“I thought that was a soft opening,” Bash said. “There’s only six stores right now. One full restaurant and a handful of rides. The Ferris wheel’s the only major thing and the other stuff won’t even be done till spring. Why is Sully pushing so hard for full steam ahead?”
“You’re all buddy-buddy with him, so you ask him,” Alan said. “But I don’t think it’s Sully, I think it’s town leadership.”
It was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard. King and Queen Bee. To do what? Parade waves from the podium?
Alan moved aside as Maxie filled the window with her smile.
“I’m sorry,” she said, head tilted with a lower lip pout. “We’re all out of Bavarian. The car before you took the last one. Would you like a super-duper-yummy strawberry or another lemon? I think there’s even a chocolate.”
I stared at her. “It took you all this time to tell me you don’t have it?”
Maxie’s happy face faltered a bit around the eyes. “Well…”
I shook my head, turning my gaze back frontward as Bash chuckled to my right. He knew I wasn’t made of patience. Or he used to know. Before I kissed him and killed us.
Okay maybe that was sulky.
“They do have the super-duper-yummy strawberry,” Angel said, her tone full of mock innocence with a pinch of maybe-I-should-duck.
I blew out a breath and smiled. “Blueberry cake?” My tone was sour, but Maxie wouldn’t know that.
I got the pout again. She had to be kidding me. “Out of those, too.”
I shook my head in awe. “Just the lemon.”
“Two?” Maxie perked up.
“One.”
“Gotcha,” Maxie said. “Want some donut holes?” I looked at her without blinking till she averted her eyes. “Gotcha,” she repeated, turning to bag Angel’s donut.
“Beat me with a stick,” I whispered, rubbing my forehead as though the dull throb behind it might somehow be massaged.
“Rough morning?” Bash asked.
I met his eyes. I couldn’t say anything about any of it in front of Angel, but I willed him to absorb it through my retinas. “You could say that.”
“She’s not sleeping,” Angel said. “Bad dreams.”
I fixed a what-the-fuck look on her. “Angel.”
“What?” she asked. “You said don’t tell Pop, not—oh!” she continued with an epiphany, filling me with dread. Kind of like when you see someone about to fall off a cliff and you can’t get there fast enough. “They’re about you!”
I felt my jaw drop, and all the heat of the universe rushed to my head like Mount Vesuvius. No, no, no…
“Bad dreams about me?” Bash asked, sending my mind skipping past the pissed off stuff and straight to every naughty, lust-driven taste, touch, and moan that had plagued my nights. Especially the past few. “How bad?”
Bad, so very, very bad.
I licked my suddenly dry lips. “Bad. You know—blood and gore.” Find something! “Jumping out of a helicopter and getting chewed up by the blades.”
Bash lifted an eyebrow. “Did I bounce?”
My head exploded. “What?”
Did he bounce? Fuck yes, he bounced, and so did I. On every piece of furniture I owned. Was it getting warmer? I fanned myself with my shirt.
“The blades are overhead,” he said, twirling a finger over his head. “So if I jumped down—”
“I have no idea,” I said weakly, not giving a flying fig which way he jumped in my fake story when visions of him nailing me on the kitchen table were so much more vibrant. “Maybe the helicopter fell. You know how dreams are.”
He smirked, looking at me all clear of mind, free of stress and Landon Lange and apparently any memory of our embrace (tackle) and lip-lock.
“I know if your dad heard about this dream, he’d tell me I was about to die,” Bash said. “Should I be worried?”
Only if he was worried that falling into naked aerobics and fucking me senseless every night might come true. Whew…where was the cold on that AC?
Alan ducked back through the window, holding Angel’s bag.
“Oh, thank God,” I said under my breath as I grabbed it, tossed it to Angel, and slapped the Jeep into gear. “It’s been fun, guys, but we need to get going.”
“So, if y’all threw your cards away, who nominated you?” Alan said.
“Who—who did what?” I asked.
Alan reached behind him and pulled up a laminated card with lots of scrolled fonts, pointing at two names.
“Right there below me and Katrina,” he said. “The two of you together.”
Together.
“What—” My brain cut off the thought, and I just blinked as I put the Jeep back in park. “What?”
Alan handed the card over, and Amber took it from me so Bash and I could both read it. At the top was a bunch of scrolled lettering with bees flying around them, and underneath was a list of paired names that owned or ran local businesses. The first pair was Mr. Masoneaux from the candy store and Mrs. Boudreaux from the feed store. I could see that. Several of the names made sense. Alan and Katrina Bowman. Not a shocker. They kissed ass everywhere. The last one was the mindblower.
SEBASTIAN ANDERSON, ANDERSON APIARY ~ ALLIE GREENE, BLUE BANANA GRILLE
“Oh dear God,” I said in barely a whisper.
I turned to meet his eyes, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at the card, the unaffected thing leaving his expression, replaced with displeasure.
Okay. Yeah, I wasn’t excited about it either, but he looked like someone shit in his cereal.
“Why would someone nominate us and not tell us?” Bash asked.
