Fried Pickles and the Fuzz Read Free

prep to do before she could even think about the parade. Everything needed to be ready to go the minute she walked back into the kitchen… and she had a lot to do.
    With only about an hour and a half to go until the big event, she was grateful T he Pickle was slow. Obviously everyone was either at home getting ready to come to town… or they were gearing up for the slew of customers who would inevitably rush the town square businesses right after the parade ended.
    At least Heather had a bit of company while she worked to get everything stocked for the dinner rush. While her best friend, Beth Ann, might not chip in and help out in the kitchen, she could be counted on to keep the mood light before the madness that would ensue.
    â€œI think he was going to ask me out.”
    â€œReally? Oh, girl. You’d better jump on that.” Beth Ann boosted herself up onto one of the gleaming stainless countertops in the Fried Pickle kitchen and grinned. “I know a lot of gals here in town who ’ re just itchin’ for a chance to catch his eye. You turn him down and they’ll be all over him like ducks on a June bug.”
    Heather chuckled. “Yeah, I know, but I can’t make him ask me.”
    Beth Ann grabbed the edge of the counter and leaned forward. “Girl, what decade do you think this is? You could ask him.” She sat back up and rolled her eyes. “Women have been doing it for a few years now. I think the chances of you being deemed a hussy are slim , even in this town . You haven’t been out on a date even once since you came back near ly six months ago. ”
    â€œ Yeah , I know, but it’s still nice to have the guy do the askin’.”
    â€œ H umph . I t might be nice , but who says it’s practical ? Especially out here in the boonies when seventy percent of the male population is either related to you, jailbait , or older than dirt. Jump , girl, jump.”
    With a sigh, Heather turned back to her mashed potatoes and added a healthy d ollop of butter. Not margarine, but real sweet cream butter. It was the secret to Granny Joy’s p erfect spuds and the reason everyone seemed to love them. Especially Bronson. Every night he came in at the same time, slid into the same stool at the end of the counter, gave her that show - stopping smile that never failed to turn her legs to mud , and chat with he r while he ate dinner. Then, if potatoes were a side of the daily special he always ordered, he would shyly ask for a second helping.
    She smiled. Few things had made her heart flutter the past few years, but the feeling she got watching Bronson clean his plate, clearly a meal enjoyed, nearly made her toes curl. No, they weren’t dating , but late at night when they were the only ones in the café, Heather liked to imagine that things were different. That they were a couple. She liked the thought of taking care of him, of belonging to him and him to her.
    Heather sighed. Maybe Beth Ann was right. Maybe she should just make a move. Friday afternoon ’ s picnic would be the perfect opportunity for a casual first date. Heather mentally nodded. She’d ask him tonight… after dinner… once they were alone.
    â€œSpeaking of older than dirt, I heard that Gus got out again last night.” Beth Ann’s voice sliced through her woolgathering. “T hat’s the word on the street , anyway . Billy said he must have jimmied the latch.” Beth Ann hopped off the counter and peeked out into the din ing room. “What are you going to do about him?”
    â€œI hav en’t the foggiest. I guess I’ll just have to be patient until I can get everything lined up for the loan through the bank .” Heather sighed. “The poor old guy is just so lonely.”
    â€œI know , but he can’t keep wandering around like that. He’s liable to get hurt or cause an accident or something.” Beth Ann tugged a rubber band from her