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“Then I live in a town full of the sightless.” Rick reeled his line in and cast it farther out. “Do you know they had a viewing party at the diner for the night of the finale? All my family and friends were gathered together to watch me propose. Instead they saw me dumped and humiliated.”
“I think you’re the only one who’s not over that already.” She glanced at his eyes shadowed beneath his ball cap. “But I do have one question.”
“Only one? You’re slipping.”
“Did you love Brandy?”
He swallowed and adjusted the ball cap again. Then he moved his fishing pole and wound the reel a couple of turns, clearly stalling for time. “Yes.” His voice croaked. “And the crazy thing is I thought she loved me, too. Only, she was pretending for the cameras.”
“You don’t know that.”
Rick looked up at her with troubled eyes. “She chose him over me. How else do you explain it?”
She reached out and touched his knee. Then she quickly removed her hand. “You knew she was dating you both. That there was a chance...”
“But it felt real.” He shrugged. “That’s why I’m conflicted about doing the show. How am I supposed to know what’s real and what’s for the sake of the cameras? How can I trust my heart to someone else who might be pretending?”
She longed to remove the hurt from his eyes. “That’s why you have me. I’ll protect you. Like I should have the last time.” She glanced out toward the lakeshore. “We were friends. I should have...” She looked back at him. “I want to be friends again. And I’ll help you get what you want.”
“How do you know what I want?”
“Because it’s my job to figure it out. With your help, of course.”
He gazed into her eyes until she supposed he could see her soul. If they were any two other people, this would be the perfect moment to kiss. Her lips tingled at the thought.
Rick leaned forward. She closed her eyes. “I think you’ve got a bite.”
Her eyes flew open, and she tugged on the line. Sure enough, something was resisting at the other end. She squealed and stood up. Rick reached out and put a hand on her calf. “Careful. You’re going to capsize the boat.”
She wound the reel and shouted as a long silvery-green fish appeared at the end of her line. “I caught a fish!”
Rick reached up to steady her, and she threw herself into his arms.
Later, as they sat dripping wet at the campfire, she could point out where she went wrong before the boat capsized. Thankfully, Rick never raised his voice. Unfortunately, he didn’t say a word, either.
Elizabeth held out her hands toward the fire to absorb the heat. She looked over at Rick, who pulled his hooded jacket closer around him. “I’m sorry. Again.”
Nothing.
She looked into the fire, hoping to find the right words. “I know you warned me, but I was so excited. I’ve never caught a fish.”
Still nothing.
She sighed. “I’m sorry it got away.”
He cleared his throat.
She settled farther into the Adirondack chair. “And that we lost your fishing pole.”
His eyes flickered to hers briefly, then concentrated on the campfire again. Elizabeth closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the chair. Silence was good. They were both tired. And wet.
Her stomach growling broke the silence. Rick’s answered in turn.
And they were both hungry.
“I want to make this up to you.” She leaned forward. “I’ll treat you to the best dinner. Anywhere you want.”
“Lizzie...”
She sighed. “He speaks.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He stood and smothered the fire, then walked toward the house.
Elizabeth watched him leave, then rose and ran after him. “We still need to eat dinner.”
Rick stopped and looked at his wet clothes, then hers. “No one would serve us like this. And I’m too hungry to change.” He turned back and continued walking.
“Where are you going?”
“Mom probably has enough food in her cupboards to feed your entire crew for three months.” He grinned at her. “First one there gets dibs.”
And with that, he sprinted toward the house. Elizabeth laughed and ran after him.
* * *
GREENOLIVES. Sweet pickles. Crackers and cheese. Leftover pasta salad. It was a feast, and Rick enjoyed every bite.
They sat on stools at the kitchen island while they ate with their fingers. He stopped eating momentarily to find napkins. He handed one to Lizzie, who grinned around a mouthful of salad. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out two cans of soda and placed one at each plate. “You must be thirsty.”
Lizzie nodded her thanks and opened her drink. She looked around the kitchen. “Where’s your mom?”
Rick popped the top of his drink and took several long pulls. It burned going down, but it was that good kind of burn. “It’s the first night of the Pickle Festival, which means she’s probably manning the fried-pickle tent.” At Lizzie’s frown, he continued, “You haven’t tasted heaven until you’ve had a fried pickle. Trust me.”
“I heard you mention it before, but what exactly is a pickle festival?”
“Last night’s championship game was the kickoff to a weekend full of pickles here. Courtesy of Allyn Pickles, of course.” He fished out a sweet gherkin from the jar and handed it to her. “It’s a huge deal for the town every year. Financially speaking. Lots of tourists. Family reunions. Homecomings. Everyone looks forward to it.”
Lizzie looked down at her clothes. “Speaking of a huge deal, we didn’t get any clothes for me. I can’t work in your diner dressed in my regular clothes.”
“Next town over also has a Meijer, which is open twenty-four hours.” Lizzie’s mouth gaped, and Rick laughed. “We may be backwater, but we do have some conveniences.” He nodded at her empty plate. “So eat some more and then we’ll shop.”
She stifled a yawn. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be functioning. What time are you planning on torturing me tomorrow?”
She did look exhausted. He’d put her through the wringer and had plans for more. “You did such a great job today, I’ll let you sleep in. We can meet at seven.”
“That’s sleeping in?” she moaned.
He shook his head. “You’ve had early calls for the show. How is this different?”
“For all you know I complained then, too.” She tried to laugh, but it didn’t sound right.
