Chapter 5
Chapter Five
If Liz didn’t eat something soon, she was likely to pass out.
Would there be food available at tonight’s family night venue? Yes. Well, kind of. It depended on how you defined food. The Bowl & Roll was known for many things. Nutrition was not one of them.
She stood up from the desk in her home office and stretched. Dammit. Not only did she need food, but she needed to get in for a massage. Those knots in her shoulders were going to grow knots of their own one of these days.
After getting back from Arnold’s, she managed to take a quick look at his most recent financials before Mavis over in Red Grove called.
It probably could’ve waited until tomorrow, but Liz knew if she didn’t walk Mavis through her questions, she’d wind up with ten more messages on her phone.
So she spent the remainder of the afternoon walking the florist through the resource allocations portion of her strategic plan, ensuring she was more than ready for her upcoming appointment with the bank to discuss a loan to enlarge her shop.
Still rolling her neck and shoulders, she made her way to her kitchen and opened the fridge.
A half-gallon of milk, a container of spinach that should’ve been thrown out a couple of days ago, and a variety of condiments stared back at her.
Crap. Grocery shopping had been on her to-do list for several days now.
She knew her cabinets held quick snacks like granola bars, and she could always do another apple with peanut butter, but she ate one earlier.
No, she needed something a little more substantial.
She glanced at her watch and considered her options.
She had about an hour until it was time to meet her brother and niece.
While that was technically enough time to sit down and have a meal somewhere, she wasn’t quite in the mood for that.
Plus, she didn’t want anything heavy rolling around in her stomach while she was trying to roller skate. That left…
Aha! The food trucks!
One of Cloverfield’s new initiatives, the food truck concept was in its infancy.
They were still trying to figure out the right locations for their set up, which food trucks were right for which festivals, and which food trucks might become more routine.
She’d been meaning to check out the current ones.
If she went there before family night, she’d be able to kill a whole lot of birds with one well-placed stone.
Problem solved!
Liz tidied up her desk, vowed to get a better handle on Arnold’s folders tomorrow, threw on her coat, and headed out.
When she moved back to Cloverfield, Liz thought carefully about where she wanted to live.
Her time away made her realize that while she didn’t love the hustle and bustle of big cities, she did enjoy whatever the equivalent was in a small town.
She liked being surrounded by the people she knew, the people she liked to help.
Eventually, she’d chosen her townhouse not only because of the charm—it was originally a textile mill—but also because it was within walking distance of downtown.
It gave her easy access to the events she usually helped plan, and on nights like tonight, made her meals that much easier to obtain.
Theoretically, at least.
Ten minutes and three streets later, she’d chatted with at least a dozen people who were also out and about, answering questions about the upcoming Flurry Fest, discussing weather predictions for the weekend, and getting food truck recommendations from several satisfied customers.
By the time she made it to the corner of the chamber of commerce parking lot that was the current location of the food trucks, her stomach was growling like the feral cat that sometimes hung around Gwen’s parking lot.
She strode up to the taco truck and placed her order for the loaded tacos with extra pico.
Both Rick and Marsha raved about the pico.
Moving a few steps to the side to wait for her food, she took a deep breath, then glanced around to scope out a potential eating spot.
Fred, one of the town’s mail persons, and his wife Tilda sat at one of the tables with their children.
Larissa and her wife sat at another. Liz gave them each a wave.
Then wondered why all of them darted looks at the other food truck.
Had she made some kind of mistake? Did they know something about the taco truck she didn’t? If she ended up getting food poisoning because of Rick’s and Marsha’s recommendations…
Her gaze traveled to the barbecue truck, and her stomach lurched. This time not because she was starving.
No. This time, it was a visceral reaction. Because there, getting food from the barbecue truck, was Carson.
What the hell was he doing here?
How did he even know about the food trucks? They were new, for Pete’s sake. Was no place in Cloverfield sacred?
Dammit. He looked good, too. The business attire from earlier was replaced by jeans that showed off muscular thighs. His unzipped jacket hung open, revealing a sage green polo that complimented his coloring perfectly.
Liz felt her irritation levels spike. Or maybe it was her blood sugar dropping. Whatever it was, it had her on the verge of marching over there and slapping the barbeque sandwich out of his hand and telling him to get out of her town.