“And why me?” I asked, hearing the pissy enter my tone as I watched his face. Dial it back. “I mean, I understand him, he’s like Rambo Ken, but I’m—Diner Barbie.” I shook my head. “Nobody wants Diner Barbie.”
“Rambo Ken?” Bash echoed.
“Aaron told me about the prizes,” Angel chimed in.
I looked at her. “What prizes?”
“Who’s Aaron?” Bash asked at the same time, and we met gazes for a second.
Yeah, I probably should have asked that one.
“Aaron Sharp,” she said, holding up palms at both of us. “He’s new at school and—we talk.” I noted the shrug that I didn’t buy for a millisecond. “His mom is in charge of that Sharp Group you were talking about.”
Fabulous. “And?”
“He said all the businesses donate stuff and the winners get cash and scholarships and all kinds of things,” she finished.
“Do they give away eighty-seven-thousand dollars?” I asked.
Her eyes got all squinty. “What?”
“Nothing.” Hey, it was worth a shot.
“There is a formal event,” Alan said. “An essay, and maybe a talent thing, I can’t remember if that was approved—”
“That’s a pageant, Alan,” Bash said.
“Kind of, but it’s done in pairs,” Alan said. “You work together with someone to win, like you’d work together to benefit Charmed.”
I was going to throw up. Right there. Bash and I—we—oh my God, there just weren’t words. And where was I supposed to find time for all this shit, around trying to oust Lange and keep him from turning my eclectic little diner into something I wouldn’t recognize?
“They suggested that we come up with off-the-wall creative things to do to make it different,” Alan said. “I was thinking grand entrances for each couple to the bandstand, like maybe get a crane to lower us from up high.”
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” I said, finding my voice.
“Why not?” he said, looking disappointed that I’d shot down his idea.
“Because it’s ridiculous,” Bash said.
“Because she’s afraid of heights,” m
y daughter added helpfully.
“Because no,” I said, my tone flat as I fixed another look on her. I didn’t advertise my weaknesses to the world. Especially that one.
“Omigod,” Angel said, clapping her hands together in oblivion to my evil stare.
“What?”
I started to sweat. It was fifty degrees out, and I had half a mind to climb out the window.
“A formal event? You have to dress up!” she said. “I’ve never even seen you in a skirt.”
“I don’t think I have either,” Bash said.
I don’t think I have, either? Okay, this was insulting. He couldn’t continue to flip between acting like nothing ever happened, or acting like I was a pariah. Or—he could. But I didn’t have to be okay with it.
“I want to dress you!” Angel said.
“You people need a life,” I said. “And we have to go.” I yanked the Jeep back into drive and slow-rolled through.
“Text me when you’re coming tonight!” Angel called back to Bash, and he waved.
“You’ll get e-mails telling you what to do,” I heard Alan calling on my side.
Don’t look. Don’t look.
I looked back in my rearview mirror and saw Bash slow-walking back over the curb to his truck, not watching us drive away. Ugh. Of course he wasn’t. He had no damn issues.
“I think it’ll be cool,” Angel said. “And something fun. You’re always working, you never do anything fun.”
I frowned. “I have plenty of fun.”
Angel slid a narrow-eyed look my way. “Lies.”
“Mommy never lies,” I said, pulling out onto the street. I hit the air one more notch.
“Any sentence that begins with Mommy is going to be a lie,” she countered. “And what about men?”
“Men always lie,” I said, pointing.
She rolled her eyes. “I mean you and men, Mom. You never date anymore.”
With my nightly activity in my dreams lately, who needed to date? I exhaled loudly.
“Well, maybe no one is ever worth my time, baby girl,” I said. “And I’m not talking about dating with you. Unless it’s about you.” I pointed. “And then you’re too young, so who’s this Aaron?”
“And back to you,” she said.
“Cute.”
“This will be a good thing,” she said. “Social.” She looked my way as I started to laugh. “Why is that funny?”
“Because social and good thing don’t play in the same sandbox,” I said. “At least, not for me.”
“I know,” she said. “But I’ll help you out with that. You know, studies show—”
“What studies?”
She blinked and held up a finger. “Studies show that reconnecting with old friends and peers in a social setting clicks off endorphins and positive neurons in the brain. It’s actually healthy for you.”
Another laugh bubbled up as I patted her cheek and she ducked my hand.
“Oh, my naïve girl.”
“Why is it naïve?” she asked.
“Because you think those people are my friends,” I said, the funny still tickling me.
“They are, Mom,” she said. “Everyone likes you.”
Oh, the simple thoughts of a fifteen-year-old girl with no social problems and not a care in the world. How I wished my teenaged life could have been like hers.
“I’m social enough every day at work without making it an extracurricular activity,” I said, sighing. “I ought to be as healthy as a horse. But yes, if I have to get dressed up for this freak show, you can dress me. We’ll go shopping.”
Angel laughed. “You should see the face you just made.”
I nodded, patting my chest. “I feel like I need to spit.”
CHAPTER FOUR
It was late. It was way late. The diner had long since closed and I would normally have been home two hours earlier, but instead of letting the closers clean/shut down/lock up like I normally did, I let them all off early and did it myself.
