Page 19 of Hard Knock Hero

I stood up. “It’s more important that you know whatyou’llchoose.”

I left Owen Douglas’s office without waiting for a reply.

CHAPTERSIX

Jessi

Carrying a foil-covered tray,I used my back to push open the door to the Hart-Made Sweet Shop. As usual, twangy country music played, this time the heartfelt melody of “Cowboy Take Me Away.”

I’d always been a rock and roll girl myself, but my friend Scarlett Weston loved her 90s and 2000s country hits. The more sappy and romantic, the better. It reminded me of the music my mom listened to. And I had listened to it, too, back in the day. When I used to believe some cowboy-prince would sweep me off into the sunset. I did still harbor silly fantasies like that, but I kept them to the realm of daydreams and late-night musings. Where they belonged.

Reality wasn’t so pretty.

Case in point: I’d invited my mysterious savior to stay last night. I had trusted him. And he’d vanished, taking the primary set of keys to my diner with him. Including the key tomy safe.

When I’d realized that, I had checked the safe and found my dwindling stack of cash intact. But I couldn’t sit around all day waiting for Aiden to return. Today was Monday, and I didn’t open the diner on Mondays. I had other work to do. I was going to focus on my tasks, not on Aiden Shelborne and what he might be up to.

But if he robs me, I swear I’ll be using my chef’s knife in new ways later.

“Hey,” I called out. “Where do you want me to set these?”

Scarlett poked her head out from behind a massive stand-mixer. Her dark auburn hair was swept in a high ponytail, with wavy tendrils falling into her face. “Anywhere, sweetheart. Thanks.”

I put the tray of tartlets on the marble-topped counter. The sweet shop had the vibe of an old-fashioned soda fountain, with a stamped tin ceiling and a checkered tile floor. The glass cases were packed with Hart-Made’s red and white packages, each filled with chocolate-covered treats and their signature brown sugar brittle.

The Hart-Made Candy Co. was one of the few Hartley businesses that was still thriving. Expanding, even. Probably because Sawyer Rigsby owned it. Well, he owned a lot of things around here, including the building that housed my diner and apartment.

So I was all the more grateful for the risk Scarlett was taking—selling my tartlets in the sweet shop and passing me the proceeds. They sold some other third-party products here too, so it wasn’t entirely unheard of. But Sawyer didn’t know about our side deal.

It wasn’t as if the Hart-Made Candy Co. lacked for demand. In the last year, Sawyer had converted a nearby commercial kitchen to increase production. They had a warehouse to pack and ship orders to stores throughout the region. Sometimes, Scarlett had trouble keeping the sweet shop stocked. So really, I was helping them out, too.

Scarlett came over and peeked beneath the foil. “Lemon? These look incredible.”

“I hope so.” There were only half as many as I’d originally made, but the other half had ended up on the floor thanks to Chester Rigsby.

Okay,fine, I’d eaten some too, before I’d realized how scarce they would be. Before Aiden had shown up and then suddenly disappeared, leaving his driver’s license behind and taking my keys.

Admittedly, leaving his license was an odd strategy if he intended to rob me. I assumed that meant he’d turn up again, but I had no idea when. Or even if he was all right. What if Chester’s brothers had grabbed Aiden off the street and done something to him as payback? What ifChesternow had my keys?

I was about ready to stuff another lemon tartlet into my mouth, just to shove down all my worries.

Everybody in town knew about Chester Rigsby’s warning:Jessi’s Diner is off limits. The threat was more implied than explicit, whispered rather than yelled. That gave them deniability when Owen Douglas came sniffing around. And it kept the ugly truth out of the ears of Sawyer Rigsby, the town benefactor who hated to sully his hands.

It was like I’d told Aiden last night. I did have friends who were helping me as much as they could. I was supplying bar snacks a couple times per week for Marco, and Scarlett was selling my tarts. But they were at the mercy of the Rigsby brothers, too. Everyone was afraid to step out of line, as they should be. I didn’t want them to take risks for me, even if it meant I was standing out front all alone when Chester made me a target.

It hadn’t always been like this. Right after Jeremy’s prison sentence, the town had been squarely on my side. The evidence against my ex had been too damning. Jeremy’s Uncle Sawyer had been kind to me, at least on the surface, keeping my rent low as I was just getting started with the diner. Dale and his sons had ignored me, which had been fine by me. I’d thought the town had begrudgingly accepted me as one of their own.

But after two years, Hartley was ready to welcome back its prodigal son and to sweep me away with yesterday’s trash. The Rigsbys wanted to give Jeremy his fresh beginning, and there I was, the rotten reminder of his past.

The problem was, I didn’t intend to go so easily.

I had no idea how much Sawyer really knew about his nephews’ scheming. But if I could keep making my rent payments, then Sawyer couldn’t kick me out until my lease was officially up next year. My brother Trace, the real one, would help me weather the storm. And soon, I hoped that public sentiment would sway back in my favor. Somehow.

There were a lot ofifsandmaybesin my plan. A whole lot of hope. Sometimes, that was all I had.

Scarlett went to the register and pulled out a small envelope. “Here’s what you earned for last week’s chocolate and pecan. If you can make more, we’ll take them. Any flavor. Whatever inspires you.”

“I’ll try to whip up more, but I’m still hoping to make the diner work. I’m not giving up on it yet.” I accepted the envelope, unable to resist the urge to check the cash inside. It would help, but I would be short on rent unless something changed.

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