Page 20 of Cowboys & Hot Sauce
"Hmm?"
"About what happened today... on the Ferris wheel..."
My pulse quickened. "When we almost—"
The final notes of the song faded, and couples around us began to separate as the band paused for a break. The spell broken, Scarlet stepped back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I could use something to drink," she said, her cheeks flushed. "It's warmer in here than I expected."
"Let's grab some lemonade," I agreed, trying not to show my disappointment at the interrupted moment.
We made our way toward the refreshment table at the edge of the dance floor. As I filled two cups, I noticed Scarlet's expression tighten. Following her gaze, I saw Bethany SueWalker approaching, having just finished a conversation with Mayor Davidson across the room.
"Enjoying the dance?" Bethany Sue asked as she approached the refreshment table. Her smile remained fixed in place as her eyes moved between us. "Such a charming tradition, isn't it? Though I've been suggesting to the committee that we might update it next year with a proper catered affair." She leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice. "Speaking of updates, I was just telling the mayor that my plans for Smokin' Lurline's are coming together beautifully. It's just a matter of formality at this point. Lurline's been quite receptive to my offer."
"MeeMaw hasn't decided anything yet," Scarlet replied, her voice steady despite the tension visible in her shoulders.
"Bless your heart, Scarlet. We both know Smokin' Lurline's needs someone committed to Sweetwater. Someone who can handle responsibility." Bethany Sue's smile was sharp as a carving knife. "Not someone who treats the town like a motel—convenient for overnight stays between phases of whatever suits your fancy."
I handed Scarlet her lemonade and shifted closer, my shoulder brushing against hers in silent support. "Scarlet's dedication to this town speaks for itself," I said, my voice cooler than the drinks in our hands. "And her grandmother would be lucky to have her running the restaurant."
Bethany Sue's gaze narrowed a fraction. "That's sweet as pie. But business is business, and sentiment doesn't pay the bills. My plans for modernizing the restaurant would bring it into this century—something Sweetwater desperately needs."
"What Sweetwater needs is to preserve what makes it special," I countered. "Not turn everything into some generic tourist trap with avocado toast on the menu."
"We'll see what Lurline thinks tomorrow evening after the competition," Bethany Sue said with a tight smile. "May the best sauce win, Scarlet." She walked away, her heels clicking precisely against the wooden floor.
Scarlet released a breath. "Thanks for the backup."
"She's wrong, you know," I said quietly. "About you and about what Smokin' Lurline's needs."
Is she?" Scarlet's eyes met mine, the confident spark I'd seen all evening momentarily dimmed. "MeeMaw still thinks I'm the same immature child I used to be who never stopped to think things through."
I turned to face her. "Then we need to show her you've changed."
"How?"
I studied her worried expression. "We need more than words to convince your grandmother. We need data, projections, actual numbers."
"What are you saying?"
"Come with me," I said, taking her hand and leading her toward the barn door. "I have an idea."
Outside, the night air had cooled ten degrees, a welcome relief from the heat of bodies in the barn. Dots of light punctuated the darkness overhead, arranged in the familiar constellations I'd calculated the positions of since boyhood. We walked in silence down the path behind the barn, past the parked trucks and toward a wooden fence that marked the edge of the property.
Scarlet leaned against the fence, looking out over the darkened fields. In the distance, fireflies blinked like circuit lights, and the music from the barn drifted to us in muffled notes. The moon illuminated her profile—the determined set ofher jaw, the curve of her lips, the stray strand of hair that kept falling across her face despite her attempts to tuck it back.
"I could help you," I said finally.
"Help me what?"
"Put together a business plan. For taking over the grill." I leaned against the fence beside her, our shoulders almost touching. "Numbers, projections, marketing strategies—the kind of thing MeeMaw can't dismiss as impulsive."
She turned to look at me, surprise written across her face. "You'd do that?"
"Of course."
"But why? Our deal was just for the weekend, to help me look settled."