It was easier to deal with all the thoughts buzzing through my brain when my hands were busy.
Diner…contest…Bash…diner…Lange…Lange and Bash… Oh, and I never did anything fun or dated anyone. All I did was work.
Well, maybe so, but that’s how the bills got paid and the diner stayed afloat. That’s how I paid myself and my employees, how Angel got those cute clothes and the phone that never left her hand. How I was saving for her college and paying for the home health nurse that I’d recently hired to help with my dad.
Who the hell had time for fun?
Plus—Charmed had never really been my biggest ally. Teenage pregnancy might slide under the radar and be forgotten in bigger cities, but little towns like mine had big memories and bigger hypocrites. Everyone liked me? Not quite. I’d gained respect through my management of the Blue Banana Grille, but somehow that managed to fade once I stepped outside those doors. Like once I walked into a club somewhere or went on those few and far between loser dates or just ran into someone I knew at the grocery store, I became that girl again. Allie Greene, Tainted One.
Dating was complicated. Girlfriends were sometimes even more so. It was easier to be sexless Allie Greene, the tough trailer-park girl that rose above and ran the Blue Banana. I didn’t need to find a man to validate me or go out with friends or do any of those things single women were expected to do. I just needed to keep doing what I’d always done. Run my business. Raise my daughter. Make sure my dad was okay. That was enough.
Straightening a napkin holder, I closed my eyes for one second of quiet, of peace—or no, probably not that. Not today. I lowered slowly into the chair as my brain went back to the rotating door.
Not my diner. Not my chair.
That damn contest.
With Bash as a partner.
Someone shoot me.
Once upon a time, every girl in school had a crush on Bash Anderson. He was the hottest thing on legs, with a smile to knock you on your ass and eyes that would go ahead and melt you right into the ground while you were down there. Kind of like now but with homework.
I wasn’t someone that Bash would give a second look back then, but in addition to helping his dad with one single beehive, he worked as a busboy at the diner when my dad was running things and I waited tables. We became friends in that way that people do when they can’t be in real life. When shallow social circles don’t allow the golden boy and the trailer-park girl to hang out in public or have lunch together in the school cafeteria. But at work, closing up late at night, those silly walls faded away. Words came easy to us, snarky personalities melded, dreams were confessed, and secrets unveiled. We both had mothers that had passed away when we were young, leaving big holes behind. Things weren’t all that golden over in the Anderson household, and where my home life was fine, the guy I was seeing from nearby Denning was a neurotic, controlling prick. I didn’t see that yet but Bash did. He became my secret best friend. My ally.
Then the stick turned blue, and my entire senior year became a blur of oh-my-god’s and tears and learning how to hurl quietly so my dad wouldn’t know. Then it was learning how to dress baggy so the school wouldn’t know. Then it was wanting to disappear completely when everyone knew, when my boyfriend decided to bail, and the only person to shoulder my tears was Bash. Through thick and thin and so much drama, he was the one constant that never wavered.
Now we were dancing all around each other because I was a fool. And he was wavering because…
Why the hell was he meeting with Landon Lange?
So, there I was. The boss, cleaning tables and washing dishes and mopping and prepping for the morning. That was something I hadn’t done in probably six or seven years. Even when my dad was there, I’d been managing the place since I was twenty-six, and hadn’t palmed a mop in years, but tonight was different. Tonight, I needed to
do more than close the register and sit at my desk doing the paperwork. I needed to get my hands in the weeds of it. Get gritty. Get sweaty. Feel the work that built this place; that kept it going, that kept the people of Charmed coming day after day.
I ran my fingers along the scarred and dented table. If it could talk—if they all could talk, my God, the conversations they’d overheard. The secrets they could divulge. It was a friggin thought-gasm to even consider. The Blue Banana had been serving patrons since before I was born, all under the umbrella of the Greenes. Oliver and Maggie Greene, then he and I, and then just me. I hoped one day Angel, although she’d never shown interest in it. Honestly, that was okay; I just figured I’d lead the ship until I was too old and then pass it on to a deserving soul of my choosing.
This wasn’t my choosing.
This—I gripped the napkin holder until it felt like it had finger holds, and forced myself to let it go before the urge to hurl it across the room took over. This was unbelievable.
The dementia was a blessing right now. It kept me from marching over to that pathetic little trailer and telling my dad off in an enraged fit. I couldn’t be mad at the man he was now, sitting blissfully watching television, unaware and unaffected by anything going on around him. It would do no good to bring it up or ask him about it. He wouldn’t remember it, and if he tried to he’d just get confused and upset and it wasn’t worth all of that.
This was on me to figure out. A stain on the ceiling above table eleven caught my attention and told me that it was on me, too. I needed to call a maintenance guy out, but I had no idea what to say was going on. I’d been so distracted, I’d forgotten to ask Nick to go up on the roof and check it out before he left.
This morning, my biggest headache was worrying about Bash. That feeling of loss, that I was missing something necessary. Bash, my rock, the only one I could talk to about all this crap, who I was suddenly stumbling around like a silly school girl. Now, more than ever, I needed us to be normal again and I didn’t know how to get that.
Once a Charmer Page 4
