Miles looked confused for a beat, almost as if the words failed to sink in. But then a few people surrounding us urged him forward while clapping him on the shoulder. Miles left my side, climbed the steps of the stage, and accepted a blue ribbon and envelope from the announcer.
I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted, “Go Miles! Itoldyou!”
“He’s a lucky bastard,” the woman beside me said.
I glanced at her and couldn’t help but ask, “Why’s that?”
“The prize money,” she replied. “If I could cook to save my life, I’d have entered in a heartbeat.”
“There’s prize money?” I repeated.
Her companion peered around her at me. “Hell yeah, there’s prize money,” he declared. “Five thousand dollars! If I had that, I’d go on vacation. Go to Florida for a few weeks.”
“Oh yeah,” the woman agreed. “Treat yourself to the snowbird life.”
I looked back at the stage. I guess that was why Miles had been so nervous about the results. But he was smiling—a big, bright grin on his face as he made his way back through the crowd.
It melted my heart.
LOGAN FIELDSordered the bar code system as promised. I’d received it a few days after the food fair and was at the library, trying to install the system on my laptop and figure it out. The front door opened and I glanced up from where I sat at the checkout desk.
Miles walked inside. “Good morning, angel.”
Theangelthing had started the other day. I was smitten all over again because of it.
“Hello, handsome.” I held up the manual. “I got my bar code system.”
“Good,” Miles replied. He walked across the room, set his backpack down on the chair in front of the desk, and removed his coat.
“Will you be able to finish the hot mess room today?” I asked, watching as Miles reached into his backpack next.
“Yes. I’ll help you carry the books down from storage after.”
“Thank you.” I raised an eyebrow as he took out an unassuming cardboard box.
“Here you are.” Miles thrust it forward.
I pushed up my glasses and took the package. “What is it?”
“Open it.”
I smiled and grabbed a pair of scissors from the drawer to cut the tape securing it shut. “What could it be? New Hampshire travel brochures?”
“No.”
“Oh! A phone book?”
“Just open it.”
“I am, I am,” I laughed. “I bet it’s—Satchel’s Digital Inventory?” I held up a manual for the computer software, briefly shuffled through the contents in the box, then looked at Miles hesitantly.
“This is what you needed, right?” Miles asked when I didn’t offer an immediate response.
“Y-yes, but, how did you get it?”
“I bought it.”
“Youboughtit? Miles. This is two thousand dollars!”