Rick frowned. Something didn’t add up. “I thought you were a producer. Shouldn’t all this be part of your job?” Lizzie stuffed the pickle into her mouth, making talking impossible. His frown deepened. “What aren’t you telling me?”
She chewed, then swallowed. “It’s complicated.”
“You are still on the show, right?”
She nodded. “I’m executive producer. For now.”
“For now?” She was about to fill her mouth with crackers, but he stayed her arm. “Tell me.”
She sighed. “It’s no big deal.”
“If you can’t tell me, then yes, it is.”
She looked down at the plate. Finally, she lifted her gaze to meet his. “If you don’t do the show, we’re canceled.”
CHAPTER FOUR
ELIZABETHPOUREDthe eightieth cup of coffee that morning before returning to the kitchen. Rick turned to beam at her from the dish sink, and her breath caught in her throat. Remind her why this man wasn’t taken. She shook her head at the stupidity of the women in this town out in the sticks. Being small-town didn’t mean being foolish, but these women needed to get a clue and snap Rick up before two dozen gorgeous contestants descended here.
She paused. Was she really considering moving the show? She shook her head. This place was getting to her.
A bell over the door signaled a new customer. Elizabeth took a deep breath and walked into the dining room, almost mowing down an older version of Rick. He glanced at her outfit. “You’re the producer?”
Elizabeth held out her hand. “Dan, right? I’m Elizabeth.” She marveled at the strength of his handshake. “And yes, I’m the producer. But at the moment, I’m a waitress. Can I get you some coffee?”
“He likes it black and strong.” Rick joined them and leaned on the counter. “Shouldn’t you be checking the floats or bands or something?”
Dan accepted the cup she offered him and took a sip. “It’s been done.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Floats?”
Rick nodded toward the windows, where people had started gathering on the sides of Main Street. “The Pickle Parade starts at noon. And Dan the man is the grand marshal again.”
“That’s what I came to talk to Elizabeth about.” Dan leaned against the counter. “Ever ridden in the back of a convertible and waved to a crowd?”
Rick stepped in between them. “Forget it. She’s busy.”
“Pouring coffee and slinging hash? I need her more.” Dan sighed and ran his hand through his hair, reminding Elizabeth of his brother. “Miss Brown County can’t make it now, and the people need to see someone new. Someone classy.” He glanced at Elizabeth. “She’ll have to do.”
She was sure there was a compliment in there somewhere. “I can’t possibly do it dressed like this.” She glanced at her brand-spanking-new purple T-shirt and jeans.
Dan grabbed her hand. “Martha’s across the street. I’m sure she’ll have something that will fit you.”
Rick grabbed her other hand. “Dan, Elizabeth never agreed to do it. When are you going to stop and realize that not everyone jumps when you tell them to?”
Dan pulled her closer to him. “She has to do this. It’s her responsibility.”
Rick tugged her back to his side. “It’s your responsibility to make sure that people show up. Not hers.”
“Gentlemen.” Elizabeth removed her hands from theirs and held them out to separate the brothers. “First of all, I can choose for myself. Second—” she looked between them, then nodded “—I’ll help out.”
Rick stared at her. “Lizzie, you don’t—”
“You wanted me to get to know the community, right?” She smiled wider. “What better way than from the back of a convertible?” She turned to Dan. “So where’s Martha? Let’s see what she has.”
Dan grinned back at her, and she was struck by how good the Allyn boys looked. “I knew I liked you. Come with me.”
* * *
RICKWATCHEDFROMthe sidelines as Lizzie, dressed in a pink sparkly dress, passed by sitting on the back of a red convertible. She even blew a kiss to him. Or perhaps to the kid standing in front of him, but it landed in his general direction. He’d take what he could get.
When the parade ended, he locked up the diner and joined the crowd as they walked down the street to the park, where rides and booths had magically appeared over the past few nights. He found Lizzie still standing near the convertible, surrounded by a group of local men who were trying to get her attention. When she turned and smiled at him, he lost his breath.
Must be the gasoline fumes.
He moved through the crowd and parked himself closest to her. “Madam, I believe we have a date.”
She raised one eyebrow. “We do?”
“With a deep-fried pickle. I believe I promised you one?” He put his hand at the small of her back. “I know where they sell the best.”
She sighed deeply as they left the crowd. “Thanks for the rescue.”
“Part of my service.” He steered her in the direction of the large tent at the center of the park. “They’re smitten with shiny new things.”
She ran her hand down one hip. “Miss Martha does wonders with sequins and a short deadline.”
“You look fabulous.” He motioned to the open tent flaps. “Now, prepare yourself for a culinary treat that few can top.”
He grabbed her hand and walked behind the counters. They skirted past several deep fryers and walked to the far end of the tent. Rick pulled a basket out of one of the fryers and tipped it onto a cloth-covered plate. He held out a golden disk to her lips. “Open.”
Lizzie opened her mouth, and Rick placed the deep-fried pickle on her tongue. “Now, tell me that isn’t the best thing you ever ate.”
She chewed slowly. “It’s good.”
“Good? It’s fabulous.” Rick took one and popped it in his mouth. He closed his eyes and let the flavors play on his tongue.
She swallowed the pickle and looked around the tent. “Are you allowed to come back here and help yourself?”
“My question exactly.” His mom walked around the tables and poked a finger at Rick’s chest. “Who’s watching the diner?”
Rick rubbed his chest. “It’s closed until five for dinner, Ma. It’s fine.”
She shook her head, then glanced at Elizabeth. “Miss Brown County?”
“Not quite. Elizabeth Maier from—”
