Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb - Lexi George Page 0,67
Marvin.”
“She speaks the truth.” Grim materialized beside Sassy. “I was there.”
“Good job, babe,” Evan said. “That took major balls.”
“Thanks.” Sassy grinned. “I feel like celebrating. Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Fifteen minutes later, the four of them entered the Sweet Shop Café and Grill with Grim in the lead. Stalking inside, he sized the place up. After some deliberation, he selected a table against the wall with a clear view of the other patrons and the front door. He was John Wayne in one of the old Westerns Daddy Joel loved: back to the wall, six-shooter loaded and ready for action.
It was noon on a Tuesday and the place was packed. Mouthwatering aromas wafted from the kitchen: squash casserole topped with buttery crackers, hot cornbread, tangy, bacon-laced green beans and collards, fried chicken and pork chops, and the best smoked ribs in three counties, maybe in the whole state. The clientele were locals, plain, hardworking folks: men with weathered faces and women in cotton dresses or slacks.
Viola Williams, the curvaceous proprietor of the restaurant, came over in person to take their orders. Grim ordered a double meat and three and a dozen corn muffins. Within minutes, Miss Vi was back with their food, and they dug in.
“I wish I could’ve seen your aunt’s face when you told her you were keeping the mill,” Evan said around a bite of barbecued rib smothered in drunk sauce, a house specialty.
“She wasn’t happy.” Sassy recalled the dark swirl of emotion above Susan’s head with a shiver. “Neither was Mr. Marvin when I canned him.” She heaved a worried sigh. “I hope I wasn’t too mean. I can’t work with someone who treats me like a child, and Mrs. Harwood called me Sarah Elizabeth, like I’m five.”
“There is a vast difference in being unkind and standing up for yourself,” Grim said. “You acquitted yourself well.”
“Thanks.”
Vastly cheered, Sassy took a bite of fried green tomato and had a vagina snicker, it tasted so good. The crust on the outside of the thinly sliced, tart fruit was crunchy, the pale green treasure inside piping hot. A sautéed shrimp crowned each golden brown circlet, and covering the whole was a cayenne-laced green onion rémoulade sauce. The combination of tangy and spicy was orgasmic.
Viola came back to refill their tea glasses and gave Sassy the stink eye. Out of caution due to her newly acquired sugar sensitivity, Sassy had ordered unsweet tea, a sacrilege in the South. A gallon of iced tea made with less than a cup and a half of sugar was considered downright weird. Or worse: a sign of Yankee leanings.
“Miss Vi, these fried green tomatoes are to die for,” Sassy said as a peace offering.
To her relief, Miss Vi unbent a little.
“You like them shrimp and that sauce?” Vi said, with something close to a smile. “I been tweaking my recipes so’s my customers don’t get bored.”
“Not a chance.” Sassy tucked into the mound of mashed potatoes that had been creamed with butter and a dab of mayonnaise, Miss Vi’s secret ingredient. “Everything’s wonderful.”
The Sweet Shop more than lived up to its reputation for old-fashioned Southern cooking. The café was housed in an old two-story warehouse with a metal ceiling. Worn black and white checkerboard tiles covered the floor. Scarred wooden booths banked the perimeter of the dining room. The center of the rectangular space was filled with laminated tables and vinyl diner chairs. A hodgepodge of metal signs and plaques engraved with words of wisdom covered the plank walls:
DON’T START NONE AND THERE WON’T BE NONE.
UGLY MATERS TASTE GOOD.
DO IT RIGHT THE FIRST TIME, OR LICK YOUR CALF OVER.
EVEN A BLIND PIG FINDS AN ACORN ONCE IN A WHILE.
The one about the pig made Sassy sad. If she had a blind pig, she’d bring him acorns, bushels and bushels of them. She wouldn’t make him snuffle around in the dirt for them.
An attractive older couple seated at a booth near the door caught Sassy’s eye. She watched the pair with a wistful feeling. A hazy, golden glow surrounded them. In twenty or thirty years would she and Wes be that in love?
It didn’t seem likely, not without a double heart transplant. They weren’t in love now.
Sassy dropped her fork. She loved Wes . . . didn’t she?
If she loved Wes, would she still be obsessing over The Kiss?
No. She was fond of Wes, but she didn’t love him. They were comfortable together, sure, but there was no spark.