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Before anyone else could say a word, Jacey caught a movement through the pass-through into the kitchen. The cook was flipping onion rings out of the fryer, one at a time, and attempting to catch them on a long skewer. For some reason, Jacey pulled her camera off the cast, knowing her team had them covered from three other angles in the diner. She zoomed in through the pass-through, catching the diner owner’s act.
He flung another ring. This one landed in a pot of chili on the stove. Then again—this one bounced through the pass-through, hitting the buxom waitress in the back of the head. The woman swung around to see what had hit her. Jacey wondered if the woman had thought, “big freakin’ cockroach,” since that seemed a probable explanation in this place. But she just shrugged and didn’t say anything. Meanwhile Al continued his acrobatic show.
Or, at least, he continued totry. Flip, miss. Flip, miss. Flip, another one in the chili pot.
Then, finally, because even a broken clock is right twice a day, he got one. Jacey almost wanted to clap for the guy. Almost. Because her second impulse was to warn him that the onion ring had to be pretty stinkin’ hot.
Apparently, it was.
“Ow!” he shrieked as the ring slid down the metal skewer and landed on his fisted hand. His yelp wasn’t loud enough to drown out one of the contestants who was singing the praises of the cool days of autumn.Thatguy deserved an Emmy since they were all dripping sweat in this cramped diner on an unseasonably hot September afternoon.
Nobody else seemed to notice the cook’s dilemma, but Jacey gave him a sympathetic look as she continued to shoot. The moment he’d gotten burned, he’d flung his skewer—not to mention the winning onion ring—away. He’d grabbed a big hunk of butter and started spreading it on his wrist, which made Jacey cringe from here. Butter on a burn—did people still do that? Good grief, during the two or three Girl Scout meetings she’d attended as a kid—before getting kicked out for punching another little girl—she’d learned better than that! Some people should have to get a license to walk out their front doors every day.
It was while tsking over the bad butter move that Jacey noticed the smoke. And heard the pop. And saw the tipped-over deep fryer—which the cook’s arm-waving appeared to have caused—lying on the stove. Boiling hot grease slid across the huge flat surface, which was still coated with burger guts and pieces of burnt chicken.
Whoosh.
Flames shot up from the cooktop. Al’s eyes widened to almost comical proportions. Mr. Whittington droned on about dead poets. The camera crew and director ignored everything but the set.
And Jacey watched the kitchen go up in flames. “Umm—”
Before she could say another word, she realized she wasn’t the only one who’d witnessed the catastrophe. Digg shot up out of his chair, pushed past the waitress who’d been putting her boobs as close to his arm as she could get while taking his order, and sprinted toward the kitchen. He somehow did a move Jacey had only ever seen in movies, never real life. He didn’t even break stride as he reached the breakfast counter. Throwing one palm flat on the counter he launched his whole big, yummy self over it in one leap.
Jacey never took the camera off him.
“Back up!” Digg yelled to the cook, who still watched slack-jawed as the onion ring nightmare began to consume even more of his kitchen.
The rest of the people in the diner finally noticed. Renauld started to wail about the interruption. The celebrity host, Joshua Charmagne, darted for the door. She wondered what the fans of his old cop show,Miami Murder, would think of their tough-guy hero now.
The contestants all jumped to their feet, and the townspeople began to yell for the fire department. And, per their good training, the other camera operators immediately panned to the action in the kitchen. She would’ve wrung their necks if they’d dropped the cameras to go help put out the fire. Probably pretty twisted. But hey, she was a camera junkie.
Besides, Digg seemed fully capable. Though she half hoped he’d whip off his tight black T-shirt and try extinguishing the flames with the cloth, he instead beelined for an industrial-size fire extinguisher on the wall of the kitchen. He had it off the wall and in operation within about fifty seconds of leaving his seat.
The fire was out a few seconds later, leaving him, unfortunately, fully clothed, but also a hero. Everyone froze for one long moment after the fire was out. Then activity erupted. Everyone clapped, cheered and poured into the kitchen. Ed grabbed Digg’s hand and kissed it. The buxom waitress threw her arms around his neck. Ginger and Mona shoved her out of the way and hugged him themselves.
And Jacey watched through the camera.
Finally, after the excitement died down and Renauld called for everyone to go back to their places, Digg edged closer and closer, until he stood right beside her. “You catch the whole thing?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Would you have stopped shooting if my clothes had caught on fire?”
“Huh-uh.”
He tsked. “Very nice.”
“At least not if it was your shirt,” Jacey admitted. “If that was coming off, I would definitely have wanted to get it on tape.” Then, to make sure he didn’t get the wrong idea, she added, “For our female viewers.”
She wondered if he heard the note of blasé amusement she’d been going for in her voice, or if he’d zeroed directly in to the attraction she was trying so desperately to hide.
“Ahh.”
Just that and she knew he’d heard the attraction. The interest. The surprising desire she felt for this most unlikely of guys. Unlikely, at least, for her, whose taste ran more to the motorcycle-riding, black-leather-wearing bad boys she’d grown up with in the poor part of L.A. Not serious-looking, thoughtful, intense do-gooders.
“Do youevercome out from behind that camera? Or do you only live life through it?” His voice was slightly challenging.
Jacey gritted her teeth to avoid letting him know that he’d scored a hit. One of the big arguments she’d had with her father was over Jacey’s desire to watch the world, not live in it.
