Page 34 of Hot Chicken

I start to thank him when I notice Ms. Fletcher standing to his right.Just repaying a favor, my ass.I just bet something’s going on with these two. “Okay, so I’ve been cooking like a madwoman for the last forty-eight hours to prep for this. I’ve divided the trays of chicken and sides into batches. So if I start to run low, I may need you to hightail it back to Salty Jo’s to get more.”

“We’ve got you one better,” Jo says. “The Sugar Plum Inn has offered to store your food, and it’s right around the corner. So I’ll bring everything you have left at the station and deliver it there.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic.” I clap.

“Oh, you look adorable, Ellie,” Ms. Fletcher says.

I went all out for this. I pulled out a red and white gingham dress that falls mid-thigh and flares out from my hips. I used to wear it during the Christmas season when I wanted to feel a little more festive at work. I have on dangly candy cane earrings, and my long hair is tied in two braids that fall down my chest. IfRebecca of Sunnybrook Farmand Dorothy fromThe Wizard of Ozhad a baby, I’d be it. Hopefully, no one notices my shoes. While the shiny red numbers Dorothy wore would’ve been perfect, I have on white Converse sneakers because, hells bells, I’m going to be on my feet all day.

“Thank you. I just want everything to go well today.”

“It will, Ellie. You deserve this. Don’t you think otherwise,” Jo says.

I give him a grateful smile and set to work getting things in order for the day.

Other than the fact my help keeps disappearing, I couldn’t have asked for a better day.Okay, I still wish Matthew was here to help me. But I digress.My wandering assistants shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Jo and Ms. Fletcher are social butterflies who know everyone in this town, so there’s no keeping them still for long. And Charlene might as well have worn a Miss Christmas sash the way she’s pranced around greeting people all day. But customers have been kind, despite the wait.

The line has stayed long since eleven this morning. While some patrons come for the watermelon slices shaped like Christmas trees and the candy cane mint tea, most visit to sample the best chicken on the beach. I’ve noticed more than a few return customers today.

“We’re nearly out of your macaroni and cheese, Ellie,” Ms. Fletcher says.

“Last I looked, you may be down to chicken tenders soon too,” Jo adds.

“For real? That was a lot of food.” I’m shocked. I’d fully expected to stop by the park near the bridge, where many of the island’s homeless gather, to drop off the excess. Doesn’t sound like there will be anything to donate.

“Well, that was the plan, right? Make a lot, sell a lot?” Jo chuckles.

I beam at him. “You’re right. I’ve just been so busy I didn’t realize how well it was going.” Swiping my arm across my brow, I turn to greet the next customer and freeze.

While there’s still a long line of people waiting patiently in front of me, swaying arm in arm to corny Christmas classics piped through overhead speakers, a tall, dark-haired, tatted man standing at the end of the line has my complete attention. He’s wearing cargo shorts, a white polo, and holding a dozen roses. Once he realizes I’ve spotted him, a megawatt smile appears beneath his thick beard, causing my heart to skip.

“Jo?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you take over here for just a sec?”

“Sure, what do you-”

I dart out the side door of my booth, wiping my hands on my apron. Taking a fortifying breath, I slowly walk in his direction until I can’t contain myself any longer and make a mad dash for him like my hair’s on fire.

As if his smile can get any bigger, I leap into his arms, feeling it radiate straight to my bones. Matthew holds me tightly against him as I dip my head to receive a kiss worthy of the ending of a Christmas Hallmark movie. Tears are tumbling down my face, but I can’t pull my mouth away. I never imagined this day could get any better. “You came back.”

“I’ll always come back for you, Ellie.”

I can faintly hear the people in line behind me oohing and aahing over the clapping and whistles. Matthew walks us to my booth, carrying me with my legs wrapped around his waist, one hand holding the roses that are tickling my backside, and his other hand firmly gripping my left ass cheek when he abruptly stops.

I look to see what has his attention when he gives it away. “Hellooo, Jennifer.” He enunciates the o in a goading tone that makes me smile wider still. Ms. Jennifer Jones Hamilton herself stands speechless, mouth agape, as she watches the high school soccer star, her ex-boyfriend, slumming it with none other than me.

Her face turns as red as the Christmas décor hanging on every stall just before she blurts, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding!”

Matt moves closer to where she’s standing. Dropping his voice low, he responds, “Oh, there’s going to be plenty of fucking. No kidding.”

Before he can walk away, I lean in her direction. “Oh, and Jennifer,” I whisper, “he’s the one who gives good head.”

Her eyes widen, and Matthew throws his head back in laughter.

“You know it, baby. Now let’s finish up here so I can have dessert.”

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