Dining with Joy (9 page)

Luke laughed. “Am I going to regret this?”

“Maybe.” Joy eyed Luke under the waitress's arm as she tried to meet him halfway with his drink. Her tray bobbled. Luke grabbed his glass and steadied the tray.

“If I spilled another one, I think they'd fire me.” She smiled a sad smile.

“Hang in there. It takes time.” Luke lightly touched her shoulder. “You'll get it.”

Luke caught Joy's eye. She was watching him. And he felt his heart sink a little deeper. As he transitioned onto the show, the last thing Luke needed was the complication of falling for Joy.

From the small corner stage, Mitch started another song, the rhythm of his guitar and the smoky texture of his voice pushing Luke to a peaceful, melancholy place.

At the end of the day
it's about loving you
like the rain on the meadow
with sweet drops of dew

A group of marines pushed through the crowd toward the deck doors, shoving Joy against Luke. He peered at her, nodding his head toward the doors.

“Wanna go for a walk?”

She set her glass on the table and whispered something to Elle, then opened the double doors and stepped onto the deck.

Out on the deck, the air seemed so still. The river so quiet. The melody of Mitch's next song pressed through the glass.

“Seems like the whole riverwalk is listening to Mitch.” Joy inhaled, lifting her face to the array of stars settled deep in the dark sky.

“Do you want to go back inside?” Luke jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “If you want to listen—”

“The night air feels good.” Her focus remained on the stars, but after a moment, she looked at Luke. “I'm not thrilled about you joining the show. But I won't interfere, won't make it hard for you or any of the crew.”

“If you were in my place, would you turn down such an offer?”

Her eyes narrowed a bit. “I was in your place, kind of, and no, I didn't turn down the offer.” The long strands of her hair sailed on the breeze. “The kiss . . . I'm not sure why . . .” She shrugged. “It just felt right, but I want you to know I'm not one who goes around kissing strange men. Onstage. For show.”

If that kiss was for show, Luke didn't want to imagine a real one.

“I'm not one who lets strange women kiss me. Onstage. For show.”

“It was the moment . . . just the moment.”

Luke tucked his fingers into his jeans pockets.
Sometimes the night, trimmed with city lights, became a friend, a guardian for hearts to speak freely
. “What
was
the moment, Joy? You turned over the pork chop, I whipped together a batch of runny peach ice cream?”

“I've been asking myself that all weekend.” Joy started down Luther's walkway toward the river.

. . . and sometimes the night, trimmed with city lights, became a guardian for hearts to hide
.

“Anything I should know about the show?” Luke moved the conversation to safer ground.

“No, but,” she spun to face him, “it is my show. The crew depends on me. I depend on them.”

“I used to watch
Dining with Charles
.”

“He loved doing his show.”

“I could tell. I actually modified one of his recipes for the restaurant I worked for at the time.”

“And how do you like
Dining with Joy
?”

“I think I'm going to like
Dining with Joy
.” The double meaning of Luke's answer boomeranged in his ears. “The show. I mean, well, I haven't been able to watch because I was running a restaurant.

But—”

“I'm not sure it matters, Luke. Everything's changing with Allison as producer now. You as cohost.” Joy started down the riverwalk. “I never said thanks for helping me with Wenda. So, thank you.”

Oh, she'd thanked him. Plenty. Over and over, every time the kiss crept across his mind. “It was good to see her stunned, without words.”

“I think the entire universe noticed.” Joy walked backward, facing Luke. “Are you a runner, Luke?”

“Once upon a time. Played some ball in high school.” He quickened his step to keep up with her.

“Want to race?”

“Want to race?” He lifted his eyebrows. “To where?”

“There.” She motioned behind her to the drawbridge, dropping her flip-flops with each consecutive step.

“I think I could race you—”

“Go!” Joy swooped up her shoes, dangling them from her fingers as she jetted down the pavement, her heels kicking high, the hem of her dress twisting around her legs.

Luke shook his head. Really, he should just let her run . . . leave her hanging . . . but, yeah, he wasn't crazy. He fired off after her, the soles of his sneakers in rhythm with his racing heart as he lengthened his stride to close the gap between them.

