Page 113 of The Nanny and the Hothead
He closed the metal door. “We used up the food we had for today’s lunch rush. But I started packing a hidden stash way back when we first started taking Louise out.”
That didn’t make sense. “Why? Why not keep everything together?”
A sentimental, almost sad look marred his features. “Back when we started the food truck, it was about making a profit. We’d sell out quickly—sometimes in less than an hour. But once the lunch crowd thinned, we’d get people coming up, asking if there were scraps or burnt sandwiches. They were in search of anything we were throwing out.”
“What did you do?”
He sighed and leaned against the counter. “I felt like shit when I had to tell them we were out of everything. These people were hungry and often homeless or living in their cars. So, after that one time, when I didn’t have anything to give them, I decided I’d keep a little extra hidden away for just that reason. Seth, Holly, and I barely had two nickels to rub together back then. But those people didn’t deserve scraps. Nobody does.”
She held her breath, watching the man. It was the first time he’d mentioned his previous food truck partners without looking like he wanted to pound his fist through the wall. He had no idea what he’d done—no idea what a monumental step he’d taken.
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she replied, smiling up at him. “I get wanting to help. But you’re not charging anything. The sign on the window says as much. This is a gift to the city. It doesn’t matter who comes up to the window. Everyone eats for free.”
He stared at a cluster of photos. “Old habits are hard to break. But I thought of something we could do with the extra today,” he finished, turning away from the images and meeting her gaze. “Grab your camera.”
Before she could blink, Mitch was prepping the truck to go. He closed the order window, secured several latches, then helped her out of the back.
“Where are we going exactly?” she asked as he opened her door.
“It’s a surprise,” he answered, sliding into the driver’s seat.
A surprise?
“We don’t have time for surprises, Mitch. We don’t have time to make a pit stop. Especially one where you plan to cook,” she exclaimed, then blew out a hot breath. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of rolling up and handing out your delicious grilled cheese sandwiches, but—”
“So, you think my food is delicious?” he interrupted as he started the truck, then hit the gas.
This man was infuriating!
She crossed her arms. “Why do you think I endured waitressing for you? The ambiance of the constant hotheadedness? The tips were decent, but the real perk was the thirty seconds you gave your staff to shovel a few bites of the daily special into their mouths.”
“Jeez! You can unleash the redheaded hothead when you want to,” he remarked, taking a turn.
“Mitch, I’m serious. We can’t be late. We have to get to Whitmore on time,” she cautioned.
“We’re fine. Trust me. This will be a Charlotte-approved activity—not unlike scouring the forest for wood.”
Had he lost his ever-loving mind?
“What does that even mean, Mitch? And there better not be any skunks or owls where we’re headed,” she warned.
“It’s Colorado, Charlotte. You’d be hard-pressed to go anywhere that doesn’t have at least one of those creatures in the vicinity.”
She collapsed into the seat. “What I wouldn’t give to be holding an avocado, cucumber, and tomato salad,” she mumbled, causing the man next to her to break out into laughter. “Laugh all you want, hothead. Just know, I’m not messing around.”
He glanced at her. “I know you’re not. I know you mean business. You get a little line between your eyes when you get mad.”
She slapped her hand to her forehead. “I do not!”
“You do. It’s sort of adorable,” he countered.
She sat there, staring at his profile, then slowly lowered her hand. How was she supposed to respond to that? And what was going on with them—besides out-of-this-world sex and a crazy attraction that seemed to intensify with each passing second?
She looked out the window as the school came into view. “How is Whitmore the big surprise?” she asked as he passed the pickup lane and the parking lot. “Are we going to drive around and around the school in circles, searching for someone to feed?”
“Something like that,” he said, looking mighty pleased with himself as they pulled up on the far side of the school near the playground. A group of children were seated beneath a leafy oak when one child—Oscar—sprang to his feet and waved his hands in the air. The other kids followed suit, jumping and dancing around beneath the tree.
