Ex, Why, and Me (2 page)

Danny looked him straight in the eye. There were no signs of awkwardness. Maybe some desperation, but that was about it. “I need a favor. A big one.”

Ryan frowned. “What kind of favor?” It couldn’t be what Danny was asking from every other guy. Maybe he needed help in recruiting a partner for his sister.

“Vanessa needs Michelle to participate in the scavenger hunt, but Michelle needs a partner. Will you do it?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”

Ryan slid his jaw to the side as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on. “Me?”

Danny looked from the corner of his eye and back at Ryan’s face. “Yeah.”

“Why
me?”

Danny sighed. “Okay, I’ll be honest. No one else will do it. Andrews says it’s against his religion.”

Ryan cast an amused glance at Larry, who guiltily looked away. Ryan was going to torture him about that lame excuse.

“And Bryant doesn’t want to piss off his ex-girlfriend now that there’s a chance they’ll get back together.”

He had actually tried Bryant? How desperate was this guy? Well, that was obvious. Danny was talking to
him
. “And I’m your last resort?”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” Danny paused and started nodding. “Okay, you’re the last person I asked, but that’s because I haven’t seen you around.”

“It’s been busy around here.” Ryan gestured at the Pins & Pints. His family’s bowling alley was located in an old Turner hall that the first German settlers had constructed over one hundred fifty years ago. While it still served its purpose as a community center, Ryan worked constantly to keep the alley making money and prevent the building from crumbling down around them.

“Yeah, I know.” Danny rubbed his forehead. “Everyone is busy. I get that. Most of the guys I asked can’t get the time off.”

Ryan knew he could use the same excuse. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the scavenger hunt. He didn’t like puzzles and he wasn’t a festival kind of guy.

But if he worked during the celebration, that wouldn’t give him the chance to see Michelle face-to-face. He wouldn’t find a way to keep that disastrous night from hanging over his head. It didn’t happen too much anymore, but when it did, it was always at the worst moment.

On the other hand, accepting Danny’s offer would give him a lot of opportunity to humiliate himself. Again. Compound the disaster instead of erasing it.

It was a toss-up, either way.

“I know it’s a lot to ask for,” Danny continued, “but I would owe you big. Vanessa and Michelle would, too.”

Owe him. The deafening noise faded into the distance. That was a new take. Would that mean Michelle would owe him a chance to say he was sorry? To forgive and forget?

Probably not. And why was he even thinking about that? That was four or five years ago. He had moved on. So had Michelle. Why try to correct something that they both felt was better left ignored?

He knew the answer to that. Because it was Michelle Nelson. The one woman he had never thought he could get and the one who couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

“But it’s just a couple of events a day, right?” Ryan asked, the surroundings roaring back at him, brighter and louder than ever.

“No.” Danny winced as if this might be the deal breaker. “The contestants are working together on the hunt the entire time.”

She wouldn’t be able to get away. Then again, neither would he. “I would have to get the time off…” That wasn’t going to go over well. His parents relied on him more and more these days.

Danny’s eyes widened. “You’ll do it?”

He wanted to. Strange as it sounded, he’d find a way to make it work. “Count me in.” Ryan gave Danny a firm handshake.

Danny kept pumping his arm. “Michelle is going to be relieved.”

Not the word Ryan would have used. “You want me to tell her? Is she in town already?” Without warning, anticipation sparked right underneath his ribs.

Danny looked at his watch. “No, not yet. She’s flying in. I’ll tell her tomorrow before the hunt begins.”

Yeah, that was one display of fireworks Ryan didn’t want to miss.

Michelle strode into her parents’ small but tidy kitchen Friday morning. She was bone tired and would have rather stretched out on the linoleum floor and slept for another hour. But she was determined to snap out of this pervasive fatigue. Being home would energize her. It always did. And if she didn’t feel it immediately, she’d fake it until the energy came roaring back.

Her mother paused from dabbing a napkin to the corner of her mouth, watching her sit down at the table. “You’re not leaving the house like that, are you, Michelle?”

“Good morning to you, too, Mom.” Even to her ears, Michelle’s voice sounded rough and lined with exhaustion. She had to work on that.

