“Yes, Dan. I think so.” He glanced at Lizzie, who watched his reaction closely. “I’m almost positive.” He turned back to his mom. “I don’t want to make the same mistakes, so that’s why we’re doing the show here. You’ll get to know all the women throughout the whole process. And give me advice.” He turned to face Dan. “When I ask for it.”
“Taping here means that we can showcase Allyn Pickles even more. Make a national audience aware of what we offer.” His mercenary brother’s eyes glazed over with the possibilities, and Rick sighed and patted his mom’s arm.
“I’ll set the table, and we can discuss this over dinner. Okay?”
She nodded, but he could tell she wasn’t really there. He walked to the cupboard and pulled out dishes and glasses, then disappeared into the dining room. It was mindless work, but that was what he needed to clear his mind.
“What happened after the show last time?”
Rick glanced up from a dinner plate and frowned at Lizzie, who stood in the doorway watching him. “You’re supposed to be making a salad.”
“Your mom took over, so I came in here to talk to you.”
He finished placing the plates on the table and turned to the sideboard drawer where his mom kept the cloth napkins. He folded four and walked around the table, placing them where they belonged next to each plate. “I don’t need to talk.”
“What happened that’s got your mom so scared for you to do this show?”
She stepped in front of him so that he had to look at her or push her out of his way. He chose to look at her. “It’s complicated.”
“That’s my response. Get your own.”
He sighed and moved around her to retrieve the silverware from the sideboard. He pulled out four forks, four spoons and four knives, then slammed the drawer shut and braced his hands on either side of him. “It wasn’t good.”
She placed a hand on his shoulder. “I want you to do this show, but not if it’s going to hurt you.”
He looked down at her soft mouth. “You want your job. Dan wants his publicity. The town needs the money. Do I really have a choice?”
“You always have a choice, Rick.” She dropped her hand but kept her gaze on his. “Tell me what happened last time.”
He closed his eyes. “Some people run when trouble comes. Others throw themselves into work.” He opened his eyes and saw her watching him, a frown marring her brow. He might as well tell her the whole story, because his family would if he didn’t. “I retreated to my family’s cottage. Didn’t go out. Didn’t work. Cut myself off from everybody and everything. I couldn’t sleep, wouldn’t eat. I became disoriented and got behind the wheel of my car to drive back home. I didn’t wake up until I hit a tree. After crushing my knee in the accident, I lost even my dream of playing with the pros.” He straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. “But I won’t let it happen again. And you’re going to help me make sure of that.”
CHAPTER FIVE
BY FEBRUARY, Lake Mildred was ready, poised on the brink of either publicity or infamy. Rick poured another round of coffee for his regulars and tried to maintain his good mood despite their incessant questions.
Would the production crew hire local people to help out as they had agreed in the contract? Rick knew they would and had signed papers to make it so. Lizzie had promised, and he knew he could trust her.
Would the show bring more tourists in? Probably, depending on the ratings. If it was popular, they’d want to come experience the place for themselves. If it ended as it had before, they’d want to come gawk at the man destined to be alone.
Would he find a wife? He prayed that he would. There was no other option on this. Either he met the woman meant to be his wife or he’d choose someone who was close enough to his list of expectations and hope that love would grow between them. He wearied of going to bed alone, waking up alone. He didn’t want to keep living with only his thoughts.
He replaced the coffee carafe in the machine and leaned on the counter. Ernesto, the cook, came out from the kitchen and joined him. “You ready to give this all up?”
Rick snorted and glanced around the dining room. “It’s only for a couple of months. Don’t get used to not having me here.”
“You’re the lifeblood here at the diner. In the community.” Ernesto put a hand on his shoulder. “What you’re doing for us now is...” His voice broke, and he shook his head.
“I’m not a savior, Ern.” Rick pushed himself off the counter and went to stand at the front window, watching as road crews filled in potholes that had cropped up after each thaw. There had been talk of repaving, but it wasn’t sound fiscal judgment in the winter.
But it was more than the potholes being filled. Rick had added fancy coffee drinks to his menu, and a bright copper espresso machine had arrived that he’d had to learn and teach his staff to use. Lizzie said it would draw the crew and contestants in like mosquitoes to a bug zapper. Outside the diner, the community task force had repainted benches, shored up docks and ordered more road salt for the snow that hadn’t stopped since New Year’s Day.
All so he could find a wife and Lizzie could keep her job.
Rick turned away from the window and walked back into the kitchen. Freshly baked cakes lined the stainless-steel counters, cooling and waiting for frosting.
The phone rang, but Rick let Ernesto answer it by the cash register. Probably another take-out order. Or one more reservation for the viewing party on Valentine’s Day. While Rick met the future Mrs. Allyn, and twenty-three other beautiful women, at a huge catered party at the Veterans of Foreign Wars hall, the town would gather at the diner to watch it unfold on live television.
Ernesto opened the swinging door and handed him the phone. He stared at it, then put it up to his ear. “Rick Allyn.”
“Do you always answer your phone so formally?”
He grinned at the familiar voice. “Lizzie.”
“You’re never going to call me Elizabeth, are you?” She sighed over the line, making his smile wider. “Do you have plans tonight?”
“If you’re here and available for dinner, my schedule is free.”
She chuckled. “I’ll take you up on dinner. The plane just landed, and my stomach is demanding real food. We need to go over some things before my crew arrives tomorrow.”
His skin warmed, and he held the phone tighter. “You’re really here? I won’t have to settle for talking on the phone and picturing you hanging on my every word on the other side of the country?”
“We can even sit side by side if you want.” She muttered to someone on her end of the phone, then sighed. “They didn’t save my convertible for me. Can you believe it?”
“It’s winter, Lizzie. Get the four-wheeldrive SUV with heated seats. Trust me.” He glanced through the cutout window into the diner, where people tried to catch a peek of him. “You won’t believe the changes in town since you were here last.”
They hung up with plans to meet at the diner once she had checked in at the hotel where she and some of the crew would stay.
* * *
TOKILLTIME, Rick buzzed throughhis apartment, making sure it looked presentable. He’d been raised to keep a tidy room, but it had never been easy for him. He liked his things out and around him. He knew Lizzie wouldn’t want to be surrounded by stacks of newspaper with sports stats. His baseball mitt sat on the kitchen table though it hadn’t been used in months. The comforter of his bed was dragging half on the floor.
A tapping on the apartment floor brought Rick’s attention back to the present. Ernesto’s signal that Lizzie had arrived at the diner. He double-checked the tiny space, then took the stairs to the kitchen two at a time. Ernesto motioned with his head to the dining room. Rick took a deep breath and pushed open the swinging door.
Lizzie wasn’t alone.
A man stood next to her with a large bag over one shoulder and a camera in the other hand. They didn’t hear Rick approach over their discussion about where to set the camera up for the first interview.
Cameras and interviews already? His stomach started to ache. “What happened to dinner with real food?”
Lizzie turned and smiled. “Talk first, eat later. We need to get these one-on-one discussions finished before the live premiere.”
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