held out her hand. “Dan, right? I’m Elizabeth.” She marveled at the strength of his handshake. “And yes, I’m the producer. But at the moment, I’m a waitress. Can I get you some coffee?”
“He likes it black and strong.” Rick joined them and leaned on the counter. “Shouldn’t you be checking the floats or bands or something?”
Dan accepted the cup she offered him and took a sip. “It’s been done.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Floats?”
Rick nodded toward the windows, where people had started gathering on the sides of Main Street. “The Pickle Parade starts at noon. And Dan the man is the grand marshal again.”
“That’s what I came to talk to Elizabeth about.” Dan leaned against the counter. “Ever ridden in the back of a convertible and waved to a crowd?”
Rick stepped in between them. “Forget it. She’s busy.”
“Pouring coffee and slinging hash? I need her more.” Dan sighed and ran his hand through his hair, reminding Elizabeth of his brother. “Miss Brown County can’t make it now, and the people need to see someone new. Someone classy.” He glanced at Elizabeth. “She’ll have to do.”
She was sure there was a compliment in there somewhere. “I can’t possibly do it dressed like this.” She glanced at her brand-spanking-new purple T-shirt and jeans.
Dan grabbed her hand. “Martha’s across the street. I’m sure she’ll have something that will fit you.”
Rick grabbed her other hand. “Dan, Elizabeth never agreed to do it. When are you going to stop and realize that not everyone jumps when you tell them to?”
Dan pulled her closer to him. “She has to do this. It’s her responsibility.”
Rick tugged her back to his side. “It’s your responsibility to make sure that people show up. Not hers.”
“Gentlemen.” Elizabeth removed her hands from theirs and held them out to separate the brothers. “First of all, I can choose for myself. Second—” she looked between them, then nodded “—I’ll help out.”
Rick stared at her. “Lizzie, you don’t—”
“You wanted me to get to know the community, right?” She smiled wider. “What better way than from the back of a convertible?” She turned to Dan. “So where’s Martha? Let’s see what she has.”
Dan grinned back at her, and she was struck by how good the Allyn boys looked. “I knew I liked you. Come with me.”
* * *
RICKWATCHEDFROMthe sidelines as Lizzie, dressed in a pink sparkly dress, passed by sitting on the back of a red convertible. She even blew a kiss to him. Or perhaps to the kid standing in front of him, but it landed in his general direction. He’d take what he could get.
When the parade ended, he locked up the diner and joined the crowd as they walked down the street to the park, where rides and booths had magically appeared over the past few nights. He found Lizzie still standing near the convertible, surrounded by a group of local men who were trying to get her attention. When she turned and smiled at him, he lost his breath.
Must be the gasoline fumes.
He moved through the crowd and parked himself closest to her. “Madam, I believe we have a date.”
She raised one eyebrow. “We do?”
“With a deep-fried pickle. I believe I promised you one?” He put his hand at the small of her back. “I know where they sell the best.”
She sighed deeply as they left the crowd. “Thanks for the rescue.”
“Part of my service.” He steered her in the direction of the large tent at the center of the park. “They’re smitten with shiny new things.”
She ran her hand down one hip. “Miss Martha does wonders with sequins and a short deadline.”
“You look fabulous.” He motioned to the open tent flaps. “Now, prepare yourself for a culinary treat that few can top.”
He grabbed her hand and walked behind the counters. They skirted past several deep fryers and walked to the far end of the tent. Rick pulled a basket out of one of the fryers and tipped it onto a cloth-covered plate. He held out a golden disk to her lips. “Open.”
Lizzie opened her mouth, and Rick placed the deep-fried pickle on her tongue. “Now, tell me that isn’t the best thing you ever ate.”
She chewed slowly. “It’s good.”
“Good? It’s fabulous.” Rick took one and popped it in his mouth. He closed his eyes and let the flavors play on his tongue.
She swallowed the pickle and looked around the tent. “Are you allowed to come back here and help yourself?”
“My question exactly.” His mom walked around the tables and poked a finger at Rick’s chest. “Who’s watching the diner?”
Rick rubbed his chest. “It’s closed until five for dinner, Ma. It’s fine.”
She shook her head, then glanced at Elizabeth. “Miss Brown County?”
“Not quite. Elizabeth Maier from—”
“True Love. Yep.” Rick’s mother glanced at Elizabeth’s outstretched hand but didn’t shake it. “Thought I recognized you. What are you doing here?”
“Ma...” He should have known his mother wouldn’t be happy Lizzie was there. “She’s in town on business.”
“As long as she’s not here to mess with you again.” His mom looked back at Lizzie. “Are you?”
Rick put his hands on his mother’s shoulders. “It’s business, Ma.”
“I asked her, not you.” She moved around him and walked up to Lizzie.
“Ma...” Not that his mom would take the warning, but at least he could say he had tried. He braced himself for the confrontation.
Lizzie looked down at her feet, then up at his mother. “I assure you, Mrs. Allyn, I have the best intentions.”
His mom stared her right in the eyes and gave her the look he’d dreaded as a kid. It meant she knew what he was up to and she wasn’t having one bit of it. “And was it your best intention for my son to get dumped on television?”
“No, but it is my intention to find him a wife.” Lizzie took a step closer so that she could tower slightly over his mom.
Rick watched as the two women squared off, neither one conceding. “Ma, I’m going to show Lizzie more of the festival. But we’ll see you for dinner tomorrow?”
He leaned over and kissed his mom’s cheek. Then he held out his hand to Lizzie. “Now that you’ve tried the fried pickles, you have to taste the dill-pickle soup.”
