It took both arms to carefully lift him out of the seat and put him in a nice patch of grass next to the Biscuit Bowl.
He’d given me grief all the way up here from Mobile, wanting his familiar litter box. So far, no accidents on the seat. I was hoping that wouldn’t change.
I couldn’t really walk him to the grassy spot. He hated the harness and started meowing loudly and chewing on it. It was hard to imagine that he could bend his big body enough to reach the material with his mouth, but he could.
I was pretty sure there were lots of things he pretended he couldn’t do so that I’d do them for him. He was devious that way.
I set him down in the grass and waited, holding his harness. I was worried that he might sneak off and get lost. Crème Brûlée never ran anywhere—I was safe from that problem.
He looked up at me from the grass and sweetly meowed.
He was so cute! But I had to be tough with him. “Just get it over with already. Then you can go back inside and eat your breakfast. Don’t be so stubborn.”
I heard shouting from inside the food truck parked in front of ours. Something slammed on the floor and broke. I grabbed Crème Brûlée, hoping he was done with his private business, and walked up to the Dog House.
The Dog House was the only other food truck from Mobile that had made the cut for the race. I thought it was probably the cuteness of the truck, which was made to actually look like a dog, with a face on the front and a tail sticking out the back. Ingenious.
I knew the owner, Reggie Johnson. He wasn’t so cute. He was greasy with a lank ponytail sticking out of the back end of his baseball cap. He had bad acne scars, most of his teeth were missing, and his nose was twisted like he’d broken it a dozen times.
He wasn’t a very nice person, either. There were several times back home that he’d zoomed in and cut me off for a prime location at the police station or down by the docks where the tourists disembarked from the cruise ships.
He’d come into the Biscuit Bowl a few times and stood around telling me nasty jokes while he stared at my butt. Altogether not my kind of person. I wasn’t exactly thrilled when he was announced as a contestant for the race.
The two male voices in the trailer were still arguing. As crazy as it seemed, it sounded like Reggie and Alex Pardini. I knocked on the back door. “Everything okay in there?”
Reggie pushed open the door a crack, not enough for me to see inside. “What do you want?”
“I was just checking on you.” I smiled. “Anything wrong?”
“Mind your own business, Zoe Chase. I’m getting ready for the race.” Reggie slammed the door closed again.
I didn’t see Alex, but it had certainly sounded like him.
“Well, at least he’s okay,” I said to Crème Brûlée as we walked away. “I wonder what he and Alex were arguing about.”
I walked back to the Biscuit Bowl and put Crème Brûlée in the passenger seat of the truck again. “Try to be good,” I coaxed. “This is only the beginning of the race.”
“How’s he doing?” Miguel asked, startling me.
“He’s fine.” I smiled back. “Just a little homesick, I think.”
He shrugged. “Me, too. I haven’t left Mobile in a long time.”
“Me, either.” I stroked Crème Brûlée’s head. “I know how he feels. I’m always more comfortable at home.”
“Me, too.” Miguel smiled. “I’m sure you’re going to do well during this race.”
I really loved his smile.
“Thanks. I’m happy you could be here to help. I really appreciate you taking the time to come with us—to come with me.”
“No problem. It sounded like fun.”
I turned away with a sigh. We never seemed to get any further than polite Q & A like this. It seemed as though one of us should’ve been willing to step up and kiss the other person senseless.
Just not me.
There was a loud shout from inside the Biscuit Bowl.
Now what?
THREE
I joined my team in the cooking area. They were still making biscuits. The pile was steadily growing. What a team!
Miguel had to stand outside since the kitchen was so small. I wished it could be different, but the area wasn’t meant to hold so many people and cooking supplies.
“I’ll just wait out here until we’re ready to get started,” he said.
I hoped he didn’t feel like I was pushing him out of the way. I silently cursed my ex-boyfriend for making me doubt myself like this and took a deep breath to calm my frazzled nerves.
Maybe being part of a food truck race wasn’t the best time to explore my relationship with Miguel. It had seemed like a good idea when I’d asked him to come. We’d be in different places with different ideas. Different things, like romance, would just happen naturally.
It’s going to be all right. Miguel likes you.
We just had a few details to work out. And trying to win this race was as good a time as any to figure it all out.
Ollie was nursing his hand like a hurt bear. “I burned myself taking the biscuits out of the oven.”
“He’s making such a fuss.” Delia brought out the tube of aloe I always kept in the kitchen. “It’s hardly anything.”
“To you!” He wouldn’t let her see his hand.
“Big baby!” She pulled his hand toward her and slathered on the aloe. “There. Doesn’t that feel better?”
“Thanks.” He sniffed—with a wink at me over her head.
He was enjoying it!
“What’s happening out there?” Uncle Saul asked. “Was that Crème Brûlée?”
“Yes, but something else, too.” I told him about Reggie and Alex. “Reggie’s always in a bad mood. I wonder who he got to sponsor him anyway. I’m surprised at him arguing with Alex, though. We’re a long way from Mobile to lose so soon and have to go home.”
“It would probably take more than that to send him home,” Ollie said. “I watch programs like this on TV all the time. People like Reggie always make it through. It’s the nice ones who have to worry. Like you, Zoe.”
“What were they arguing about?” Uncle Saul mixed a new batch of biscuit batter with mashed sweet potato.
“I’m not sure. I couldn’t tell what they were saying.” I tasted some of the apple raisin filling. “This is good. Let’s spice it up some.”
Uncle Saul glanced into the bowl. “Sounds good. Between us, Zoe, we have a good sense of these things.”
“Seems odd for the host of the food truck race to be arguing with anyone behind closed doors. If he’s doing it for ratings, he’d want everyone to see it, right?” Delia was still holding Ollie’s hand. She suddenly realized and put it down.
Ollie grinned.
I ignored them so I could concentrate on the forms we were going to have people fill out after they ate our food. “I think one of us will have to approach people about their opinions. We’ll have two selling the biscuits. That leaves two in the kitchen.”
“That might be a good job for Miguel,” Ollie said. “He’s awesome at talking people into things. If he wasn’t, I might be in jail right now.”
“Ollie might be right.” Uncle Saul ignored Ollie’s assessment of his life. “Would that fit his definition in the rules as an outrider?”
I scanned the rule book. “It looks like he can do anything I need him to do except cook. He’s kind of like a joker in a deck of cards.”
“Good comparison.” Uncle Saul smiled. “Why don’t you go out there and ask him what he thinks about getting opinions?”
Uncle Saul knew my devious plan to go back home with a different kind of relationship between me and Miguel.