Page 24 of Long Shot

I’m all but rubbing my hands together, contemplating the amazing things we can turn out.

Secretly.

I sit in the back of the vehicle on the way back to Conquistadors, wrinkling my nose, staring out the window as we cruise along Interstate 805. I shouldn’t get excited about this. I’m just helping out Sid, giving him a few ideas, maybe teaching him a few things. It’s not my restaurant; it’s not even my job. In fact, I probably shouldn’t be doing this, going behind my bosses’ backs. I’m putting this job at risk, and I kind of like this job.

For now.

Sure, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life waitressing. But thinking about the future scares the crap out of me, so I don’t think about it. I just think about right now. I think about the people I work with, who are all good people. I think about the regulars at the bar, even Helena and Joe who argue all the time. I think about Carrie and Hayden inviting me to help plan paint night. And I think about Cade . . .

No. I can’t think about Cade.

Other than he’s a decent boss. Compared to others I’ve had. Yeah, that’s all.

Back at the bar, first up is a discreet lesson on making fresh guacamole. “We can jazz it up, too,” I tell Sid. “With some spicy pepitas. And salsa.” Sid watches me with wide eyes as I expertly and rapidly chop cilantro.

Watching me next stir together some cayenne pepper, black pepper, cumin, ancho chiles, salt, and lime juice, Sid asks, “How’d you know how many avocados to buy?”

I shrug. “Lucky guess.” And years of experience. “And here’s another idea that I think is pretty easy.” I grab a loaf of ciabatta. “Calabacitas toast. We have to make the calabacitas . . . with these zucchini . . . slice them up thinly.”

Sid gets to work on that while I slice up the bell peppers and onions, and cut kernels off cobs of corn. I show him how to make the dish, adding oaxaca cheese to get all melty. Yum. “Then we’ll layer the refried beans onto the ciabatta and top with the calabacitas.”

Okay, I’ve spent as much time as I can in the kitchen. It’s time for me to start my shift and I need to change out of the jeans and T-shirt I wore to Food Depot and into one of the black dresses required for serving staff at Conquistadors. I packed a stretchy dress in my purse earlier along with a change of footwear, so I hurry to the staff room to get them.

Cade

“This is unbelievable.” I look up from the appetizer. “Sid made this?”

“Yeah.” Beck shrugs. “It’s fucking fantastic, right?”

“Amazing.” I take another bite of the chewy bread topped with spicy veggies and cheese. “Definitely a keeper.”

“People are raving about the guacamole, too,” Marco adds. “He made it fresh today instead of using the stuff we usually buy.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah. He needs to keep this up. We want word to get out that our food is good.”

I shake my head. “Definitely. Make sure to tell him, so he knows.”

“Positive feedback,” Beck says. “Already did, but he’s hearing it from the serving staff, too.” He pauses. “You okay?”

I don’t pretend to not know what Beck is talking about. I still sense Beck’s frustration and displeasure with me. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Beck gives me a long, hard look, then a chin lift, and leaves the office.

I sigh. I suspect I’m being more stubborn than traumatized. I do have that damn obstinate streak in me that sometimes makes me a tad inflexible. But it also gives me the determination to succeed, to never give up. I just need to be aware of when something is worth fighting on for, or when it’s time to let go.

I also possibly kept fucking around with all different women for too long, trying to prove I’m still a man. Goddamn, sometimes I’m an idiot.

That realization also might have something to do with the fact that right now there’s only one woman who interests me, and it’s not just to get into her panties. She’s also the one woman I can’t be with.

The look on her face when I asked about Jack . . . she didn’t want to lose that ugly mutt. But she won’t adopt him because she doesn’t know how long she’ll be staying in San Diego. When she told me that the other day I felt like punching something. What the fuck is up with that? Why’d she move here if she doesn’t like it? If she doesn’t plan to stay?

She raises all these questions in my head, and I want to know more. I want to know her.

I rise out of my chair and stride out of the office. Christ, just thinking about her makes me want to see her.

It’s happy hour on Friday and Conquistadors is packed. Tequila specials are being poured like crazy, Alex is shaking up margaritas and mixing Palomas, and tables are full. I search out Reese.

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