Page 91 of Recipe for Rivals

“Watch it,” I said softly. “It won’t do any good if you’re overheard.”

Randy lifted his eyebrows. “You know it’s true.”

“He’s right,” Grandpa called across the table, his voice carrying over the cheers. “Those flags weren’t coming off during the game. Must’ve glued them on or something.”

Glue was a bit dramatic. Time to get Gramps out of here before he landed me in trouble. “I’ll clean up really quick and then we can go. Come on, Randy.”

He groaned. “I knew I should have sat with Jill. She doesn’t need to be the first one up and cleaning.”

He was kidding. Or so I hoped. He followed me to the grill, where we passed Chad and his buddy Travis. “Maybe next year,” Chad said in a way that made me think he was already planning a way to guarantee another win.

“In the ring?” I called back. “Can’t wait.”

“To wipe the floor with them,” Randy muttered, finishing my sentence.

Man, he had a mouth on him today.

“What was that?” Chad asked, following us.

I stopped walking immediately and put my hands up. Clearly, emotions were riding high. It was just a little town function. It didn’t matter who won. If they wanted it badly enough to cheat, they could take it.

“Nothing,” I said, hoping my tone would de-escalate the situation. “We just like boxing.”

“I could take you, Dusty,” Chad said, his blue eyes gleaming. He was looking for a fight. Maybe he just wanted to prove he deserved the win he’d somehow schemed for. Either way, he must have been forgetting how quickly I had taken him down last year.

“I guess we’ll find out next year,” I said, shooting him a smile.

“Why wait?” he asked.

I turned to leave right as he stepped forward and clocked me across the jaw. Pain reverberated through my face, stars sparkling the edge of my vision. I looked back at him, anger pulsing through me at his cheap shot.

“Not cool, man,” Randy said. His face was thunderous.

I had to agree.

Chad shook out his hand, bouncing on his toes. “Let’s finish this.”

“It’s not the time or the place,” I reminded him, waiting forthe pain to ebb. I had taken a step back to get to cleaning up our tables when he rounded on me again. His fist was poised to strike, coming at my nose, so I lifted my arm to block the blow. My forearm took the brunt of his hit. I shoved him back. “Stop, Chad.”

“Why? You’re just going to let me win?”

“We already have twice today,” I snapped. “What’s once more?”

Anger flashed in his eyes, and he advanced again. I put my arms out and shoved him hard. He fell back into the table of Nova’s berry and cream remnants, sliding off the other side and falling in a heap, covered in dessert and wrapped in the cheap tablecloth.

I stepped back in utter silence. The crowd had noticed, watching us with wide eyes. I swore. Nova and her kids had a front-row seat next to their aunt. Gigi’s disapproving expression hit me in the gut, fed by the concerns she’d had months ago when she told me to keep away from Nova. Even worse, though, was Grandpa standing in the row behind them, gripping his walker and frowning at me. I felt sixteen all over again, getting in fights because I had a hole in my sneakers or I kissed the wrong girl at a party. His disappointment felt layered in years of stupid mistakes.

I wanted to take the mic from wherever Mayor Dunmore hid it and explain I’d been acting in self defense, but that wouldn’t exonerate me. Grandpa pressed his mouth into a firm line.

Anger pulsated through me. I turned to the table and started cleaning up the dessert mess. Chad was on his feet, wiping whipped cream from his clothes. He seemed to have noticed the audience too, which cooled him off enough that I didn’t think the other half of my face was in danger of getting a matching bruise.

“Leave it,” Nova said behind me, reaching for some plates of dessert that had flown on the grass. “I’ll take care of this.”

“It’s my mess,” I said sharply.

She grew still, holding three stacked dessert plates and a fork.

Great. Could this get any worse?