Grilling the Subject Read Online Free PDF Page A

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    Passing B-B-Q, a funky restaurant with a great dance floor, I smelled the most delectable barbecue. Rousing line-dance music was playing through a portable speaker set up on the sidewalk. Customers waiting to get inside were shuffling their feet in time to the music. I recalled a commercial I’d headed up for Taylor & Squibb, Shakey’s Steak Sauce. One customer started to dance and then another, until everyone in the crowd was wiggling his or her fanny to the tune of KC and the Sunshine Band’s “Shake Your Booty.” The rights to the music had cost a pretty penny, but it had been worth it. The commercial was a huge hit and ran for two straight years.
    I bicycled to the center of town and noticed a Wells Fargo wagon at the crossroads of Buena Vista and the main road leading up the hill. Cutely, the dancing dolphins that were normally the focus at the junction had been installed inside the wagon and were poking their noses out the windows. Each wore a red bandana around its neck.
    Beyond the intersection, in the parking lots that abutted the junior college and the aquarium, stood a slew of white tents and food trucks. None was open to the public yet. I couldn’t wait until they were.
    Charmed beyond measure, I did a U-turn at the far end of town and rode back to the cottage. I showered, and around 4:00 P.M. I dressed in bright blue capris, slinky white top, sandals, and beach-themed earrings, and then I spruced up my hair and applied a dash of makeup, ready for my date with my boyfriend, Rhett Jackson. Yes, I am officially calling him my boyfriend these days. Rhett, formerly a chef, ownsBait and Switch Fishing and Sport Supply Store. We have been seeing each other for about nine months. A few months ago, I was blessed with the opportunity to meet his family; they reside in Napa Valley. At first, it was touch and go whether the trip would take place. Long story short, years ago, Rhett and his father had a rift because Rhett disobeyed his father and eloped. That marriage dissolved less than a year later, but the rift continued until recently, when Rhett and his father finally mended fences. His parents run a well-known French restaurant called Intime, a gourmand’s delight. His sisters own a vineyard. I couldn’t wait for another visit to both. I adored his mother and sisters, and I got along well with his crusty father, who wasn’t dissimilar to mine. Rules are rules.
    On tonight’s date, Rhett and I were going to catch a cowboy movie—yep, a cowboy movie or what some call an
oater
, one of my all-time favorites:
High Noon
, with Gary Cooper. I loved how the marshal, compelled to face a returning enemy alone, finds the courage. The movie was showing at The Cameo, the art-house theater located on the second floor of Fisherman’s Village. Afterward, Rhett and I were going to Bailey and Tito’s engagement party. We were closing The Nook Café for the occasion.
    At a quarter past four, Rhett rapped on my front door with his snappy rhythm that never varied. I loved that about him. He was an upbeat, positive-thinking man, as reliable as the day is long. I opened the door and drank in all of him: his brilliant blue eyes that made me feel as if I might be swept away whole; his hunky frame; the rugged edge of his jaw; that roguish grin. He gathered me into his arms, and we shared a warm, sensuous kiss. A moment later, Tigger danced across our feet. We laughed and broke apart.
    â€œJealous, buddy?” Rhett picked up Tigger for a cuddle. “Want your own kisses?”
    â€œCome in for a sec,” I said. I wanted to fetch my purse and make sure Tigger’s food dish was filled. As I moved toclose the door, I spotted movement outside. A blur. Was it human? Running away?
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Rhett placed a hand at the arch of my back.
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œYou gasped.”
    â€œDid I?”
    â€œWhat