Then Collier got it. Shay wasn’t jiving me. Obviously the news was out about the viewer survey. His eyes followed the housewives—all attractive and well built—but turned away when he saw several husbands scowling back.
Collier didn’t care. He had to decide what he was going to do.
“Is Dominique in yet?” he asked the barmaid.
“She’s running late, said she had a problem at her condo.”
A problem at Dominique’s condo?
He sipped his beer and tried to relax. How late is she going to be? When he looked up at the television in the corner, he saw Savannah Sammy basting a brisket. How’s it feel to be number four, you two-faced Jersey slickster?
Collier’s belly growled for food but every time he thought of asking for a menu, his mind recalled the nightmare: his bedroom door kicked in, the dog running out, and…the stench. He was glad the dream hadn’t shown him the details Sute had only verbalized. He tried to divert himself; without thinking he’d taken the old railroad checks out of his pocket and began looking at them. Some guy named Fecory filled these out almost 150 years ago. The paper felt so fine, so thin.
Sute thinks these things are contracts with the devil…
He got a chill and put them away. He didn’t notice that the check on the bottom had been signed by Fecory but otherwise remained blank.
Am I going to sit here all day? Whenever he looked to the TV, he winced. When the barmaid walked by, he flagged her. “Miss? You said Dominique had a problem at her condo? What’s the problem?”
She leaned forward on her elbows, highlighting the bosom. “Contractors or something. She forgot about them when she took the food to the shelter in Chattanooga.”
“Did she say when she’s coming in?”
“Soon, she said, didn’t give a time.”
“Oh.” He sighed. “With my luck it won’t be for hours.” As soon as he’d said it, he was spun around and kissed on the lips.
“Hi, sorry I’m late,” Dominique told him. “I didn’t have your cell number so I couldn’t call you.”
“I heard something happened at your condo.”
“The association tents the building every couple years—fumigators—and I forgot they were doing it today. So I had to rush back, seal all my cabinets, and get out. Can’t go back for twenty-four hours.”
Collier realized only then that he was clinging to her, arms around her waist.
“I really like it when you hug me,” she giggled, “but if you don’t let go, I can’t do my work.”
“Oh, right—”
“And congratulations: sexiest man on television.”
“Just on the Food Network.”
“I don’t know about that.” She kissed him again and slipped away.
Collier felt forlorn watching after her. Yeah, I’ve got it bad…But her condo closed till tomorrow nixed the possibility of him staying the night with her. I am NOT spending another night by myself in room three, he knew. He also knew that what he felt for Dominique, he’d never felt for any other woman in his life. A revelation socked home: Dominique had a lot of virtue, while he…didn’t. She makes me see my real self. But I don’t like what I see and I want to be different. Dominique makes me want to be a better person…
Was is that simple? Collier felt confident.
A better revelation: I could’ve gotten it on with Lottie last night but I didn’t because I wanted to be faithful to a girl who’ll NEVER sleep with me. His finger tapped the bar. That’s GOT to mean something.
Dominique returned. “You should try tonight’s special. It kicks butt.”
“What is it?”
“Country-fried squid steak with curry tartar.”
“Maybe, uh, next time.” He reached across and grabbed her hand, instantly realizing a solution. “Since you can’t get into your condo tonight, you should stay with me at the inn.”
She looked relieved. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
Collier stalled. “So that means…yes?”
“Of course—” Her eyes shot to the door. “Oh, I have to go seat this four-top.”
She pulled away but Collier didn’t let go. “So that means you trust me now?”
She laughed. “If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t be staying with you tonight. You know what won’t be happening, so it must not bother you—”
“It doesn’t,” he said before he could think.
“Look, I have to go seat these people! I’m the boss, remember?” She whisked away.
Her body’s outline in the apron was killing him, and whenever she appeared behind the bar to get something, her cross glittered on her bosom. Collier felt so skewed. I have to go back to L.A. tomorrow, but I’m sitting here fantasizing about having a relationship with a Christian celibate…
At least the beer calmed his nerves. And now he wouldn’t have to spend the night by himself in the room. She’d be with him the whole time…
He’d kept the cell phone open on the bar, hoping it would dry. NO SIGNAL it still read.
“Try these,” Dominique said. She’d reappeared with a plate. “It’s a misorder.”
It was a knockwurst with mustard dip, which seemed bland enough. “Thanks.”
“How was your day?”
A mess…and terrific. “Fine.” He didn’t bother telling her the show had been renewed, because he’d never told her it had been canceled. “Didn’t really do much, actually. Went for a drive is all.” He skipped the other details.
“Have you been drinking coffee?” she asked. “I smell coffee.”
Collier hesitated, then pointed to his cell phone. “Oh, it’s the phone.”
Her brow scrunched. “Your phone smells like coffee?”
“Uh, don’t ask.”
“How’s the book coming? Finished yet?”
Had he even written a single word? “Almost there. I have to fine-tune the last entry, Cusher’s Civil War Lager.”
“People will think it’s favoritism.” She tossed her head and laughed. “But the joke’s on them.”
“Huh?”
Her cross dangled when she leaned and whispered, “They’ll think you’re screwing the brewer, but they don’t know that the brewer is celibate.”
Again, Collier spoke before thinking. “The brewer is beautiful. I’m falling for the brewer, celibate and all.” He reached to grab her hand again but one of the cooks called her away.
What a corny-ass thing to say, he thought after the fact.
Collier ate the bland sausage and found he felt better; his stomach felt less queasy from Sute’s horror story.
A shapely shadow hovered—the barmaid. She got him another beer, then noticed his plate. “How did you like the Roadkill Sausage?”
“The what?”
“It’s smoked possum and muskrat—a Southern delicacy.”
Collier stared. “You’ve got to be kidding me! I just ate—”
“Relax!” she said. “They’re farm-raised and corn-fed. You’ve never been to the South before, have you? An even better Southern delicacy are the Smoky Mountain Oysters. Want to try them?”
Mortified, Collier shook his head.
“Hey, everybody! Look!” someone called out. Everyone was looking up at the TV.
“The results are in!” a voice-over announced. Multiple clips of Collier’s show flashed on the screen. “There’s a new hunk in town! Justin Collier, the Prince of Beer, has just been voted the sexiest man on the Food Network! Look for his brand-new episodes coming soon right here!”