Page 3 of Recipe for Rivals

Thegallof it. I knelt down and started picking up cars.

“Sorry, Mom,” Ben said.

“Don’t worry about it, babe. Just clean up your mess.”

“We need to hurry before Mrs. Jefferson gets her broom,” Alice whispered, panicked.

Cat Food Guy cleared his throat. “She’s a nice lady,” he said, seeming to realize he’d put fear into my children.

“I’ve got this,” I said to him in a subtle dismissal.

He reached for another car and slid it onto the hook. “Almost there.”

“Are you a firefighter?” Ben asked, looking at his shirt. “I’m going to be a police officer when I grow up.”

“Why would you want to do that? They don’t get to climb ladders or fetch kittens from trees.”

Was that why he had five different kinds of cat food in his basket?

Ben looked thoughtful. “No, but I’ll get to catch bad guys.”

Cat Food Guy lifted a police car from the pile on the floor and handed it to Ben. “Cops are pretty cool.” I had a feeling he was lying for the sake of my kid, which was oddly sweet of him. But still, I didn’t need his help. It wasn’t his mess, after all.

“Really,” I repeated. “I’ve got this.”

He glanced up, leveling me with honey brown eyes. He seemed to realize I meant it and got to his feet, lifting his shopping basket.

Cat Food Guy ran a hand over his jaw and smiled. “Y’all have a pleasant day.” Then he moved down the aisle and selected a roll of paper towels before leaving.

Alice shyly waved, but Ben was staring at the police car.

He held it to his chest. “Mom, can I get this?”

“Not today. Finish cleaning these up so we can get on our way.”

Ben scowled, but he obeyed.

By the time the mess was picked up and we’d reached our cart, I was on a one-track to get out of there. This errand had already taken twice as long as it needed to and Gigi was expecting me before the dinner crowd rolled in. It was our deal—she let me live in the apartment behind the diner, and I cooked for her diner. She planned to get me on a daytime schedule while the kids were in school, but tonight I was going in to be trained.

We made our purchase and carried everything out. The market was only a block from the diner, so we’d walked.

“Oh, ma’am,” the white-haired checker said, calling to me. “You left this.” She was waving a blue Hot Wheels package.

“We didn’t buy that,” I said with a smile. Ben was going to get an earful when we got home about not sneaking things onto the conveyor belt.

“Dusty left it for you. I was supposed to slip it in your bag, but I plum forgot.”

So Cat Food Man had a name. Dusty. Was that really on his birth certificate? “You must be mistaken.”

Her white eyebrow shot up. “He paid for it, ma’am. You might as well take it.”

“For me?” Ben asked, his voice all breathy and excited.

“Go on then,” I said, resigned. “Take it so she can return to the store.”

Ben ran the distance and accepted the Hot Wheels car. Whenhe reached my side again, I could see it wasn’t the police car I had been expecting.

It was a firetruck.

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