“Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” Sweet and smoky smiled and went inside the green door.

I was ready to skate back to the biscuit bowl before my legs gave out on me. I saw a man putting newspapers into one of the dozens of newspaper boxes. His big delivery truck was parked at the curb.

I knew the remaining biscuit bowls wouldn’t be any good. We’d have to throw them away when I got back. I thought I might as well give them to this man to enjoy. I could also give him a business card.

Who knew when he might be in Mobile?

“Excuse me. I have these yummy peach biscuit bowls that I can’t use. I was wondering if you’d like to have them.”

He squinted at me, his baseball cap pulled down low on his face. “They look delicious. Are you sure you don’t want me to buy them?”

I explained about the food truck race and the daily challenge. “So I’m good for the day. Usually my customers have hot, fresh biscuit bowls, made to order. I don’t want to sell them to you cold and a little stale.”

He nodded and took the whole tray in one hand before he threw his ball cap up in the air and congratulated me. “You’ve just won the twenty-five-hundred-dollar cash prize!”

THIRTEEN

I was stunned. I was sure I looked like it, too, as the cameras all zoomed in on me. I was such a mess, it made me cringe to think that everyone would see me like this on TV. I hoped my mother wasn’t watching. She’d really think I’d lost it.

The man explained that he was part of the food truck race as he counted out the twenty-five hundred-dollar bills into my hand.

I was fortunate that someone had thought to tell Ollie, Delia, and Uncle Saul what was happening. They got there before I could drop all the money. There was no room in my pockets for any more cash.

“We won!” Delia danced around.

Uncle Saul hugged me, and Ollie took the initiative and pulled Delia into his big, strong arms.

She stopped dancing and kissed him hard for a minute.

Ollie left her and hugged me. “Was that too weird?”

I laughed. “Not at all. I’m happy for you.”

“That’s the way I like to leave ’em.” His crazy eyebrows went up and down. “Pining for more.”

It didn’t take long before Alex had joined us with more cameras and his usual microphone. Local media types also took part, snapping hundreds of pictures. People asked me questions. All I could think about was getting the stupid skates off my feet. I never wanted to wear a pair of skates again.

While everyone was focused on Ollie, Delia, and Uncle Saul, I slipped off to a bus bench to take off the skates and socks. I had blisters all over my feet. No one ever said being in business was going to be easy.

I glanced up at the concrete stairs leading to one of the tall buildings and saw Miguel. He was talking to the same woman from the hotel the night before—the same woman who’d been in Charlotte.

So that’s where you’ve been.

I watched him for a few minutes with her. He’d changed into a nice brown suit and a tie. A white shirt played up his dark hair and eyes. She was wearing a strawberry-colored dress with a little matching crocheted jacket that complemented it beautifully.

They were speaking intently to each other. Neither one of them seemed to notice anything else going on around them.

Who is she? Are they romantically involved?

Maybe they were talking about business. I massaged my tired ankles.

If it was business, it was something serious. Miguel had his serious face on, like when he told me I shouldn’t get involved in what happened to Reggie.

I only had a second to wonder if his odd behavior was related to that.

Then I was swamped by the race proceedings again. Most of the teams had left their food trucks and wandered over to where we were. Everyone was shouting, happy, and enjoying the end of the Columbia challenge.

“All right, food truckers,” Alex called out on his microphone. “Time to go over to the cool-down tent and look at our taste-test videos before we announce today’s winners—and losers.”

His voice was like squeaky thunder, even with the noise of the city around us. I glanced up at the stairs again. Miguel was looking down at me. I grabbed my skates and walked barefoot between Ollie and Uncle Saul back to the food truck. Delia ran ahead. She was afraid she was going to miss the announcements.

The way my feet and legs felt, I didn’t care.

Chef Art was in the cool-down tent when we got there. That meant another round of photos with him. “You did good, Zoe. They’re putting up a board outside to chart the standings of the teams. I have a feeling the Biscuit Bowl is gonna be at the top.”

All the teams crammed into the tent to see what people thought of their food. I kind of cringed after a few videos had people saying bad things about other vendors’ food. Most of the comments were positive.

When they finally got to mine, three people who had biscuit bowls in their hands said they were delicious. One man said my biscuits were dry. Another man said he didn’t like the filling. That was three out of five—not too bad. Some teams only had one good response.

Alex announced that Our Daily Bread was the winner of the taste challenge with five positive responses. The team of ministers received a bunch of freebies from Disney World, airplane tickets to exotic locations, and dinner at several nice restaurants.

Oh well.

We moved back outside. Ollie hugged me and said not to worry. Chef Art frowned but didn’t say anything.

Alex unveiled the big electronic board once there was a crowd on the street. It lit up with all the teams listed, even though the names were scrambled and jumping around. They called for someone to take care of the problem while we waited.

Finally, a tech fixed it. The Biscuit Bowl wasn’t number one—but it was number two—right after Our Daily Bread.

“Those ministers are gonna kill us,” Ollie growled. “The only thing I dislike more than a pious person is a pious person who outsells us.”

“Okay. These are the standings,” Alex announced. “As you can see, there are eight of you still alive. These standings are based on how well each of you did in the challenges. It reflects your continued effort as well as meeting the individual challenges. Your score will be higher if you finish the challenge, and if you win the side challenges, like Our Daily Bread with the taste challenge, or winning the cash, like the Biscuit Bowl.”

A producer whispered in his ear.

“That is to say there are still eight of you in the race at this moment. Excuse me.”

“Cut the PC stuff and get on with it,” Bobbie Shields yelled. “We all know Reggie is dead.”

He ignored her. “Grinch’s Ganache is the winner of today’s challenge!”

Daryl and Sarah Barbee took a bow. They were the only ones on their team. I didn’t envy them.

“The prize for the winner today—specially chosen by the food truck race committee—is a free paint job for the outside of their truck at any of more than one thousand locations of Ray’s Airbrush Central nationwide. Congratulations, Grinch’s!”

Everyone applauded, but we were all still tense, waiting to see which of the food trucks were going on to Atlanta, and who was being left behind.

Alex dragged it out. I was sure that was his job. He announced the Biscuit Bowl again as the winner of the cash prize. He commended everyone’s efforts at the singing and skating challenge. Not all eight food trucks had met the challenge. Shut Up and Eat and Fred’s Fish Tacos had both been sidelined.