Page 170 of The Nanny and the Hothead
Breathe! Just breathe!
She inhaled a shaky breath. “And?”
The woman craned her neck to glance out the window. “And I see we’re getting close to our destination,” Madelyn replied with a little clap.
What was going on with Madelyn Malone? She’d gone from somber nanny matcher to giddy schoolgirl. And worse than that, she hadn’t answered her question. What had Mitch told her?
Charlotte parted her lips, preparing to demand answers, when the strum of a guitar and the beat of live music caught her attention. She peered out the window and found a line of people curved around the side of a building.
“Is there an outdoor event going on?”
“There certainly is. It’s where we’ll be enjoying our dinner,” Madelyn replied, looking like the cat who ate the canary.
“It must be awfully popular. Is it a new restaurant?” Charlotte probed.
“Something like that,” Madelyn answered with her coy grin in place.
The car came to a stop, and the driver hopped out and opened her door. “Enjoy the Signature Charlotte,” the man said with a tip of his hat.
The Signature Charlotte?
Madelyn joined her on the sidewalk. “We don’t have far to go. Let’s stretch our legs, shall we?”
Charlotte observed the line of people. “Shouldn’t we get in line?”
“No, these people are waiting on you,” the woman answered—again, not making a lick of sense.
“On me? How could they be waiting on me?”
Dumfounded, she stood there, then inhaled the heavenly scent of grilled cheese. The delectable scent she’d been living and breathing for weeks. She studied Madelyn. “What is this? What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is that we’re waiting on some lady named Charlotte to see if we get free cheese toasties,” a man standing in line answered.
“Free cheese toasties?” she echoed.
The man scoffed. “Let me guess, you’re an American?”
Charlotte cringed. “Yes.”
“You call them grilled cheese in the states,” the man explained.
She nodded. That’s right! That’s what Erasmus had called them. She turned to Madelyn as her heart thundered in her chest. “You have to tell me what’s going on.”
“This is the line for Mr. Cheesy Forever,” a teenage girl from the line exclaimed.
Who was she having this conversation with—Madelyn or half of London? And then it hit her, and everything went topsy-turvy. How did people thousands of miles away know about her Mr. Cheesy Forever?
“Where did you hear about Mr. Cheesy Forever?” she asked, eyeing the teen.
The girl shrugged. “Everybody knows about Mr. Cheesy Forever UK,” the girl answered as the people in the queue nodded. “It’s plastered across social media. It started blowing up this afternoon.”
Mr. Cheesy Forever UK started blowing up on social media? What did that even mean?
She gave Madelyn one last look, then set off, her pace quickening as the mouthwatering scent of melted cheese and toasted bread grew stronger. She turned the corner, skidding like one of those hotrods in theFast and Furiousmovies, ready to break into a full-out sprint when a bank of lights nearly blinded her. She shielded her eyes from the brightness and spied several cameramen. Whatever this was, the media was there to cover it.
Wild-eyed, she surveyed the street, then froze. Parked about ten yards ahead of her sat an orange food truck. But Say Cheese, Louise wasn’t painted on the side. No, this truck had Mr. Cheesy Forever written in fire engine red along the vehicle’s body. As if she were no longer in control of her body, she moved forward, left foot, right foot, until she caught sight of Erick.
Erick, who should be in Denver!
