I blinked away the moisture in my eyes and climbed my way into the truck, where I could still hear Finn and Liam chatting about their mother. I intentionally made a show of my entrance, loudly stumbling and hitting the door so that they knew I was coming—and their discussion immediately halted.
“There she is!” Finn exclaimed and came over to give me a hug. “Excited?”
“I think I’m going to puke.”
Liam smirked as he met my gaze and placed the pre-rolled macaroni and cheese bites into the fridge. “Come on, now. This is the exciting time. We can puke when we look at the books after the first week.”
“Great, that’s just what I needed to hear.” I rolled my eyes as Liam hooked an arm around my neck. I had no control over the way my heart sped up in response to the close contact—or the flush that surged across my neck and chest from where his wrist brushed the side of my cheek.
Finn hitched his thumb and pointed at his chest. “The good news is that, now that you’re here, I can go back to work in the café before Neil gets even grumpier.”
“Uh-oh. I take it his mood hasn’t improved since the other night?”
Liam grunted and, with a quick pat on my shoulder, released his hold on me. “Seeing Elaina stirred up the Grinch in him. Besides, I don’t think his mood has been good since they got back from New York.”
“And lucky me,” Finn said, “I get to work with him while you’re running the food truck.”
Liam winced. “Sorry, man. I really appreciate it, though. Hopefully the food truck will sell out of all the goods in record time each day and I’ll have the time to run both spots.”
I blew out a breath and the ball of anxiety in my chest coiled even tighter. “Let’s hope so.”
“Come on,” Liam said, jerking his head in the direction of Beefcakes. “We’ve got a few more trips to load up the truck with the food. Then… it’s official. We’re open for business!”
14 Liam
Chloe was tweeting and instagramming like a madwoman, making sure anyone who cared would knew that we were parked smack dab in the center of town.
The only problem was, we were supposed to close for the day in thirty minutes and we’d only sold half of our inventory. It didn’t even cover the cost of what I’d baked for today.
Chloe paced the tiny space behind me, out of the way from any customer’s eyes. Not that we had any. I waved goodbye to sweet Mrs. Langley, who’d heard from my mom about this latest food truck venture and had walked into town, searching for the truck just to buy something and support my first day.
If I was being honest, that’s how I’d describe most of our customers on this first day… friends and family who came by to support us. A few people passing by bought the occasional ice cream sandwich. But mostly it was d-e-a-d … dead.
I opened the fridge. At least the ice cream sandwiches and mac and cheese balls would keep for another day, but the donuts and brownies were another story. I’d probably drop them off at the kids’ day camp on my way home.
“No, no, no,” Chloe said into the phone, her laugh a little too high-pitched and frenetic to sound genuine. “It’s nothing on our end. I would just hate for you to send out a crew for a story outside on a day like today. It’s pushing ninety degrees out here…” She paused, clearing her throat. “Uh-huh. I see. Okay, then, we’ll see you in a few minutes.”
I leaned against the countertop, watching as Chloe dropped her forehead to her phone. “Channel Five News will be here in a few minutes for our ‘grand opening.’” She threw air quotes around the words and tossed her phone gently on the counter. “What do we do? We have no customers outside. What sort of terrible marketing consultant am I if I couldn’t even attract enough customers for us to break even on our grand opening?”
I crossed over to her and placed my hands on her arms. Heat fractured its way through my skin, sending a lightning bolt of awareness jerking up my body. “Hey,” I said, gently. “You’re not a failure. This was only our first day.”
Her big blue eyes filled with moisture as she blinked up at me, but the tears quickly dissipated. Thank God. That’s all I needed… to be caught bawling with Chloe on our local news channel.
“They wouldn’t reschedule the interview?”
Chloe shook her head. “Nope. It’s now or never. I guess they’re booked for the next week at least.”
Chloe broke free of the hold I had on her shoulders, and that heat disappeared along with her soft skin and sweet scent. She crossed the small length of the truck and leaned on the counter, dropping her chin to her hands.
“Maybe we should cancel the interview,” I offered. “They say they can’t rebook right now, but maybe in a couple of weeks on a slow news day when we’ve found our groove—”
“Wait a minute. Doesn’t Nick’s Pizzeria have a happy hour that starts early on Wednesdays?”
“Um. I think so?”
Chloe was on her feet, pushing me toward the driver’s seat. “Get us there. Now. I’ll call and tell the station to meet us two blocks down!”
“What? Chloe, this is crazy. Nick serves pizza. He’s going to be pissed if we poach his customers—”
“I don’t care! Image means everything in these early stages! Step on it!”
I did what she said and drove us to the end of Main Street where Nick’s Pizzeria was. His outdoor patio was already jam packed for Wine Wednesday and there was a line of about ten people waiting for tables out front.
We quickly hopped out
