Despite my irritation, I can’t help but perk up a little from her compliment. Damn it.
“The Army taught me food service. If you can feed eight hundred hungry people without poisoning one of them, a Saturday rush is nothing.” I slide a lattice top onto a pie andcrimp by instinct. “Grams taught me to care about making something people could remember.”
Her voice softens in that way I didn’t invite. “She sounds amazing.”
“She was.” I don’t elaborate. I don’t owe her that. “How about you? Culinary school?”
Her mouth curves. “YouTube.”
I blink. “No. Really?”
“Completely really.” She pipes a line of custard as straight as a ruler. “I couldn’t afford school. I watched videos. I trial-and-errored. I burned a lot of caramel. Then I worked in three kitchens that did not care what my diploma said as long as I could keep up, keep clean, and keep my costs down.”
I want to not respect that. But my resolve is slipping.
I’m loading fritters when Tricia leans in the side door, tablet under her arm.
“FYI, the photos and videos of your dishes are killing it online. I even had a couple of tweens who saw you to bickering ask if you’re dating or enemies as they were leaving.”
I glare. “Neither.”
Katelyn looks up, wicked smile ready. “Oh, I think we’re rivals.”
The kitchen crew laughs. I don’t.
“We’re not even playing the same game,” I tell her. “We’re two different worlds.”
“Then let’s find out which one people prefer.”
She’s teasing. Probably. But my brain snags on it like a hook.
“Fine,” I say, wiping my hands on my apron. “Want to make this more interesting?”
Her brows lift. “Interesting how?”
“Sales. This weekend. My signature item against yours. Whoever sells more wins.”
“Wins what?”
I shrug, though the corner of my mouth betrays me. “Bragging rights. Maybe a favor.”
She grins, that spark in her eyes pure trouble. “Define ‘favor.’”
“Nothing illegal. Nothing that affects the business.”
“I’ll take that bet.” She sticks out her hand. “We have a deal.”
I take her hand. The second our palms touch, the air changes. I pull back, as if I’ve just been burned.
“Tomorrow,” I say, pretending the air around me hasn’t heated up. “We’ll see who comes out on top.”
FOUR
KATELYN
The second the Snack Shack window slides open Saturday morning the crowd is buzzing.
Tricia stands just outside the frame with her phone on a tripod, narrating like she’s hosting a cooking show.
