Tucker wasn’t sure whether to laugh or run. Schooling his face in neutral lines, he said, “That sounds like an interesting idea. Maybe you should take that to Norah directly.” And by the time they convinced her, maybe he’d be off the market.
“I do believe I’ll do that,” Miss Maudie Bell said.
Spying his quarry behind the counter, Tucker grinned. “Ladies, y’all have a good afternoon. I need to go have a chat with Mama Pearl.”
When he escaped the encounter without having his ass pinched, he decided he’d received his quota of miracles for the day.
Mama Pearl turned from where she’d slid a fresh pie into the rack. “What can I get for you, Tucker?”
He eyed the rack. “Is that coconut cream?”
“It is.”
His afternoon was free. He could squeeze in an extra workout. “A few minutes of your time. In private. Then a slice of that and a cup of coffee.”
If she thought the request odd, she didn’t show it. “All right then. Come on back to the office.”
Tucker skirted the counter and followed her through the swinging door into the kitchen. The scents of grease and sugar hit him like a fist, making his mouth water. Oh yeah, the workout would be worth it. At the grill, Mama Pearl’s youngest son flipped burgers with precision.
“Hey Omar.”
“Tuck. Usual?” he asked.
“Just your mama’s pie today. How’s
it going with the lovely Simone?”
Ahead of him, Mama Pearl made a grunting noise. She clearly hadn’t made up her mind about Omar’s girlfriend, the new reporter for The Observer.
“Lay off, Mama,” Omar warned.
“What’s the matter, Mama Pearl? Marrying Vivian off this summer didn’t satisfy?” Tucker teased.
“Still got three more to go,” she said.
“Then focus your attention on Violet. She and Reuben are a lot closer to the altar than I am,” Omar suggested. “Simone and I are fine, just as we are.”
With a fulminating glance, Mama Pearl shuffled into the office. Tucker followed her inside and shut the door.
“I’m not going to insult you by asking if you’ve heard about Norah’s latest fundraising scheme,” he began. Mama Pearl was the undisputed queen of gossip in Wishful. If the Casserole Patrol knew, she definitely did.
“You wanna pull me in. How?”
He explained what Norah wanted to do.
“You want me to dance,” she repeated dubiously.
“People in Wishful would love to see that. Everybody loves you.”
“Doesn’t seem like the best exposure for my sponsorship. You may be good, but you can’t make these old bones move like young ones again. Don’t expect we’d last past the first week.”
“You would get more long-term exposure from a longer run in the competition. There’s no rule saying it has to be you. The diner is free to sponsor anyone it likes if you have someone else in mind.” Look at him being all blasé about this.
“Mmmhmm.” Those two syllables belied her bland expression. Mama Pearl was not a stupid woman. No judge Tucker had ever faced made him sweat like that single, raised eyebrow.
Before he could say anything to further his cause, the office door burst open. And there she was. Corinne Dawson, former Homecoming Queen, student body president, and head cheerleader. The girl who was wrong for him on every possible level. One fist shot into the air in a posture he’d seen a thousand times at pep rallies and football games when they’d been teenagers.
“I did it!” Her blue eyes sparkled until she realized Mama Pearl wasn’t alone. She dropped her arm and pulled back a bit.