Page 18 of The Spite Date (Small Town Sisterhood #1)

“Bea would never ,” the woman behind Quincy says.

“You should be kissing her feet for the attention you’ll get for her agreeing to go on a date here, and with Simon Luckwood?

All for you to accuse her of a petty crime that she’s not committing?

For shame, Jake Camille. For. Shame. I’m starting to wonder if you’re behind those rumors about people getting salmonella from her burger bus too. ”

The man’s facial muscles will likely be sore tomorrow if the way they all keep twitching and bunching are any indication. “Sorry, Mrs. Cranford,” he mutters.

He lowers his voice and leans in to me as he untwists the wires holding the bubbly’s cork in.

“Be careful. She’s crazy. She lit my underwear on fire before she moved out.

I had to break up with her because I found her snooping in my bank records.

I think she was going to try to rob me blind.

And I did hear people are getting food poisoning from her food truck. ”

“She lit your underwear on fire?”

He nods ominously.

I look at the put-out candle on the table, then at the fondue without fire beneath it, and then back at Jake. “Yes, I can see how that would absolutely be within her character.”

He freezes like he recognizes by my sarcasm that he’s been caught in a lie, then turns his attention to the bottle. He pops the cork, and it shoots into the ceiling, straight into a light fixture, which breaks into a million little pieces and rains down on Tank.

I gulp.

Jake gasps.

“Oh my god, someone shot the light out!” Quincy yells.

“Oh, stop it, you know that was just the cork,” Wendell says as people start crowding into the entryway.

Tank rises, shaking his head, and glares at Jake, who shrinks.

“Get them a new table,” Tank growls. “No glass.”

Where on earth is Bea?

Did she set this up?

But no—I ordered the bubbly, which is spilling out of the bottle.

Likely stored wrong.

And she didn’t pop the top herself.

She—

“Mr. Camille?” Aileen pushes through the small crowd that has gathered in the doorway. “Mr. Camille, there’s a guest stuck in the bathroom. The door won’t unlock.”

I look at Tank.

He looks back at me.

“Oh, dear,” I say. “I’m afraid that must be my date.”

Is my date a witch?

Is that how she made the bottle of bubbly explode? But how would she have known I’d order another bottle? And how would she have known to be away when I did?

Did she plan this with Lana?

Impossible. Lana would’ve ordered ahead to make certain there was red wine for me. Except did they know that the menu was all cheese and that red wouldn’t be available?

How the bloody hell does a restaurant not have red wine? They’ll need it tomorrow, will they not?

Tank turns toward the door. Jake does the same.

I grab the champagne that Jake has set on the table and follow them.

There’s a door at the end of the hallway, and the hostess—Olivia, I believe Bea called her—is leaning against it. “Try turning the handle the other way,” she’s saying.

“I’ve tried turning it every way you can turn a handle,” Bea’s voice replies.

It’s high.

High and panicked.

Do her fears extend beyond fire to enclosed spaces as well?

She said as much, did she not? Why is that little nugget stuck in my head?

I frown as the wall bumps into me.

Or possibly that’s me bumping into the wall.

Would it be uncouth to sip straight from the bottle?

“Quit playing games and open the goddamn door, Bea,” Jake says.

“If you speak to her like that again, you’ll find yourself one with the door,” I hear myself say.

“Simon?” Bea says.

“Yes, darling?”

“If I get out of this bathroom alive, I swear I’ll cook you whatever you want for dinner to apologize for being a complete asshole to you.”

“Not in my kitchen,” Jake says.

“Touch grass, you fucking codpiece,” she snaps back. “Also, Simon?”

“Yes?”

“Will you please go across the street to the miniature golf course and find Ryker and tell him that the fire truck that’s on its way is because I’m stuck in a bathroom and not because there’s a fire?”

“ You called the fucking fire department ?” Jake says.

“ I’m fucking stuck in your bathroom because your doorknob is fucking broken .”

“ Because you broke it .”

“I did not break your damn doorknob. And I don’t have my phone, so I didn’t call the fire department. Your staff did because it’s what they’re fucking supposed to do.”

I share a look with Tank.

Bea sounds rather breathless and almost at the point of tears.

And that’s likely what makes the bubbly do more talking for me. “Jake, old chap, get the fuck out of my way so that I can rescue my date.”

“How much is she paying you to do this?” he growls at me. “ Tell me . How— urp .”

Fascinating.

I wish I were sober enough to fully understand whatever move that is that Tank has just performed on the bloke to get him twisted up like a pretzel and out of the way of the door.

But I’m not sober enough, and I don’t honestly give a rat’s arse how it happened.

I simply know it’s time for this portion of my date with Bea to be over.

“Beatrice, back up,” I order. “I’m going to break the bloody door down.”

“You— what? ” she says.

“Step away from the door, darling. I’m about to be your hero once again.”