“Okay. Let me call Miguel.” He massaged my shoulders quickly and then took the empty tray and the money before he left.

What I really needed was some pain-relieving antibiotic spray for my knee. It had been a long time since I’d had a scrape there. I’d forgotten how much it hurt. I couldn’t get to my phone to call Miguel and see if he could find some in the cool-down tent where they kept the first-aid supplies. I was going to have to live with it.

The crowd was much bigger today than it had been in Charlotte. They were all there to watch what was going on and wave to the camera. It seemed like I’d skated through a sea of them before I reached the other side.

Ollie brought more biscuit bowls after I’d emerged from the crowd. He took the money again. “I can’t get in touch with Miguel. I don’t know where he is. I sent Delia to the cool-down tent for some salve for your knee. I’m gonna kick Miguel’s scrawny butt when I see him.”

“Thanks.” I continued skating. “How are we doing on the money?”

“We’ve got a ways to go.” He held up a cup with a straw in it. “Uncle Saul says hot water with lemon is good for your throat. I’d like to kick his scrawny butt, too, but we have to get through this challenge first. Are you okay?”

“Great.”

On the other side of the crowd were the real people heading in for jobs at the downtown businesses. Some were white-collar workers in their suits and ties. Others were retail shop people in various other outfits—more colorful than the suit people. None of them looked very happy.

I heard them grumbling about the delays in traffic because of the food truck race. They were in a hurry to get to their jobs and didn’t have time to stop for a before-work snack. They didn’t mind telling me about it, either.

I saw the minister from Our Daily Bread praying by the crowded sidewalk. A few people stopped, prayed, and bought cinnamon rolls from him. Maybe they felt sorry for him.

I tried my best to think of something I could do to draw positive attention to my biscuit bowls, which were getting cold waiting for me to sell them. Cold biscuit bowls were bad biscuit bowls. I had to come up with something. I realized this was why everyone had expected me to wear tight shorts and a low-cut top.

But I didn’t want that kind of attention. I saw Dante from Stick It Here in his red scarf, talking to a crowd of women who were buying pot stickers and kebabs from him. He was letting them taste first before buying.

I knew what I had to do.

When Ollie came back with the next tray of biscuit bowls, I had him break two of them into smaller pieces.

“We’re going to need a few extra biscuit bowls to give away,” I told him. “Maybe you should bring some napkins back with you, too.”

“Okay. You sound a little hoarse. Drink some more water.” He held the cup again. “I hate to tell you this, but somebody said that Grinch’s Ganache has already sold enough cupcakes to win the challenge.”

“We should keep going anyway. Who knows if that’s true or what else is involved or how they’re going to decide who gets kicked out? Has anyone found the man with the money yet?”

“Not as far as I know.” He squatted in front of me and carefully sprayed antibiotic pain relief on my knee. “Is that okay? I can pull up your pants leg if you need me to.”

I breathed a sigh of relief right away. “No. That feels better already. Thanks, Ollie. Any word from Miguel?”

He snorted. “Nothing, otherwise he’d be running this stuff out here. Is something wrong with him?”

“Not as far as I know.” I pushed what Helms and Marsh had told me out of my thoughts. No way Miguel had anything to do with the cords being cut in the parking garage or Reggie’s death. I didn’t believe that for a second.

I had to focus on finishing the challenge.

The camera crews had switched from following the food truck team members to interviewing the people on their way to work—probably for the taste challenge. I heard a few workers curse at them. One man loudly told a cameraman to get out of his face.

What happened to the South being so friendly?

My voice sounded a little stronger after the lemon water. I switched to all the patriotic songs I could think of—“The Star-Spangled Banner,” four verses; anything I had ever heard that sounded like “God Bless America.”

I engaged the slightly hostile crowd and offered them free samples as I skated by the steps of another large building. People were really starting to pack into the city. I glanced at my watch; it was seven thirty.

A few more people bought biscuit bowls from me. One man bought a peach biscuit bowl for breakfast and a spicy chicken biscuit bowl for lunch. I sold two peach biscuit bowls to a woman in a dashing red suit with a matching hat. Loved her look!

I had to tell her how gorgeous she was. That was when I was struggling to make change for her twenty-dollar bill. I didn’t say it just to sell her a biscuit bowl.

One of the members of Pizza Papa’s team had dropped his tray of mini pizzas on the sidewalk. I’d thought when I saw him skating with a tray in each hand that he was doomed. He was shaky on his skates and had forgotten all about singing. Antonio pushed through the crowd to help him. The closest cameraman took pictures of the whole thing.

I was down to one peach biscuit bowl when Ollie finally came back.

“We’re having a few issues with the deep fryer.” He replaced my empty tray with a full one. “That’s the bad news.”

I groaned. “How bad is it?”

“Like it-will-never-deep-fry-another-biscuit bad.”

Oh no. At home, I’d know where to get that fixed, or replaced, on credit. What are we going to do out here?

“Don’t give up yet. Saul is looking at it. He thinks he might be able to do something with it.”

My legs and feet hurt, especially my knee. My lips were chapped and my throat was sore. I was ready to sit down with a cup of coffee and take a break.

“The good news is—this is it! Sell this tray, and you’re done with the challenge.” He held up the lemon water again.

I waved it away. “I can’t drink any more of that stuff.”

“You have to. You have to stay hydrated. The fish taco truck was out in front until his assistant passed out from dehydration. They had to take him to the hospital. They dropped out of the challenge because they only had one skater. Drink the water. Sell the biscuit bowls. Keep singing.”

I did as he said because I knew he was right, but I was almost too tired to care.

When Ollie was gone, I pushed myself to sell the last eight biscuit bowls. I wished I’d thought to ask if anyone had won the money yet. I knew it didn’t really matter. I had to concentrate on getting rid of the biscuit bowls.

I thought for a few seconds about buying them myself and eating them, but I knew that would be the moment all the cameras would focus on me.

I saw a group of businessmen in nice suits walking toward a building with a double green door on the front at street level. I skated toward them, and into them, when I couldn’t stop.

Miraculously, I didn’t drop anything.

“Sorry.” I smiled as they helped me settle my tray and held me upright for a moment.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing out here selling food on the street?” One of them was a handsome man who had a sweet, smoky drawl that even managed to tingle my weary senses.

“It’s that food truck thing,” one of the other men told him—not so handsome and a little nasal.

“These look very good,” smoky, sweet said, not only looking at my biscuits, either. “I think we could use five of them for our morning meeting, don’t you, Roger? Pay the woman.”

Roger (nasal) quickly took out his wallet and gave me forty dollars for the five biscuit bowls. “Keep the change, and look for a new job.”

Forty dollars! That was well over my hundred-and-fifty-dollar goal. I almost started crying, I was so grateful to be done with it. I still had three biscuit bowls left, but that didn’t matter since the challenge was for the money and not how much product we could sell.