thought it was a good idea to wear a chef toque in a food truck? To him, she probably still looked like the puff pastry dough boy with a red wig.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said, catching on, a sincere cast to his gaze. “You’ve certainly filled out since then.”
It should be his turn to cringe. Filled out? Now who was saying awkward things? He was trying to fix the unintentional slight, but, still wincing from her childish response, she let him marinate in the iffy-at-best comment rather than immediately letting him off the hook.
His shoulders tensed, and his collar rose slightly up his neck as he must have realized how his statement could come off. “Did not mean to make you uncomfortable, Ms. Winters. Apologies.” Even his cheeks looked a little peachier than earlier on the gorgeous olive-toned tan.
She nodded, appreciating his minor squirm. He was a man of few words, but he’d said the right ones just now. “Call me Lacy.” May as well take advantage and move in while he was in a vulnerable position. “So, what do you say, can I park here during the week? Feed your guys?”
Amused by the obvious battle going on behind those seriously green eyes, Lacy watched as he thought. Ate. And thought more. He glanced over his shoulder to the men on the site who’d stopped working to check out the pink foodmobile. If he’d let her, she’d sell a crateload of food to those men right now. She was ready for this. She knew how to cook, and she’d had a great role model in her father. Maybe she wasn’t completely up to snuff on the finances and business side, but she’d work it out as she went along. She just needed a shot to prove she could deliver on her own. Because, on her own, as it turned out, was how it was going to be. Forever? She shrugged.
Her father had died suddenly—she hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye. Taking over his truck was her homage to him. Plus, it promised to get her out of the four-walled kitchens she’d spent too many hours trapped inside, where stress, too often, drove the show. That wasn’t what she wanted anymore—this was. Outdoors. Hungry guys. She could do with a little less noise, but why be picky?
She was ready to be her own boss, to take charge of her life. This overly bright truck was her ticket to renew her love of cooking and reclaim her independence. She wasn’t looking to get rich, just to get by. She didn’t want to put too much pressure on Zack Gardner or to come off as desperate, but she slipped a subtle please, please, please glance his way. No harm in sending subliminal messages, right?
He was obviously still fighting some internal battle, looking at the other half of his chicken wrap, checking out his work boots, gazing at her silly logo again, then into her hopeful stare. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll try you out three days next week, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and we’ll see how it goes from there.”
It wasn’t a total yes, but it was a maybe, and maybe was better than good enough today. Yes! She’d count it as a victory. Besides, she was bound to win over those hungry-looking men who’d quit sawing and hammering and were still watching the show over by her pink truck. After they’d had a taste of her hearty wraps, they’d be begging their boss to let her come back.
“That’s a deal. May I leave my menus for your men, and heat up a few more hand pies for them to sample as a thank-you? I’ve got a pot of coffee ready to go, too.” She’d thought ahead and set up for half of her hundred-cup coffee maker, just in case. “Just say the word.”
She’d arrived not only hopeful but prepared for success, and now it’d paid off.
His somewhat flirtatious smile alarmed her. It set off a relay of tingles across her neck and shoulders, and strategically dipped below her collarbone, making her glad she wore a full apron over her thin top.
“Sounds like a good idea.”
Putty in her hands! She’d been privileged to see his handsome and far-too-appealing smile again. And it did wonders for her mood.
“Thanks.” And he was thanking her!
She tipped her head and grinned, unashamed how glad she was he’d given her a chance. It was all she asked. Then she got right to work heating a couple dozen assorted hand pies as the coffee brewed. While she did, she couldn’t help but notice that Zack had picked up the rest of his wrap to take home. Oh, yeah, she’d sold him all right. Good food in person was always better than a phone call sales pitch. Thanks, Dad.
“See you Monday,” he said. “We break for lunch at noon.”
“I’ll be here by eleven thirty!”
“Park under those trees.” He pointed to a shady spot across the way. “I’ll rig something up for the men to sit on.”
If that didn’t sound promising for a permanent spot and job, what would?
Grinning, she watched him walk off toward his office, long strides, narrow hips, construction worker arms and shoulders. Once he was inside, after she’d let herself imprint that fine image in her mind—because, come on, no way was he ever going to be more than a nice fantasy in her life—she finished her preparations for the guys. With everything laid out on the counter and the coffee brewed, she honked her Happy Days theme horn, a horn she’d spent an entire day choosing from the usual and long list of food truck horns. She’d chosen that one because she knew it would make her dad grin. She couldn’t help but notice Zack Gardner peering out his modular office window through the blinds at the sound. Then the guys came like zombies to feed at her truck, and she handed each of them a menu to take with them. “I’ll be here next Monday. Be sure to bring your appetites.”
Her cheeks were nearly cramping. She hadn’t smiled this long or hard, or been this happy, since she’d landed her first job as a line cook right out of community college working up to short orders in record time. All without going to culinary school. How’s that for beating the odds, Dad? He’d always been proud of her following in his chosen profession, chief cook and bottle washer.
Sunday afternoon Lacy showed up early for a wedding reception at the Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History. She parked, as instructed, out of sight of the outdoor wedding ceremony on the museum Mission Creek grounds. Four other trucks were there for the three-hour-reception gig. She’d been instructed to serve three different wraps—chicken, steak and vegetarian—and to skip the pies since another truck would be the main cake and dessert truck. Whatever. The job was paying a flat rate, which was fine with her. She’d make a good profit. With the next installment payment on her updated truck overhaul, plus the custom paint job due, she was happy just to be here. And in the day and age of monkey see, monkey do, who knew what other jobs it could lead to.
It was a lovely spring day, California style. The sun was out, temperatures in mid seventies, with only a hint of a breeze. The old and modest museum, designed in the Spanish Colonial Revival style, was located in the Mission Canyon area of Santa Barbara and had been recently renovated. It was beautifully redone, combining minimal architectural improvements to enhance the surrounding nature. Each complementing the other. Literally nestled in riparian oak woodland, the museum setting seemed idyllic for weddings.
Lacy glanced around at the young, hip and rich group arriving in the reception area. The ceremony must be over. A few women even wore hats, maybe influenced by the royal weddings in England over the last few years. Who knew the reason, but those hats dressed up the crowd. It made the occasion extraspecial, which caused Lacy to smile. The few spring pastel dresses mixed with the artsy black many guests chose to wear made for a nice contrast.
She’d