“Joy? Luke? Are you ready? Let 's make this run-through as painless as possible.” Ryan directed from his booth in the far corner of the studio. “Rolling tape, cue music, Joy coming to you in . . . five, four, three, two—”

Joy crossed the set, smiling, and stopped on her mark by the counter.

“Welcome to the fourth season of
Dining with Joy
.” The opening music played under her greeting. “I'm Joy Ballard, and we are thrilled to be airing this fall on TruReality. We have some great things in store for you, including more wild and zany Stupid Cooking Tricks. But first up, meet my cohost this season, Chef Luke Redmond.”

Luke walked onto the set, stiff, wearing jeans and a plaid snapbutton shirt. Allison asked him to come in his street clothes . . . Joy grinned. She'd had fun with him the other night, racing along the riverwalk, blistering the soles of her feet. But oh, it felt good to run.

Then she'd stumbled, and Luke swooped her up in his arms without missing stride and ran with her all the way back to Luther's. When he'd set her down on the back deck, her knees buckled.

Oh my.
. .

Remembering it now made her face warm.

“Hey, everyone. It's good to be here.” Luke gave a windshield wiper wave at the camera. Then he smiled at Joy. Stiff-lipped and lifeless.

Joy reared back. What the heck happened to Luke? She cut through the air with a wave of her hand. “Wait, hold on a second. Where's Luke Redmond?” Shielding her eyes, Joy peered off set. “Will the real Luke Redmond come onto the set? Luke? Oh, Luke . . .” She walked out of the kitchen into the bowels of the studio, Reba and camera two following. “Luke, where are you? Some robotic dude with a pompadour is impersonating you.”

“Your stylist did this to me.” Luke smashed his hair against the side of his head. But the gelled and sprayed ends bounced right back.

“Allison, really, are you going to let him tape my show looking like a Channel 9 anchor?” She waited for Allison to call cut. Or Ryan. But neither did, so Joy went on with the rehearsal. “We are
so
having a meeting with the stylist later today.”

“So, Joy, how was your weekend?” Luke's cold monotone read from the teleprompter tempted her to laugh. The image of the cowboy sweeping her off her feet in the middle of the footrace the other night challenged her sense of reality. Had it been a dream? Did she really feel his muscled arms beneath her back? After he settled her on Luther's deck, he disappeared into the darkness in search of her flung-from-her-fingers flip-flops.

“How was my weekend?”
Lovely. Really lovely
. “Luke, don't ask.” Joy tossed a couple of almonds from the prop dish into her mouth. One of
Dining with Joy
's hallmarks was sampling food related to the recipe throughout the show. She directed Luke with her eyes to reach for some almonds. “I had a date.” She recited from the script. “An unbelievable date.”

“Good unbelievable or bad unbelievable?” Luke's line didn't sound as plastic this time.

“Bad, bad, bad.” In past seasons, Joy bantered with a crew member off camera, but with Luke on set now, she'd written the script to include him. Allison loved it. Next show, Luke would have a whopping wild tale of how he learned to surf.

“How bad is bad?” Luke read, gathering a few almonds with his fingers.

Joy and the crew chorused. “Real bad.”

A circus ditty played, and when it faded, Joy started her story.

“He was supposed to pick me up at seven, but by seven thirty I was getting worried. I called his cell.” Joy popped another few almonds into her mouth. The routine forced her to slow down, breathe, think, and engage the viewer with her storytelling. “He didn't answer, so I left a message. At eight,” she angled toward the camera, “he's an hour late and still no call. Ladies, do not put up with this nonsense. Eight-o-five, he calls.”

She paused for Luke to read next. After another second of silence, she peered up to prompt him. “Luke?”

But his face beamed red and he grabbed at his throat. “Wa-
ter
.”

“Cut!” Joy called. “Luke, are you okay?”

“Wa-
ter
.”

Garth appeared on the scene, twisting open a bottle of water from the snack cart and passing it to Luke. He chugged, gulping and gasping. After a moment the red on his cheeks faded. But when he'd drained the water bottle, the color returned to his face.

“Sorry, y'all.” He averted his gaze as faint snickers traced around the back of the studio. “Never choked on an almond before in my life.”

