The Reluctant Bachelor. Syndi Powell

in close enough to catch a whiff of her perfume. “I’m suggesting that you spend a week getting to know me. The real me. How my life really works now. And not that Hollywood version you created.” He sighed and shook his head. “How can I expect to find my true love if she doesn’t meet me where I live?”

      Lizzie shook her head and glanced around the diner. Sure, it could use a gallon of paint and even more of elbow grease, but this was home to him. When she turned to face him again, she was still shaking her head. “People want fantasy in their reality TV shows. Ironic but true.”

      “There is an appeal to small-town living. The pull to lead a simpler life.” He leaned in even closer to her. “Give me the chance to prove it to you.”

      Her eyes sparked with interest. “I give you a week to convince me, and what do you give me?”

      He sighed. Definitely relentless. “If I can prove to you that we could do the show here, then I’ll do it. I’ll be your guinea pig again.”

      “You really mean that?” A smile played around her mouth.

      He held out his hand. “You give me a chance, and I’ll give you one.” They shook on it. Rick nodded. “Good. We’ll start here at five tomorrow morning.”

      The panic in Lizzie’s eyes made it all worthwhile.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ELIZABETHARRIVED at the diner when the sky was still a dark grayish-blue with only a hint of pink in the direction of the unrisen sun. Even the roosters had enough sense to keep sleeping, but here she stood. Waiting for Rick to come down and let her in to the diner to start their...what had he called it? Small-town education?

      She lightly tapped her cheeks in an effort to wake herself. This tired feeling was more than jet lag. She’d dealt with that often enough to be immune to its effects. Maybe it was the déjà vu being in a small town had brought out. She’d grown up in hick towns; her mother worked restaurant jobs with their low wages, meager tips and free food. And the chance that Elizabeth could sit in a booth for a few hours so her mom didn’t have to pay a babysitter.

      Before she could plumb her past any further, the door opened and Rick stood there smiling at her. He should look as tired as she felt, but instead he beamed at her as he ushered her inside. “Ready for your first look at my life?”

      She stifled a yawn and nodded. “Does the first look have to come so early?”

      “My day usually starts an hour before this, but I thought I’d give you a break.” He leaned toward her, and for a brief moment she wondered if he was going to kiss her. He reached past to turn the sign on the door to Open.

      He motioned for her to follow him, and she walked behind him into the kitchen. Savory smells of bacon and sausage assaulted her, making her stomach growl. What she wouldn’t give for a sausage patty right now. He opened an oven door, peered in, then adjusted the temperature. When he turned back to face her, he frowned. “Why are you wearing that?”

      She glanced down at the outfit she had painstakingly chosen for their day: one of her best power suits in cherry-red and teetering black heels. “I believe you mentioned I’d be meeting people from your town.”

      He nodded. “And they’ll eat you alive wearing that. Don’t you own a pair of jeans?”

      Denim wasn’t exactly a staple in her wardrobe, but glancing at what Rick was wearing told her it was a part of his. She wiped at an imaginary smudge on her skirt. “I’m sure your friends will appreciate good taste.”

      “The grease will ruin that fancy getup within the hour. Go back to your hotel and change.” He turned his back to her and started whisking eggs with flour.

      Grease? There’d been no mention of that when they’d made plans for today. What exactly was he planning? “You don’t expect me to actually work here, do you?”

      Rick turned back to her with a dazzling smile. It was easy to see why the cameras fell in love with him. “You wanted a glimpse into my life, right? Since Mom handed the diner over to me, I’m here twelve hours a day, six days a week. So that’s where we’re starting.”

      She crossed her arms across her chest. Nope. Not happening. “You don’t have anyone to cover for you today?”

      “It’s the Lake Mildred Pickle Festival. Busiest weekend of the summer. I’m going to be swamped with orders in about ten minutes and won’t get a break until after the Ladies’ Book Club finishes their last cup of coffee.” He continued to whisk and paused only to add more flour.

      She glared, hoping that the effect would turn him into stone. “I thought you were the owner and manager here.”

      “I’m whatever they need me to be. Besides, it’s fun.”

      Sigh. Not her idea of fun. “And I’m supposed to help you out?”

      “That’s the idea, Lizzie.”

      She grumbled on the drive back to the bed-and-breakfast to change into the outfit she’d least likely have a fit over if it got ruined. She fumed as she drove back to the diner and parked behind it, where the employees left their cars. And she moaned when Rick threw a clean apron at her and pointed to the stack of dishes that had accumulated in her absence. “Washing dishes? Really?”

      Rick started to whistle as he placed slices of bread in a large toaster and pressed the lever. “It’s where all good cooks start.”

      “But I’m not a cook,” she muttered under her breath. She couldn’t even make toast without setting off the smoke detectors in her apartment.

      She wrinkled her nose at the dried gobs of egg and grease on the first plate. There had to be better ways to get Rick to do the show than this. She glanced behind her at the man in question, who cracked eggs onto the hot griddle. If she could just find out why he’d done the show the first time...

      “Dishes don’t wash themselves, Lizzie.” He threw the eggshells into the large trash can next to him as if they were basketballs and he were Kobe Bryant. He walked over and turned on the hot water, then squeezed a healthy dollop of dish soap into the sink. Pointed to the three sinks, the last full of clear liquid. “Wash. Rinse. Sanitize.” He pulled the hose closer to her. “And don’t be afraid to get a little wet.”

      She rolled her eyes and dropped the first dish into the sudsy water.

      * * *

      RICKSWALLOWEDALAUGH as Lizzie glared at him over her coffee cup. She looked like a drowned rat. Her long brown hair was plastered to the sides of her head; her clothes clung to her slight form. Her carefully applied makeup had run two hours ago, leaving her face streaked in brown and blue. “Good job, Lizzie.”

      She rolled her eyes and forked a bite of French toast into her mouth, pausing to moan after the first bite. “What do you put in these?”

      He shrugged. “Little cinnamon. Lots of love.”

      Again with the rolled eyes. She’d be lucky to end the day without a massive headache if she kept that up.

      “So are you done torturing me?”

      Torture. Interesting word choice. She’d agreed to get a glimpse of his normal life, and now she considered it inhumane. If only she knew. “You’ll probably want to freshen up before the lunch crowd gets here.” Panic washed over her face, but he held up one hand. “Don’t worry. You’re done with the dishes. Jeffy should be here anytime.”

      Her shoulders relaxed. “Thank goodness.”

      “But I am short a waitress.”

      Lizzie stood up and threw her napkin on the table before storming out of the diner. Rick chuckled and took another sip of his coffee. Mission accomplished. Better that she leave now than wait until it was too late.

      The bell above the door chimed again. “Ricky.”

      He