Rick nodded, but he looked as if he’d agreed to pour salt into old wounds. “Elizabeth, why don’t you go ahead and take their orders? I’ve got to check on something in the kitchen.”
Rick left her standing alone. She took a big breath. “So what can I get you?”
* * *
ELIZABETHWASCONVINCEDthat he’d chosen the three most difficult tables to train her on. They all wanted specific orders rather than something off the menu. Maybe he’d put them up to it. Maybe he’d told them to be difficult. She groaned and hoisted the tray of food for the second table onto her shoulder like Rick had shown her. It was heavier than it looked, and she almost sagged under its weight. A drop of oil dripped from the tray onto her blouse.
Great. She’d definitely need that trip to the clothing store. How did people not have to buy a wardrobe at the end of the day working in food service? If nothing else, she would appreciate how hard her server worked the next time she ate at a restaurant. She promised she’d tip better if she could get through this afternoon.
By the end of the lunch rush, she found herself again at the back booth, her feet up and resting on the seat across from her. She’d developed blisters. She must have the way her feet throbbed and ached. She needed better shoes. New clothes. What else would this glimpse into Rick’s life cost her?
“Here.” Rick set a plate laden with a BLT and fries in front of her. “My specialty, just for you.”
She wrinkled her nose at the bacon but one whiff of the sandwich made her stomach grumble loud enough for Rick to hear. He chuckled.
“Thanks.” She laid a napkin on her lap and took a tentative bite.
Mmmmmmmm.
Rick grinned and left, only to return momentarily with his own sandwich. “Mind if I join you?”
“Think the diner will survive without us?” She took another large bite and tried to chew faster to get to the next one.
“I think we have time to eat. You don’t have to rush.” He looked around the dining room, which held a few stragglers left from the rush. “Shirley’s here, so she can take over.”
Elizabeth took another bite of her sandwich and groaned again in delight. There was something different about the bacon. “What’s your secret?”
“If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a secret anymore.” He smirked at her. “I bake the bacon rather than frying it. Sprinkle it with Cajun seasonings and brown sugar to give it a little something special.”
She wiped her mouth with her napkin. “This is fantastic.”
“Thank you.”
They ate in silence until Elizabeth pushed her plate away. It held only a few of the fries and a stray piece of lettuce. She patted her very full belly. “I can’t eat another bite. What are you trying to do to me?”
He looked her over. “You could use some fattening up.”
“Now you sound like a grandmother.” Not that she’d ever known one personally. Yet another part of childhood she’d missed.
Rick stuffed the rest of his sandwich in his mouth. They smiled at each other, not saying a word. Not needing to. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth and rubbed his flat stomach. “That really hit the spot.”
It felt good to sit. To put her feet up and relax. She almost hated to ask, but she did. “So what’s next on the agenda?”
“I show you around town. The Pickle Festival kicks off tonight, so what better way to see it than that? The rides. The food. The people.” He winked at her. “You won’t be able to resist.”
If only that were true. “Even if we agree to tape here, you’ll still have to come to L.A. for the live finale. That’s a tradition we can’t break.”
“I’m not asking to break anything. Just change it a little.”
Elizabeth nodded, then attempted to get to her feet, which protested. She sat back down. “As long as we’re not talking about long walks anywhere, I’m in.”
CHAPTER THREE
SEEINGTHENATURALbeauty of Michigan would woo Lizzie, who would in turn convince the suits, so Rick followed the scenic route along the lake. The sun glanced off the smooth dark green surface of the water while boats drifted in the distance. Picturesque cottages and run-down fishing shacks shared the shore, providing its tenants with lake living.
When it was safe to do so, he pulled the truck over to the side of the road and held out his hand to help her down. She groaned as her feet touched the ground, only reminding him that working in his diner had taken a lot out of her. But she was a trouper. Whether it was to convince him for the show or something else, it didn’t matter. He admired her spunk.
“I was thinking that this would really look spectacular on film.” Though he still had no desire to do the show, the idea of filming here was growing on him. It could be just the boost the Lake Mildred economy needed. He turned back to gauge her impression. “It’s amazing here in the spring. Summer. Fall. Even winter with all the snow.”
Her eyes widened. “Snow?”
She’d probably never seen a snowflake, much less a foot of the white stuff dumped overnight. “When were you looking to film the show?”
“A live Valentine’s Day kickoff. Then live again for the finale in time for the May sweeps.”
“So snow, then budding flowers. Nice.” He looked out over the lake and took a deep breath. He’d tried the California atmosphere, but he’d been homesick for this the entire time. The clean air. The lap of the waves on the shore. Even the splash of fish, who were practically calling his name to catch them. “We could do a ski fantasy date. Or an ice-fishing expedition. Later in the spring, they could even try out for my softball team.”
“You really want us to come here? Disturb the peace of your small town?” She looked around her. “I’ll admit this would look good on television. Practically a postcard from Middle America. But we wouldn’t leave this place the way we found it.”
“Besides bringing your audience a taste of real America, you’d also be bringing local jobs for the time you’re here. Jobs that people could really use.” He stepped closer to her. “You’d need people to drive. To build. To cater. Sure, you could bring some of those people from L.A. out here, but think of what you could save by hiring locally. You could improve the town’s economy.”
She looked at him as if he’d suggested that they could cure cancer while they were at it. “We’re a television show. Don’t give us too much credit.”
“Lizzie.” He stepped closer. “My dad always told me that with our money came responsibility. I had to give back in any way I could. If I do the show, I want to be able to help the people who have supported me. Will you help me do that?”
She sighed. “You’ve given me some things to think about, but I’m going to need more than this. Where would I house twenty-four women? As well as a crew of two dozen more. The bed-and-breakfast I’m at is nice, but let’s be realistic. We need something a lot bigger.”
Rick nodded and considered the issue. “What about some of these abandoned homes? Couldn’t you rent one of those?”
“And fix it up with what money? The studio owns a mansion specifically for this show. It works for a reason.”
She always had to look on the bleak side, didn’t she? But he could see the wheels turning in her head behind the skeptical expression. She might be throwing up objections, but he could tell she saw the benefits. “What if you don’t pay me for my time on the show? What if you instead use that check to do this?”