Page 7 of Charlie Beck Says I'm His

“We can get you one while we wait for your biscuits,” she offered. “I think the line has died down some.”

“With my luck, it would look like a colorful penis on my forehead.”

“Missy,” Shelby hooted. “Are you telling me I have a colorful penis on my forehead?” She covered her forehead with her hand and frantically looked around. “I make wholesome wreaths and boughs for all of these people, Missy. I can’t have a penis on my forehead.”

“You don’t,” I laughed. “You look like a magical unicorn.” And she did. I just knew if I asked for the same thing, I would end up looking like an idiot.

“Then why did you say you would have a colorful penis on your head?” she hissed.

“Because I like to give you shit, Shelby. It’s as easy as falling off a piece of cake.”

Shelby blinked rapidly. “I swear you have a gift for malaphors. I can’t even decipher what two sayings you just smashed together.”

I shrugged. “Me neither.” I just said what came to mind and blurted it out. Most of the time, it made sense. Most of the time... “So, how are things going with you and Wilder?”

“Good. You would know that if you came around more often.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m busy with work, Shelby. We’re short with Mildred on maternity leave, and Dean is on vacation.”

“For the past six weeks?” Shelby asked.

“I didn’t know this was going to be an irrigation.”

Shelby closed her eyes. “I don’t even know if I should correct you anymore or just let it happen.”

“Let it happen,” I muttered.

“Let what happen?” Wilder asked.

I turned and looked up. I shielded my eyes with my hand, and my stomach dropped to my feet. Wilder was standing there, but Charlie was right next to him.

My Charlie.

Well, he had been my Charlie. Casually.

“I’m just supposed to let Missy say crazy things and not correct her,” Shelby explained. “She just said something about falling off a cake and irrigation.”

Wilder tipped his head to the side.

“Easy as falling off a piece of cake?” Charlie butted in. “Not sure about the irrigation, though.”

Charlie always got my malaphors. He had always thought they were funny and clever.

“Uh, I just said the wrong word to confuse Shelby,” I muttered. I pushed my hair behind my ear, and Bandit moved next to me. He nudged my hand with his snout and sat next to me. “Hello, handsome,” I whispered. I could feel Charlie’s eyes on me, but I was not going to look at him. No sir.

“So, did Bandit actually let you walk him around, or did he lead you right to the fryers?” Shelby asked.

“He did great,” Wilder replied. “I might have to put him on the payroll for these types of events. Come get some chicken and meet Bandit.”

Bandit panted happily and wagged his tail nub. “You were a good boy?” I asked softly.

“Oh,” Shelby gasped. “You could have him in the commercial with you. Or even one of the billboards.”

“Commercials?” Charlie asked. “I thought we were just doing the billboards?”

I knew that marketing and all the advertising Chicken Biscuit was doing was all Wilder’s idea. While Charlie owned fifty-one percent of Chicken Biscuit, he did not want to be the face of the restaurant. He would rather be in the back frying the chicken, kneading the biscuits, and fixing whatever problems popped up.

“Right now, we’re doing the billboards, but we’re going to need to start going bigger. A thirty-second TV commercial, and maybe a spot on one of the local morning radio shows.” I glanced at Wilder, but my eyes instantly went to Charlie.

---