Page 14 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

As I clear his plate, my hand brushes his, sending a flush of agitation across my skin and straight up to my cheeks. I grab his fork away, resentful that he liked my pancakes. His lips puff with a smolder as if he noticed the effect he had on me.

My eyes dart everywhere but there. Well, except for now. And now. And—you get the idea.

“Flapjacks. Is that what we’re calling them now?” Lexi asks.

“No. The menu is the same as it’s always been,” I say forcefully.

Molly chirps, “The cream brool is amazing.”

Lexi squints as if trying to decipher the town gossip’s words.

Eager to get Maddock out of here because of all the flapping happening inside, I take his nearly empty coffee mug, too.

“I thought you offered free refills.” He points to the sign on the wall.

This time, I can’t hold back. “Not to a cocky monster truck driver who thinks he can come in here and do whatever he wants, including calling my pancakes flapjacks.”

“Who made you the language police?”

My hand flies to my hip. “My restaurant. My rules.”

He lengthens his spine and juts his chin. “Whatever happened to the customer always being right?”

I point to another sign on the wall that the Coffee Klatch guys got me last Christmas. It saysThe customer is always right except when they’re wrong.

Everyone stares at us as if watching a tennis match. This could be the winning stroke for Hogwash or the losing one for customers, depending on which side they’re rooting for.

Eyes fixed on me, practically giving me a sunburn, Maddock says, “Wait. Don’t answer that. My town. My rules.”

A low, “Oooh,” choruses in the dining room. Then, everyone falls silent.

All I can hear is my heartbeat in my ears and see the blaze in his eyes.

Where’s my carefully cultivated cool? I’m flapping and flustered right now, which makes me feel like that tennis ball is bouncing around inside me.

“I was here first.” I flip my hair and walk the short distance to the coffee maker, then dump it down the drain while staring him down. “No. Service. For. You.”

“She does make the best pancakes. You’ll be missing out,” Betsy says.

Lexi squints. “He’s the new mayor, huh? Not by my vote. I elected Chick Jagger.”

I want to thank them both for siding with me.

“My rogue rooster?” Molly asks. “If I find out who put him on the ballot?—”

Roxanne coughs into her hand.

We all stare at her for a long moment in disbelief.

I say, “If animals are allowed to be mayor, my cat Minou would make a great candidate.”

Maddock looks up at the ceiling. “Where am I?”

“Hogwash Holler,” we all say at the same time.

He nods slowly. “The name really says it all.”

“And you recently came into some property within the township,” Lexi says slowly as if peeling back layers of the truth.

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