“Are you all right?” Joy dipped low to peer into his eyes. He'd carried her when racing blistered her feet. She'd not chide him about this. Being on camera could be nerve-wracking. She'd had her throat close up more than once.

“Luke?” Allison slapped her clipboard on the edge of the kitchen set. “Avoid the almonds from now on. Just relax and read the script. Let us know when you're ready.” She backed away with a shaky smile at TruReality's Dan Greene, who'd flown in from New York for the first week of taping.

“Luke, are you ready?” Ryan called.

Nodding, Luke stood on his mark.

“Five, four, three, two—”

“Women go for men like him all the time.” Luke's voice remained weak from the almond dust. His line carried no spark or energy.

“Cut, cut,” Allison interjected, waving her hands.

Joy exhaled. It was going to be a long day.

“Luke.” Allison came around to the set. “Where's your intensity and charm? The Luke I loved at the cook-off?” She patted his back. “Relax. Be yourself. Go off script if you need to. Imagine the lights are the stars, the cameras are the sailboats off the South Carolina shore.”

Luke's countenance stiffened, and he reached for a second bottle of water handed over by Garth. “I'm fine, Allison. I don't need to turn the lights into stars.”

Allison regarded him for a moment, then backed away. “All right then. Ryan, whenever you're ready.”

Joy bent toward Luke. “Want to pull it together before Dan Greene changes TruReality's mind about us?”

He twisted the cap onto his water bottle. “I am together. I'm the same man who saved you from Wenda Divine.”

“Saved me? More like interfered. I was doing fine on my own.”

“Fine on your own? Really? How'd that go again?” Luke gathered three limes from a prep bowl. They were for the drink recipe coming up later. “Did you hear the one about the peach, banana, and pear?” His attempt to juggle started the crew laughing. “Look, I'm Joy Ballard. I can juggle.” When one of the limes went wild, Joy scurried off her mark.

“You are
so
not me. And you
so
can't juggle.” Joy elbowed him out of the way and snatched the floating limes from the air. “This is how Joy Ballard juggles.” She arched the fruit in a fluid, circular motion.

Luke hip-butted her, trying to cut in and catch the limes. They fell to the floor with a dull thud. Joy glanced at Sharon, who stood by camera one, gaping. “We're going to need new limes.”

“Perfect.” Allison rushed the stage. “This is what I'm talking about. More of this kind of action.” She smiled over her shoulder at Dan. “Didn't I tell you? Magic.”

Nine

When the heat faded from the evening, Joy settled on the back porch with her laptop and watched her mama stride across the lawn with their neighbor, Miss Dolly, trailing after her, wagging her finger.

When Mama stopped short, Miss Dolly crashed into her and their argument rose on the breeze.

Launching e-mail to the melody of Mama's rebuttal to Miss Dolly, Joy scanned her Inbox. In the week they'd been taping, Joy learned one solid truth about Allison. The woman
loved
e-mail.

Subject: Show Prep

Subject: My Beaufort Address

Subject: Recipe Ideas

Subject: Reality segments

Subject: Photo Shoot Food & Wine Cover Next Week. Monday!

Subject: Luke's hair

Joy laughed.
Luke's hair
. She was getting used to the pompadour. And more and more she honed the notion that Luke wasn't just her way out of Wenda's Water Festival cook-off trap but her way out of the web Duncan Tate had taught her to weave.

She had to convince Allison to assign Luke all of the show's cooking segments. It just made sense. While he simmered, chopped, and pureed, she'd ski down a mountain, munching on one of his recipes. While he taught the world how to spice up everyday macaroni, Joy could tape Joywalking segments, exploring the lives of singles, the dating scene, and cooking.

Luke could develop his own recipes with Sharon. Then, through the miracle of editing and Ryan's genius, Luke could actually appear lively and energetic on camera.

Luke was the
Tru
element of the show. Joy, the
Reality
. The notion had her wide-awake at three o'clock this morning. Even as the day faded, the idea stirred Joy with vigor.

She composed a new message to Allison.

Allison,

Great show this week. Seems we're working through the bumps okay, don't you think? I have several ideas for bits we might add, upping the “wow” factor TruReality is so into.