fell to someone familiar standing in the audience, holding a plastic cup of soda and looking out toward the stage. It took a second for her to work out who it was. Sebastian Callihan? The detective? What was he doing here?
The last time she’d seen him had been when he’d offered to paint over some graffiti on her storefront—a very generous offer that Delaney had pointed out at the time was verging on flirting. It was a sentiment Detective Callihan’s partner, Detective Elton, shared. She was always making snide comments about him being “sweet” for her. Ali had always ignored such comments. Detective Callihan, to her, was a nerdy, by-the-book law enforcer. Except … as she looked at his profile now, from this angle, while he was relaxed and off duty, she realized just how different he looked in the flesh compared to the image she had of him in her mind’s eye. Whenever she thought of Sebastian Callihan, she thought of the version of him she’d first met: short, preppy-looking, in blue slacks and a white shirt like a self-imposed uniform. He’d seemed boyish to her. But over time that opinion had shifted, and now, in his casual clothes of a white T-shirt and jeans, he looked, well, handsome. And when had he gotten muscles? Had they always been there, just hidden beneath his button-up shirt?
Just then, he turned his head and spotted her staring at him. His face lit up with recognition, and Ali’s stomach flip-flopped. No one had ever looked that pleased to see her. Not Nate when they’d “dated,” not even Otis, her ex-boyfriend!
As Sebastian Callihan began to inch his way through the crowd toward her, Ali felt butterflies take flight in her stomach. There was no denying it now. She had a crush on Detective Callihan.
“Ali!” he said, brightly, as he reached her. “I didn’t think I’d see you here. Didn’t take you as a Mad Frank fan!”
“I’m the caterer,” Ali said, mesmerized by this new, alien version of Sebastian Callihan who’d materialized before her.
“No way!” Callihan cried. “How did you manage that one?”
“A friend of a friend,” Ali said. She shook her head, still not fully comprehending this. “Wait, so why are you here? Are you a Mad Frank fan?”
“Hehe…yeah,” Callihan said, looking a little sheepish to admit it. “I’m not as avid a fan as I was in my college days, but I couldn’t turn down the chance to catch the show in my hometown! Kinda dumb not to have grown out of it yet, huh?”
“Not at all,” Ali said. “Growing up is overrated, anyway.”
He chuckled. “Hey, you know, I’m glad you’re here actually. I was meaning to ask if you were planning on coming. I thought you might like to come together?”
“Like on a date?” Ali asked, raising her eyebrows.
“No!” Callihan cried. “Unless, you know, you’d like it to be a date?”
Ali smirked. “How about you buy me a soda and we can go from there?”
“Sure,” he said, leaping at the chance with such vigor he almost tripped over his own feet.
CHAPTER TEN
Ali had expected something zany from Mad Frank, but when the man took to his tower beside the stage, she was surprised to see that he’d dressed for the occasion as a pirate. He was older than Ali had anticipated, with tan skin with deep wrinkles around his mouth and eyes and across his forehead. His hair was long, gray, dry, and frizzy.
She glanced over at Sebastian standing beside her, and raised a querying eyebrow.
“He always dresses like that,” Sebastian told her, raising his voice to be heard over the loud claps and cheers of the audience surrounding them.
“Why?” Ali yelled back.
“I don’t know!” Sebastian replied with a grin.
Ali couldn’t help but smile. Even if she didn’t understand the appeal of the competition herself, seeing Sebastian Callihan’s evident enjoyment was very endearing.
She was glad he’d asked her to stick around, and she sipped the soda he’d bought her, hoping the caffeine and sugar would give her enough energy to get through the competition after just a few hours of insufficient sleep.
Just then, Mad Frank’s voice boomed through the sound system. “Welcome to this year’s competitive eating competition!”
The crowd around Ali went wild, including Sebastian Callihan. He flashed her a knowing look as he stretched his hands above his head and clapped. Ali couldn’t help but laugh. Never in a million years would she have expected this from him!
The big TV screen behind Mad Frank projected a close-up of his face as he continued talking into his microphone. “This year’s contest is set to be the biggest ever in Mad Frank’s Chow Down history. So those of you on the front row had better have worn your waterproof ponchos because it is going to be a vomit fest!”