She had thought that returning to her childhood home would perk her up. Why she had thought that, she had no idea. Even going to bed in her old room didn’t make her feel rested. Quite the opposite. Probably because it wasn’t her room anymore. Nope, now it was Dad’s dream media room.

She didn’t begrudge the man his electronic toys. After all, he had saved up and waited for such a room ever since he had been unceremoniously laid off six years ago.

Anyway, it had been a long time since she’d been back home, so it wasn’t like they had to keep everything as it had been. They didn’t need to create a shrine. She got that. But did all evidence of her existence need to be wiped out of that room?

Some things, unfortunately, never changed. The train still chugged by at 7:05 in the morning. Since her childhood home was a mere two blocks away from the tracks, Michelle’s hide-away bed rocked insistently, and the windows rattled until what felt like a hundred cars passed.

Any chance of rolling over and going back to sleep was long gone five minutes later when the McKinley Express came screeching down the street, rocking her bed even more.

Oh, yeah. Good to be home.

“Michelle, you need to wear something else.”

She looked down at her denim jacket, T-shirt, faded jeans, and worn sneakers. “What’s wrong with it?” Oops, Michelle thought. She knew better than to ask. The question was going to give the woman too much ammunition.

Her mother took a dainty sip from her teacup, her thumb automatically covering the slight chip on the handle. “They aren’t befitting to your station.”

O…kay, she wasn’t expecting that answer. “I have a station?”

“As a former Miss Horseradish.”

“Uh, sorry, Mom. I gave my elbow-length gloves to charity.” Although the tiara and sash were still here. Uh-oh. Michelle gnawed on her bottom lip and prayed that her royal accessories were sealed tight in a memory box.

Her mother pressed her hand to her throat as if she was clutching an imaginary strand of pearls. “All I’m saying is that you are the face of the local horseradish industry.”

Gee, thanks.

“And you need to present yourself without your hair looking like a rat’s nest.”

Oh, yeah. Some things never changed. Obviously, breakfast wasn’t going to give her a boost of energy. More like indigestion. Michelle stood up. “Mom, I don’t have time for this. I have to be down at the square by ten.”

Her mother glanced down and tsked. “At least change your shoes.”

“These are the only pair I brought.” She studied her favorite pair of running shoes. Sure, they were old and worn, but they hugged her feet like clouds.

“They are shabby,” her mother announced, always the voice of authority on such matters. “You can borrow a pair of my flats.”

Great. Why did her mother feel the need to dress her up in her style? “I’m sure all the other contestants will be wearing tennis shoes,” Michelle assured her.

“But you’re not like everyone else. And one of these days everyone will realize this and follow your sense of style.”

It was happening. Already. First day back at home and she was getting a taste of the we-always-knew-you-were-going-to-do-something-special-but-we’re-getting-tired-of-waiting-for-it-to-happen. Michelle couldn’t remember offhand why she had been feeling homesick.

It was time to call in reinforcements. She looked at the other end of the table. “Dad?”

Her father didn’t look away from the small TV set on the kitchen counter. “Wear the shoes.”

Michelle looked up at the ceiling and counted to ten. Next trip home, no matter how much it would horrify her mother, she was booking a room at the Mark Twain Motel.

She heard her cell phone ring. “That’s mine,” Michelle announced, dashing to the front door where her purse sat.

“I’ll get you those shoes,” her mother called after her.

Michelle grabbed her phone as if it were a lifeline. “Hello?”

“Michelle? Is this little Michelle Nelson?” the woman asked with such high-pitch excitement that it went straight to the filling in Michelle’s back molar.

“Uh…” Michelle winced. “Yes.”

“My, you sound all grown up.”

Michelle hoped so, since she was already twenty-five. But for some reason, the woman spoke to her as if she were a toddler.

“This is Mrs. White. Of White Motors,” the woman said. “Your mother gave me this number.”

“Oh?” Michelle glared at her mother, who was approaching her with navy blue, boring, flat shoes.

“Yes, because I need to ask for a favor. As you know, there’s a horseradish recipe competition at the fairgrounds. It’s the highlight of the festival.”

It was? Since when? Michelle had lived here for most of her life and couldn’t remember that.

