Page 81 of The Nanny and the Hothead
“Well,” she began, pacing the length of the truck. “It started when I was thirteen.”
“Was it a crush on a movie star or something?” he asked.
She paused, unable to stop herself from smiling. “No, it was more of a crush on two perfect strangers.”
He cocked his head to the side. “I don’t get it?”
She had to go back to the beginning if she wanted him to understand. And strangely, she did. “My parents divorced when I was little. My dad moved to Kentucky. And for a while, when I was a teenager, I used to fly out there for the holidays. I spent a decent amount of time waiting in airports.”
He nodded, giving her space to continue.
She twisted the hair elastic around her wrist. “When I was getting my bags off of the carousel at baggage claim, I saw this guy walk by holding a huge bouquet of red roses and a sign. It was like something out of a movie. I waited there, holding my duffel bag, and watched to see what would happen.”
“You were alone?” Mitch pressed.
A sliver of sadness cut through her, but she ignored the pain. “My dad didn’t want to pay to park the car at the airport. He said it was too expensive. So, I’d sit on the curb until he got there to pick me up—which wasn’t bad unless it was raining or really cold. My visits were an inconvenience to him and his new family. But spending that time in the airport gave me time to observe people and get a look at their inner worlds.”
Mitch exuded a heated intensity. She could sense it coming off of him in tumultuous waves.
“What happened at the baggage carousel with Mr. Cheesy Forever?” he asked, keeping his tone even, but there was a slight edge to his words.
She swallowed hard. Mr. Cheesy Forever was the epitome of a dreamy love-obsessed teenager. But she couldn’t stop herself. The memory sent a bevy of flitting and flapping butterflies to her belly. “The guy had the biggest smile I’d ever seen stretched across his face. I’ll never forget it. But he also looked super nervous. The sign he was holding had,Will you marry me, Charlotte?written in big, loopy letters. I watched as he scanned the area forhisCharlotte. It turned out to be one of the ladies on my flight—another Charlotte. I couldn’t stop staring at them. That’s when I named the man Mr. Cheesy Forever. It popped into my head, and I couldn’t help wondering if one day…” she trailed off.
“If one day, what?” Mitch pressed.
Why did he care?
Her silly heart skipped a beat until another reason for his questioning popped into her head, and the butterflies in her belly disappeared. There was a good chance he wanted to make sure that she wasn’t a crackpot who believed boyfriends descended from the wondrous land of Cheesy to propose marriage in public. Still, in Mitch’s defense, she had thrown a salad at him, spent an evening with him dressed as a mermaid while completely hammered, and had accused him of kidnapping. The guy had plenty of reasons to want to dig a little deeper into herpsycheand make sure she wasn’t apsycho.
She looked up and held his gaze. It was dark, but he wasn’t projecting the hotheaded air he’d given off nonstop when she’d waitressed for him at the Crystal Cricket. Quite the opposite. He gave off the vibe of being genuinely interested.
Still, she had to proceed cautiously.
She thought back to the moment in the airport, standing there in the crowd. Bags in hand, most people had stopped to watch the man take a knee and propose to this lucky Charlotte. The scene was cheesy perfection. Pink-cheeked and breathless, the woman cried while saying yes. The couple kissed. People clapped. She’d played the reel of those few minutes in her head so many times it was almost as if she had been the one who’d said yes that day.
But she wasn’t. And she wasn’t about to disclose that. She’d already said too much.
“What couldn’t you stop thinking about?” Mitch repeated, and despite the genuine ring to his tone, she waved him off.
“It’s nothing. I was a young girl with silly thoughts.” She gestured to the food truck, needing to switch gears. “Can I ask you a question about the signature sandwich?”
Now it was Mitch nodding as if he needed to get back on track, too. “Yeah, but first things first,” he said, opening the back doors. He climbed in, then offered her a hand to join him inside.
She stood in the snug space as Mitch hit a switch and the truck lit up like the Fourth of July.
She gasped. “Wow!”
“Is this your first time on the inside?” he teased, and she welcomed the shift away from her embarrassing explanation of Mr. Cheesy Forever.
She surveyed the space, then ran her fingertips along a large metal sink divided into three parts bolted to the wall beside a much smaller one. “It is. I’m a food truck virgin,” she blathered, then cringed.
“A virgin, you say?” Mitch repeated.
Oh no! Oh no, no, no!
“A food truck virgin,” she corrected. “Not a virgin-virgin, because…you know, the tent and, you were kind of there when…”
Kind of there?
