“Delaney,” Bertie said through her teeth. “I hope you’re not thinking of disappointing me and all the good people of Ordinary with complete disregard to Heim’s memory by making light of your duties.”
I raised my eyebrows. Impressive. Bertie knew how to lay on the guilt trip.
“Not at all.” I forked up the tip of the cheese and popped it in my mouth.
“Mmm.” I tried to make it sound good while an explosion of soft, salty but slightly sweet cheese held battle with tart, bitter, disgusting rhubarb.
Bertie was all smiles.
I held in my gag reflex.
“Well done.” She moved along.
Ryder stroked my knee again, then gave me a gentle pat. “So. On a scale of swill to crap, where does this rate?”
I choked back a laugh and pressed my fingers over my mouth, then took a drink of water.
“Um…seven?”
“We’ll go with that.” He was busy writing on the small white card.
“Doesn’t take that long to write seven.” The cheese plate was lifted away and the next was placed on my table with a clean fork and napkin.
Bread the color of a flamingo.
“I’m allowed to note your comments. The contestants like a personal touch. Did you mean raw hamburger and curdled milk, or would you say rotten hamburger and cottage cheese more accurately describes the dish?”
“Do. Not.” I leaned toward him and peered down over the card.
His handwriting was bold, clear, and neat, each letter squared.
“A festive confetti of colors and textures?”
He grinned. “Too much?”
I smiled back. “Oh, I think it’s just exactly enough.”
“Good. Now eat your crayon bread.”
Chapter 20
I CHOKED my way through twenty-three entries. Two entries were tied for first place. One: a rhubarb-pineapple salsa had made me gasp in surprise because it was actually good, and the other, a rhubarb-chicken salad wrap that Ryder teased me about when I went back for a third bite.
To solve the tie, the judges all gathered behind a standing curtain to re-taste the top entries and decide which was the best.
To my delight, and maybe because I made a lot of loud noises and reminded people I had a gun, the rhubarb-pineapple salsa took first place.
“You look pleased with yourself,” Ryder said as we waited on the sidelines for Bertie to announce the first, second, and third prize winners.
I took another swig out of my water bottle, scanning the crowd. Everyone seemed happy enough. Maybe a few nervous faces—probably contestants waiting for the verdict. No one looked like they would shoot the winners. “I just survived the seven-layer dips from hell. I am beyond pleased.”
He stuffed both his hands in his front pockets. “Then you should be downright giddy after the drink round.”
I groaned. I’d forgotten about the drink round.
“I hate my life.”
Ryder grinned. “Some of them are alcoholic.”
