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“Hey,” I said. I gave her a cool smile. Like I was happy she was here, but it wouldn’t have bugged me if she’d never shown up.
Like I am in fucking high school.“You bring your appetite?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Wing me, Heart.”
I blinked at her use of my nickname, but then remembered that’s what she thought my last name was. Guilt exploded in my chest.
“Hey, about that…”
“Hi, I’m Wendy.” Wendy held out her hand over the bar and Liv shook it.
“He said you’re an MMA fighter,” Liv said, her eyes alight with curiosity. “Is that true?”
“Formerly. My fighting days are over. So if you break his heart you don’t have to worry about me kicking your ass.”
“Geez, Wendy. Lighten up,” I admonished her.
But Liv was laughing.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Drink?”
“I’ll go with your best beer on tap. Something I can gulp down with wings. My understanding is that there is some sort of contest.” She steepled her fingers like a cartoon villain.
Wendy shook her head in warning. “You don’t want anything to do with the habanero sauce. Trust me.”
“Hey,” I said. “No inside information for the newbie.”
“I’ll get you a beer,” Wendy said, walking away. “But I’ll bring you a glass of milk too. You’re going to need it.”
“How does this contest work?” Liv asked, clearly not deterred.
“We call it the Five Levels of Hell. Five wings, each wing gets hotter, if you can eat all five, then all-you-can-eat wings are on the house.”
“Sweet,” Liv said, wiggling her butt on the stool like a kindergartner on the first day of school. “Free food. I’ll take it.”
“No one tonight has made it past level four,” I warned her.
Liv shrugged. “I guess the good people of Calico Cove have weak palettes.”
I chuckled, impressed by her trash talk. “Your funeral. Wait here and I’ll bring them out.”
In the kitchen each freshly made and sauced wing was put in its own container by our cook, William, who wore gloves. The fifth wing, the habanero sauce, looked radioactive. Poor William’s eyes were watering.
Maybe I would wait until she was crying and her mouth was on fire and then I’d tell her who I was. She’d be in too much pain to get mad about how I’d lied to her these past few days.
Yeah. Class act, Heart.
I set the wing baskets down in front of her and crossed my arms over my chest. I gave her the very serious instructions about not rubbing her eyes with her hands or a dirty napkin.
“Please. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“Oh, this is going to be fun,” I announced.
“Watching a person eat entertains you?”
“No, watching you try not to freak out, when I know your whole mouth is on fire, is going to be fun.”
