At that moment the door dings and in walk the Newmans, their boots squishing.
I have an idea.
“Tell him to win the Mud Bog,” I answer simply.
“What!” Steven squeaks. Tyrone lets out a whistle and Maxine starts clapping. “Are you insane? He’ll never agree to that.”
I shrug, and pass him his usual. I look up at him over the register, I raise a brow,You heard me.
“You know you want him tolikeus, right? To be on our side?”
Tyrone replies to him, “Think she just wants him gone.”
I point and nod.Yes, that!Steven throws his hands up but pays for his muffin. He shakes his head and rants about how crazy I am as he leaves.
“I’m going out there with you, I gotta see this,” Maxine says.
“Yeah! Steve-o, wait! I want to see too,” Tyrone calls. He hops off his chair faster than I can believe. Maybe he’s notold folkafter all.
I don’t follow. I know what will happen out there. I don’t need to see Steven get ripped to strips on the sidewalk.
But I’m curious if that fancypants man and his thousand dollar shoes will actually climb into a rig and enter the muddingrace. I doubt my coffee blends are worth it to him, but if they are…well that, that I cannot wait to see.
_____
“You’re joking,” I hear Aiden say to Steven and Renaldo, even over the crowd. I fight the urge to jump up and down with joy. This is why I picked this spot right near the race, a booth that no one else wanted.
Past Aiden, under a partly cloudy sky, is what’s normally a lovely expanse of valley. It’s a snowy wasteland in the winter and a flowering delight in late spring, but it’s currently mush. A warm winter makes for a great bog race. Hundreds of people are packed along the tree lines to watch. So, it’s a great opportunity for more town sales.
The vendor tables are set up on either side of the abandoned parking lot that serves as the starting line today. In front of me are what seems like a million lifted, modified trucks, though I know it’s less than one hundred. But my table is the closest to the start, where trucks will splash into the course, tires will spin out. Yeah. We might get sprayed. Not great for sales.
Don’t care.
Worth it to see how pale Aiden’s face has gone, up close.
“This is a bad idea,” Renaldo says calmly.
“You’re damn right it’s a bad idea! Where is the road, I don’t see any lanes and—” he stops gesturing to the open field of nothing but puddles before him and gapes down. Steven just handed him a helmet. “Ahelmet?Is there risk of a head injury?”
“Yes,” Renaldo says.
“Not really,” Steven says at the same time, his voice tight with nerves.
Aiden looks around like a pissed hornet and observes, “Carl isn’t wearing a helmet.”
Steven laughs, “Carl was practically born in one of these rigs.”
“Do you even know how to drive, sweet cheeks?” Someone calls from the crowd behind the caution tape.
Aiden glares in their direction. For a moment I also wonder if he does know how to drive. I’ve never seen him drive.
“Doesn’t look like it will matter,” he mutters, gesturing again to the field.
I can’t help it. I laugh out loud.
Big mistake. His eyes find mine, then narrow. I look away, pretending to assemble an order. We’ve got all chocolate everything today, as per the theme. But I may have added stronger beans to the grinder a few minutes before the participants arrived for the race. You can smell my coffee over the bog, and that’s really saying something.
I keep pretending to not watch as the drivers climb up into their lifted trucks. Aiden’s in a rig from Cedar Point, filling in for someone who got sick at the last minute. Or something like that. I glance over as Assistant Mayor Chappell starts his countdown from the podium.
