Page 50 of Bringing Home the Bacon
“Whoa, you have a team?” Alex says.
“It’s strange, but yeah, I do. Right now, they’re researching potential locations for the place based on my suggestions. They should be emailing me some possibilities Monday morning.”
“Where are you hoping to set up shop?” Ethan asks.
“Well, I was planning on the Philadelphia area where I grew up and lived until the show started, but now I’m not so sure.”
“You should start a restaurant in Fork Lick,” Alex suggests.
“Alex, come on,” Sam says. “The producers of his show want this place to be successful. A small town like Fork Lick is not the place for that.”
“Are you kidding me?” Alex’s voice rises. “You think the people of Fork Lick won’t support a brand-new restaurant helmed by a sexy reality TV star?”
“You think I’m sexy, huh?” I run my hands down my abs and make googly eyes at Alex. He just stares back at my inebriated self.
“Too much?” I say sheepishly.
“Too much,” he confirms, then quickly continues. “What kind of food are we talking about here?”
“Comfort food,” I say, getting serious again. “Fried chicken, meatloaf, shepherd’s pie, corn chowder… that sort of thing. But all with my own Bacon twist.”
“That’s fucking perfect!” Alex says. “Fork Lickers will support the shit out of that, and I guarantee you people from Climax will travel in for it, and folks from the city will too.”
“I’m in!” I say.
“Wait. You’re in?” Ethan says in disbelief.
“Well, I can’t exactly raise a baby with your sister from a city nearly four hours away. I’m tired of making decisions based on who I used to be instead of who I am now. I auditioned for Yes, Chef! on a whim. It was a shot in the dark, just to try something different and shake things up. And look at all the good that one decision has already brought into my life! I wanna do it. I want to start my restaurant in Fork Lick.”
“Alright!” the guys cheer.
“Now, I just need the right building and location.”
Sam slams a hand on the table. “I know just the place.”
* * *
Chapter 17
Colleen
I’m lying in the same twin bed I’ve slept in since I was a little girl, staring at the same ceiling where I placed hundreds of tiny glow-in-the-dark stars all those years ago, when a text from Bacon comes through.
He’s in love with me?
He can’t possibly be in love with me.
This is all moving too fast.
And I’m freaking out.
I do what I’ve always done when I’m anxious and can’t sleep at night. I head downstairs to raid the family fridge.
I trudge downstairs as quietly as I can, trying not to wake my grandmother. That woman is the lightest sleeper there ever was. When we were teenagers, there was never any hope of sneaking in past curfew. One step through the creaky front door and she’d be padding down the hall in her bathrobe and slippers a moment later telling us “rules are rules for a reason.”
I flick the light switch in the kitchen and nearly jump out of my skin when I find Gran sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea.
“Boo,” she says with an impish grin.