“The committee thought it would be perfect to have a former Miss Horseradish—who is also a world-class baker—as the final judge.”

“Oh.” Michelle almost lost her balance as she kicked off her sneakers and yanked off her socks.

“The rule is that the baker or cook has to use horseradish in the recipe. Isn’t that great?”

“Uh, yeah.” She shoved her feet into the shoes and discovered they were snug, especially around the toes.

“So when can we expect you?”

“For what?” She jerked back when her mom started in on her hair, fluffing Michelle’s sleek style with her manicured nails. Michelle ducked for cover.

“To judge the finalists.”

“Oh, you know, Mrs. White”—she dodged her mom’s fingers that were descending on her like a scene from Alfred Hitchcock’s
The Birds
—“I’m very honored that you are asking me. But…I’m going to have to decline your invitation.”

She heard her mom gasp. The attacking fingers stopped. Michelle turned around just as her mom made a failed attempt to grab the phone.

“Oh,” Mrs. White said, the warmth in her voice dropping to arctic temperatures. “I see.”

“I’m taking part in the scavenger hunt, which I’m told goes on during the entire time of the festival.”

“Oh! Not to worry!” The woman’s tone skyrocketed back into the friendly zone. “The blue ribbon ceremony is after the scavenger hunt. Rightfully so. Don’t worry about that. Vanessa said you can do it.”

Thank you, Vanessa.
“Well, in that case.” Michelle shrugged in defeat. “I guess I can do both.”

Mrs. White squealed with delight. “Wonderful. I can’t wait to tell the girls. Bye now.”

“I can’t believe you almost did that,” her mom said in a scandalized whisper.

“Did what?” Michelle put her cell phone in her denim jacket.

“Say no to Mrs. White. Do you know how much money their car dealership put into your Miss Horseradish scholarship fund?”

Michelle raised her hand to stop her. “No, and don’t tell me,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to know.”

“And now they’re not doing so well.” Her mother clucked her tongue.

Nothing like getting your daily dose of guilt first thing in the morning.
“I have to go. Bye, Dad!”

“Good luck,” her father called from the kitchen.

She was definitely going to need it, Michelle decided as she hurried across the street and headed for the square. She walked a block, retrieved her phone from her jacket, and hit speed dial before ruffling her hair back into the intended style.

“Hello?” Vanessa answered breathlessly.

“Hey—”

“Michelle! Tell me you are on your way to the square.”

“I am. Did you—”

“Great. I can’t talk right now, but I can’t wait to see you.”
Click
.

Michelle faltered and stared at the phone. Okay. She pocketed the electronic, knowing that her horseradish recipe competition gripe was nowhere as important as Vanessa getting this festival running smoothly.

And if it was required for her to eat horseradish and smile, then she’d do it. After all, she didn’t just owe it to Vanessa, but to Carbon Hill.

That Miss Horseradish scholarship had come at a time when she needed it the most. Her dad had lost his job and there was no way her family could afford her education. While she hunted down every opportunity, it was Carbon Hill that delivered. She got the best culinary training she could get because of her hometown.

But that stroke of good luck also brought along high expectations. The shopkeepers and businessmen got it into their heads that they were investing in the next celebrity chef. A person who would create an empire and give back to the community.

Michelle was all for giving back. She wasn’t against having stardom and an empire, either, but somewhere along the way she had lost the drive that was going to get her that. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get back the mojo, that legendary stamina which used to be a major part of who she was.

The sound of the high school marching band distracted her as she got closer to downtown. The buildings looked so much smaller than she remembered. The sidewalks began to get crowded as everyone faced the two-lane main street. Schools were closed for the day and kids waited impatiently for the parade that traditionally kicked off the Horseradish Festival.

Michelle moved behind the people and made her way to the square. She saw the baton tossed high and heard the townspeople gasp with awe. But when she saw the glimmer of rhinestone, Michelle halted and unwillingly turned to face the street.

The reigning Miss Horseradish was perched on the back of a gleaming red convertible, courtesy of White Motors, and waved to the crowd, her white satin elbow-length gloves shiny and bright. The young woman was probably no more than five years younger than she, but Michelle felt there had to be decades yawning between them.