Ali grimaced. But the warning seemed to only excite the crowd further.
She looked over at Sebastian.
“He’s only joking!” he yelled.
“Okay, good,” Ali replied.
She was starting to understand the appeal now. The competition was really about spectacle and theatrics. It reminded her of wrestling. All very loud and bright and over the top, with Mad Frank as a kind of circus ringmaster. Which, now she thought of it, would make a much better choice of costume than the pirate get-up.
“Today’s event,” Mad Frank continued over the speaker system, “is an event to rival the famous bagel bonanza of oh-three!”
Ali felt Sebastian nudge her. She leaned her ear closer to him so she could hear what he was saying over the noise.
“The bagel bonanza was the most important year in Mad Frank history!”
He flashed her a cheesy grin and she laughed.
Mad Frank raised his arms above his head, his theatrics reaching a fever pitch. “Because this year…Is the… First. Ever. Double. Dog. Chow. Down. In. History!”
All around Ali the crowd roared so loudly she hunkered down. This was crazy. She’d never seen anything like it. The people were going ballistic all around her. It was like they thought they had front row tickets to the Super Bowl or something!
“Without further ado,” Mad Frank cried, “let’s welcome the brave contestants for this year’s chow down! Representing the East Coast we have Bottomless Pit Bob!”
To a cacophony of cheers, the man Ali had served in her bakery yesterday came waddling onto the stage.
“Bottomless Pit Bob secured his personal best during the Hot Dog hoof-down of twenty-fifteen,” Mad Frank announced. “But has yet to win a chow down! Let’s see whether today is his lucky day!”
Bob made a huge song and dance at the front of the stage, soaking up the applause, before he sat at the farthest table. Two beautiful women in high heels and shimmery red bikinis slunk onto the stage and put a clear plastic separator up between him and the next table along.
“Okay. Now I see why you liked this in college!” Ali teased Sebastian.
He blushed.
On stage, a third bikini-clad woman placed a bucket at Bob’s feet.
“Please don’t tell me that bucket’s for what I think it’s for…” Ali asked Callihan.
“You bet it is!” he chuckled.
Mad Frank continued in his ringmaster voice. “Next on stage, please welcome the super-sweet South Korean beauty, Queen Eunbi Choi!”
Ali’s chest lifted with excitement. She started clapping enthusiastically as her new friend came p
rancing into the middle of the stage.
Sebastian looked surprised. “Are you starting to enjoy this?”
“Actually, I know her,” Ali informed him.
Sebastian gasped as if star-struck. “How?”
“It’s a long story.”
Ali cheered along with the rest of the crowd as Eunbi continued posturing at the front of the stage, humorously showing off her non-existent biceps to the audience, before cricking her neck and taking her seat. The bikini women flocked to her station, putting the protective barriers and sick bucket in place.
Suddenly, the person next to Ali flailed so enthusiastically he knocked her soda. The contents of her cup sprayed up into the air and rained down right over her head and T-shirt. Ali yelped as the sticky liquid went all over her.
“Watch it!” she cried.
The guy looked at her nonchalantly. He was young, with floppy, unkempt hair and a red STANFORD UNIVERSITY ROWING TEAM T-shirt. He must really love competitive eating if he’d traveled all this way to watch the contest; the Stanford University campus was a three-hour drive up the coast at least.
“What?” he demanded.
“You spilled my drink.”
He shrugged, then burped in her face.
“Hey!” Sebastian cried, grabbing the kid by the shoulder and turning him back to face them. “Apologize!”
“Or what?” The young man smirked, pulling his scrunched up T-shirt out of Sebastian’s fist. “You’ll arrest me?”
“Do you want me to?” Sebastian said, and he flashed his badge.
The young man’s eyes widened as it dawned on him that he was dealing with an actual law enforcer. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Sorry.”
Sebastian let him go and turned back to Ali. “Sorry about that. Are you okay?”
Ali felt like a drowned rat and blushed. But she’d secretly enjoyed the way Sebastian had stood up for her, and knew at least half the blush was from swooning.