Thankfully, the cashier of the taco truck called out, “Order for Liz!” Instead of causing a scene, Liz got to witness one.
Carson jolted. His eyes flew to the truck, and a juicy piece of barbecue fell out of his sandwich bun and landed not once, but three times, on his chest, plopping a barbecue sauce trail down his shirt. “Son of a bitch!”
Ha! Served him right!
Tilda gasped, “Language!” and Larissa’s eyes widened as she suppressed a smile.
“Sorry!” Carson called out, grabbing a handful of napkins.
Still riding the high of seeing the mighty Carson taken down a couple of pegs by barbecue, Liz took her basket of tacos and debated her options again.
If she went over and sat down, no doubt she’d be in for a crapload of questioning.
She knew Carson’s back in town discussions were inevitable, but she didn’t feel like getting into any of them tonight.
Not now. Especially not with Fred. He was one of the biggest gossips in town.
She needed all the brain cells she had while taking to him.
And right now, those brain cells were malnourished and not functioning on all cylinders.
Another option was taking her food to go. Go back to her house and eat there. But this was her town, dammit. If anyone should leave, it should be him. Besides, her food would be cold by the time she got home, and it smelled too good to wait that long.
So she did the next best thing—she went around the side of the taco truck, out of sight of the prying eyes of the picnic table occupants, where she would be able to inhale her food in peace.
Not quite as convenient as sitting at a table, but she sat all afternoon, and she had significant experience with standing meals.
It was faster than sitting down, plus it usually decreased the amount of cleanup afterwards.
The first taco was demolished in three bites. Rick and Marsha were right—that was one of the best tacos she ever tasted. The pico in and of itself was something glorious. It had the slightest kick and gave the marinated chicken yet another level of flavor.
Liz was contemplating asking the tacos to marry her when Carson rounded the corner. His sudden appearance startled her, and some of the pico she was carefully distributing onto her next taco fell to the pavement.
She wasn’t sure which pissed her off more—him invading her taco bubble, or the loss of her precious cargo. “Go away,” she snarled.
“Nice to see you, too,” Carson muttered. He threw what looked like a folded paper plate into a nearby garbage can.
“Seriously.” Liz kept her eyes on Carson while taking a huge bite of taco. “Go. Away.”
“You go away.” Carson pulled a wad of something from his jacket pocket, dipped it into a plastic cup, and began dabbing at his shirt. “I was here first.”
Liz jabbed at him with her taco. A small chunk of chicken fell to the ground. Motherfucker. “In what world? I was literally standing right here. Minding my own business.”
Carson snorted. “You’re sure minding someone’s business.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what that means.” Carson scrubbed harder at his shirt.
Seriously? “Your uncle hired me. That means it’s my literal job to mind his business. What the hell are you doing here, anyway?”
“Uncle Arnold asked me to come. Believe me, I don’t want to be here any more than you don’t want me to be here.” Carson paused, and his brow furrowed. “You know what I mean.”
Liz rolled her eyes. “I know that. I mean what are you doing here.” She waved her taco basket through the air.
“Eating.” Carson looked up from his shirt and raised his scarred eyebrow. “It’s what one does when one gets hungry.”
Ugh. Smartass. Liz took another bite of her taco and imagined she was chewing up his cocky attitude. “I mean, why are you here? In this parking lot? How do you even know about the food trucks?”
“It’s a little something they call the Internet.”
Liz scoffed.
“They showed up on the town’s website, so here I am.”
Crap. One the one hand, she was still definitely annoyed that he was here. Talking to her. But on the other hand, the fact that he was here meant that the town website might actually be functional. Which was a miracle unto itself. All of Davis’s hard work was biting her in the ass.
“Why are you here?” Carson scowled down at his still-stained shirt.
“Eating. It’s what one does when one gets hungry,” she said, doing her best Carson imitation.
“Funny.” Carson gave her a bland look. “I mean back here. By yourself. Inhaling tacos like it’s an illegal activity. Shouldn’t you be out there with your people?”
Liz carefully doctored her last taco. “Not with you here.”
“Not with me where?”
