Page 88 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

What the hell?

What is going on?

I squint at the time on my phone. “Babe, it’s 7:13AM. I haven’t had caffeine. My hair looks like a crime scene. What are you doing?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He grabs my hand and pulls. “Come on.”

Groaning, I let him lead me. “Where? Chase, I don’t even have a damn bra on.” I’m exasperated.

He kisses my temple. “You’ll see. I’ll shield your boobies.” Grabbing a hoodie from the hall closet, he hands it to me.

I mumble, “It’s like September, babe. It’s a bazillion degrees outside.” But I slip it on and shove the sleeves to my elbows.

Ten minutes later, we pull into a mostly empty lot near downtown. Something is gleaming white in the early morning sun.

I look closer and gape. “Is that?—”

He beams as he jumps out and runs around the hood to pull open my door. “Yup. She’s mine.”

Jumping down, I face him, cupping his cheeks. “Chase West, is this your food truck?!”

“Yup.” He throws his arms wide. “Finally finalized the lease to park her here. Signed the paperwork. Wrapped the loan. She’s officially mine.”

I squeal, “Babe!,” launching myself at him,

He catches me midair. My legs wrap around his waist as he spins me around. “You like her?” His hands are on my ass.

“I love her!” I lean down, kissing him hard. When we come up for air, I almost yell, “She’s perfect. You’re perfect. This is perfect.”

He laughs. “You haven’t seen her yet. Want the grand tour?”

“Hell yes.”

Inside, the truck smells faintly of new paint and big dreams.

Counters gleam. Some appliances shine. The layout’s cozy but completely functional. Everything has a place and a purpose.

He walks me through every detail, pointing out where the fryer he’s ordered is going, shows me composite sketches of the cabinets he’s installing, and even pulls up the listing for the chalkboard menu on his phone.

“Her name is Foxy Roxy,” he adds casually.

I freeze. “What?”

He grins. “Actually, it’s called Foxy Roxy’s Fork Yeah! After you, obviously.”

He named his food truck after me?

He’s too much. He loves me too much.

“Chase...”

As if he’s a mind reader, he asks, “Too much? Too late to change it now. It’s registered.”

I blink fast, trying not to start sobbing in the middle of this stupidly amazing food truck with the crazy man that married me, and no matter what I’ve done to make him leave, he’s been steadfast and stubborn in his adoration. I swallow. “It’s just… you’re crazy. Why do you love me so much you incredible, sexy man?”

He steps closer. “I am crazy. About you, Rox. And the answer is easy… you’re my everything. Duh.”

Damnit, Chase West.

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