Page 43 of Tackle

“The one in the next booth.”

Emerson glanced over and sure enough, a weaselly looking dude in the next booth was watching her. And not in a friendly manner. “I don’t know.” She craned her neck to see which restaurant he was from. “Maybe he’s jealous because I have a big, strong, and handsome football player standing in my booth.”

Oz snorted, but Emerson caught the little smirk he tried to hide. Then his eyes shot to the next booth again. “He’s still staring. I don’t like it.”

“He’s more than likely staring at you. You should be used to that by now,” she tried to tease, but agreed, the guy kept staring and it was a little disconcerting. And he didn’t stop even when Oz glared at him.

Oz set his plate down. “I’m gonna go over there and see what his problem is.”

Emerson grabbed his forearm. “No. Please let it be. He’s probably peeved because I have a large crowd in front of my booth and he has no one. Besides, there’s media here. I’d hate for tonight’s breaking news to be,Oz Olson punches vendor at food fair.”

Oz snorted again but he picked his plate back up. “I probably wouldn’t punch him.”

“With the emphasis on probably?” She raised a brow.

He ignored that, taking a bite of his burger instead.

“Oh look!” She grabbed his arm again only this time in excitement. “The judges are coming.”

Her stomach filled with butterflies and her heart raced. Eyes flying around her workstation, she started tidying her mess. It was when she was left moving things from one spot to another and then back again that Oz took her hand and pulled her to him.

She looked up into his eyes. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

“I don’t either. You have no reason to be.”

“What if they hate my food?”

“Impossible. You have the best burgers in Portland. Hell, in the whole state of Oregon.”

“You’re biased.” She got to her toes and kissed his jaw. “But thank you. Here’s hoping the judges feel the same way.”

“If they don’t, I’ll punch them.”

Emerson chuckled but her smile fell when she saw the judges approaching, done with the booth across the way. “Oh, God. Here they come.”

“You got this, beautiful.” Oz kissed her forehead and stepped away to the background.

Emerson tried to catch Leslie’s eye, but she was busy chatting with A.J. and she didn’t have the heart to interrupt to call her over. Emerson could handle all the cooking, but she’d be preoccupied, leaving the judges standing around waiting.

“The Parting Glass. You’re new to the area, aren’t you?” A taller, older gentleman holding a clipboard held out his hand in greeting.

Emerson took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “Yes,” her voice shook a little and she cleared her throat. “We opened a few months ago.”

“I’m Mr. Monty, one of the judges, and this is Ms. Holbert and Mrs. Radcliffe.” He indicated the two women standing next to him, both appearing to be in their mid-to-late fifties.

“It’s very nice to meet you, I’m Emerson Kelly, owner of The Parting Glass.”

“We’re excited to taste your offerings. We’ll take a sampling of each burger and an order of… champ fries, is it?”

“What exactly is a champ fry?” one of the women—Emerson was too stressed to remember if it was Ms. Holbert or Mrs. Radcliffe—said.

“French fries topped with sour cream and chives.”

She smiled while politely nodding and Emerson couldn’t tell if that was a bad sign or good. She glanced at Oz when she turned toward the grill and he gave her a discreet thumbs up.

It was agony watching the judges eat her food. Tightly clutching Oz’s hand, she tried to read expressions, but they were stone-faced, giving nothing away. Five grueling minutes later, they waved before moving on to the next booth.

Then came the wait. What seemed like hours and hours of it.

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