Seriously? Was he trying to be obtuse? “Here. In the general vicinity of me.” Although now that she thought about it, the fact that he was here in the general vicinity of her in a corner by themselves probably didn’t look any better. “Dammit.”
“What?”
“Do you really not remember how small towns work?”
“Of course I remember how small towns work.”
“Well, then, you should know that Fred out there is one of the biggest gossips in town.”
“And?”
For fuck’s sake. Did he seriously not understand the implications? “You? Me? Talking?”
“People talk, Liz.”
“I know people talk!” she all but shouted. Calm down. He’s just trying to push your buttons. With a deep breath, she did her best to center herself again. “But we’re different. We have history.”
Carson scoffed. “That was a long time ago.”
“I know it was a long time ago,” Liz spat.
“And believe me when I say there is not one chance in hell that we will ever get back together.”
“What?” Liz practically felt her blood boiling. If anyone should be the one saying those words, it should be her.
“So good luck. I’ll get Arnold’s stuff under control, get out of town, and leave you to do whatever it is you do here.” With a tight smile, he turned and headed to one of the few cars that dotted the parking lot.
“Good!” she yelled to his back. “Get out and stay out!” They were the only words she came up with that were safe with the children who may or may not still be within yelling distance.
He raised a lazy hand in response.
Ooh, that did it! Arnold’s stuff was definitely getting taken care of, but she’d be the one to do it. Then she could kick his smug ass out of town once and for all and never think of him ever again.
Liz shoved all of her interactions with Carson to the side, and took a deep breath, steeling herself for family night. She barely made it through the front doors of the Bowl & Roll before she was hit squarely in the chest by the hurricane that was her niece.
“Aunt Liz!”
“Hey, Squirt. How’s things?”
Emily wrapped her arms around Liz and squeezed, her voice muffled as she replied. “I’m twelve. You can’t call me a squirt anymore.”
“Says who?”
Releasing her grip, Emily stepped back and gave her aunt her most menacing stare down. “Says me.”
Liz stifled a smile. Partly because of how non-menacing the stare down truly was, and partly because of how out of his depth her older brother was about to get.
Not that being a widower was anything to laugh at, but Liz remembered what she was like as a teenager.
Given the fact that Emily already took after her strong personality, Trent was about to be in serious trouble.
Speak of the devil.
Her brother ambled toward them, two pairs of roller skates in tow. “Glad you could grace us lowly peasants with your presence.”
Liz rolled her eyes. “I’m ten minutes late.” Mostly because of a jackass who shall not be named. “Whose bright idea was this, anyway?” She jutted her chin in the general direction of the skating rink.
“Mine!” Emily piped up.
While Emily and Trent didn’t need her help nearly as much now that Emily was older, they still made it a point to get together for family night once a week. Tonight happened to be skate night at the Bowl & Roll. A place Liz hadn’t stepped foot in for years.
“Dad tried to bribe me to pick something else, but I need to practice. Claire’s having her birthday party here next month.”
“Ah.” Liz nodded. “And might there be a certain boy with brown hair and green eyes, say about your height, who is also invited?”
“What? Who?” Trent’s eyebrows drew together as he stared at his daughter.
Emily shuffled from one foot to the other and shrugged, looking anywhere but her dad or Liz. “Maybe. How should I know?”
“Uh-huh.” Liz grinned before walking over to grab her own skates, giving her brother and niece a moment to discuss amongst themselves.
The Bowl & Roll, although no longer decked out in the previous color scheme of teal and purple, hadn’t changed all that much.
Same smell of nacho cheese and popcorn hanging in the air.
Same familiar din of clacking skates on the roller rink side, while the bowling alley side lent the distant sound of balls colliding with pins.
Same low lighting with the disco ball suspended at the top of the dome, threatening to add ambience at a moment’s notice.
What had changed, however, was Liz. While she still tried to exercise regularly, she wasn’t nearly as elastic as she was fifteen years ago. Or even ten. In hindsight, she probably should’ve started taking that Pilates class with Gwen last year.
But Liz did have one thing going for her. She’d been hell on wheels in her younger years. Given her day so far, she was more than happy to channel her excess energy into something productive.
Like showing her niece and brother who the best skater in the family was.