“Maybe she means it, after all,” Maddie said, though she sounded doubtful.
“Okay, then, a spiffy little convertible,” Helen suggested. “Red, maybe?”
Dana Sue grinned, relieved to have the topic of Ronnie behind her. “Now you’re talking my language. And it better have a top-of-the-line stereo system, plus that navigational gizmo.”
“That’s definitely important,” Maddie agreed, “since you have absolutely no sense of direction—thus the problems you had on the senior trip.”
“Stop reminding me of that,” Dana Sue retorted good-naturedly. “I get where I’m going.”
“Eventually,” Helen commented.
“Okay, smarty-pants, what about you?” Dana Sue asked her. “What’s your big prize?”
“A shopping spree,” Helen said without any hesitation.
“Was there ever any doubt?” Maddie asked wryly.
Helen scowled at her. “In Paris,” she added.
“All right!” Maddie said enthusiastically. “And we all get to go.”
Dana Sue laughed. “I’m liking this more and more. Now I almost don’t care if Helen wins.”
“No fair,” Helen said. “You have to promise to really try to win your own prize.”
“When does this contest start?” Maddie asked.
“As soon as we set our goals,” Helen said. “And they need to be meaningful goals, ambitious but attainable, okay? Shall we meet same time tomorrow to share them and decide how long we have to attain them?”
“I’m in,” Maddie said.
Dana Sue thought of the nifty little red sports car she’d seen the last time she and Annie had gone to Charleston. It had reminded her of a car Ronnie had had a long time ago, before they’d gotten married, long before things between them had gone so terribly wrong.
“Me, too,” she said at once.
Maybe she’d never be thin and willowy again, but perhaps she could recapture that carefree, confident feeling she’d had at eighteen, when everything was right with her world. And maybe if she felt better about herself, she could find a way to teach Annie how to do the same thing.
Chapter Three
Any thought of goal-setting flew out the window that night when a grease fire started in the kitchen in the middle of the dinner rush.
As soon as Karen shrieked, “Fire!” Erik grabbed an extinguisher and started spraying. Meanwhile, Karen raced for a phone and dialed 911, even though the small blaze was already mostly contained.
Assured that Erik had things under control in the kitchen, Dana Sue headed into the dining room to soothe the rattled patrons, then went outside to the patio to explain to customers there and to await the arrival of the firemen, whom she hoped to prevent from dragging their hoses through the restaurant. Thanks to Erik’s quick reaction, there was no need for all those men and their equipment to plow through the place. In fact, by the time the volunteer firefighters arrived on the scene, there was little evidence of the blaze beyond frayed nerves, the lingering scent of smoke and the mess in the immediate vicinity of the greasy pan that had caught on fire.
Though she wouldn’t really be able to tell until morning, it appeared there’d been no smoke damage at all to the dining room, with its pale-peach walls and dark-green trim. A trip to the laundry would take care of any lingering scent in the tablecloths and napkins.
“It was my fault. I am so sorry,” Karen said for at least the tenth time after the fire chief had signed off and let them get back to business.
A struggling single mom in her midtwenties, Karen had tears streaming down her pale cheeks. She’d been a short-order cook at a local diner when Dana Sue discovered her. Seeing the waste of cooking talent, Dana Sue had offered to train her to handle the high-quality meals at Sullivan’s.
“I just turned away for a second,” Karen said. “I didn’t realize the flame was so high. Then I panicked. I’ve never done anything like this before, I swear it.”
“Hey, it’s nothing,” Dana Sue reassured her. “It’s happened to all of us, right, Erik? There was no real harm done.”
“I’ve never had a grease fire,” Erik said, “but I’ve burned my share of pies and cakes and smoked up the kitchen.”
“I’ll stay late and clean up,” Karen offered. “By the time you come in tomorrow, you won’t even know it happened.”
“We’ll all pitch in,” Dana Sue corrected. “We’re a team. Now let’s get back to work before all our customers stage a rebellion.”
“I need to do something,” Karen insisted. “Let me buy a glass of wine for every customer. It’ll take me a while to pay for them, but it’s the least I can do.”
“It’s already done,” Dana Sue told her, “and you’re not paying. The money comes out of our PR budget. Now, cook. We have ten backed-up orders for the grilled salmon, three for the pork chops and five for the fried catfish. Let’s go, people.”
The teamwork on which Dana Sue and her staff prided themselves kicked back into high gear. By nine o’clock all the customers had been fed and most were lingering over coffee and one of Erik’s desserts.
As Dana Sue made the rounds of the tables in the dining room, almost everyone commented on the delicious meal, but most were eager to congratulate her on the way her staff had dealt with the crisis.
“If I hadn’t heard the sirens and seen the firemen myself, I’d never have guessed you had a fire in the kitchen,” the mayor told her. “You handled yourself really well, Dana Sue.”
“Thank you,” she said, surprised. She and Howard Lewis hadn’t always seen eye to eye, particularly during the controversy over Maddie’s relationship with the much-younger Cal Maddox. Now that the two were respectably married, apparently the mayor had forgotten all about the old animosity. Either that or his desire for a good meal had overcome his disapproval of her association with Maddie and Cal.
“Well, of course she handled the crisis just fine,” Hamilton Rogers, chairman of the
