Page 82 of The Nanny and the Hothead
Was her brain short-circuiting?
“Right! Got it,” he blathered, his complexion turning a rosy hue. “I’m the opposite, I guess. Lots of experience—inside a food truck. Cooking inside a food truck. And of course, we’ve already verified that you’re not a virgin-virgin since we…”
This had to stop, or she’d melt into a pool of auburn mortification.
“Yep, I think we’ve clarified the whole virgin food truck side of things,” she replied with a wave of her hand as if she were making a royal decree.
“How about I give you the quick lay of the land since this is your first time…inside of a food truck?” he finished, blessedly getting through the question without dropping another virgin bomb.
“Yes, God, yes! Lay it all out,” she exclaimed. And dammit! She had to take it down a notch. She blew out a slow breath. “Please, continue.”
He nodded, doing that weird head shake thing as if he were trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain. He gestured to the stainless-steel interior. “The truck’s got a similar setup to the kitchen at the Crystal Cricket, only condensed. He pointed as he spoke. “We’ve got the fire extinguisher, ventilation over the cooktop, fridge, freezer. Paper supplies are above the window in the bins. The water tanks and the generator are housed below.”
She glanced around. “Why are there four sinks?”
Good! She’d asked a question that didn’t have the wordvirginin it.
“The divided one is to wash, rinse, and sanitize. The smaller one with the mirror above it is for us to wash our hands.” He tapped a strip above the cooktop. “Order tickets go here.”
“Got it,” she answered. This was good non-sexual information. She took in the space, then spied a small bin with office supplies and a roll of tape. It reminded her of another totally non-sexual thing they needed to do. “Here,” she said, handing him the tape.
He frowned. “Why are you giving me this?”
She scanned the walls, covered in pictures. “For the Polaroids Oscar gave you. You said—”
“Yeah, right,” he interrupted, pulling the images from his pocket before gazing at the flurry of photos plastered to the walls as the color drained from his face.
Crap!
“What about here?” she offered, finding a bit of unused real estate near the order window.
Mitch taped the Polaroids to the glass, staring hard at them. It was like he was doing everything in his power not to see the other photos, the old photos of his past life. He stepped back and took in the new additions—the off-center shot of Oscar and the one of her and Mitch with Louise in the background.
“All good,” he said in a voice that sounded quite the opposite.
Her gaze flicked from the new Polaroids to an older picture—a picture that, like the others, contained three people. She focused on Holly and the other man. At first glance, this picture looked like the rest. But her eye caught the slight deviation. In this shot, while Mitch was smiling for the camera, the two others in the photo were looking at each other.
And it came together.
“Holly was your girlfriend, and this guy was your best friend. You started Say Cheese, Louise together. Am I right?” she asked.
He turned away from her, clutched the lip of the counter, and dropped his head. “I should have taken the pictures down a long time ago.”
“But you didn’t,” she countered gently.
He straightened, staring ahead at a batch of images. He plucked one from the wall. “I met Holly and Seth when I was seventeen. We started Say Cheese, Louise when we were barely twenty-one. I thought I had everything back then—the girl of my dreams and the best friend who was more like a brother.” He set the picture on the counter. “I guess I wouldn’t really know. I was an only child. My parents died when I was young. My grandpa Bruce had custody of me, but I pretty much raised myself. What I had with Seth and Holly had felt solid—like what a family ought to be. We were content to happily bust our asses, barely making enough cash to survive when a producer contacted us. They wanted to film our journey starting Say Cheese, Louise. We were so excited. It was a huge opportunity, but it changed everything.”
“It made you rich,” she offered. “That can’t be so bad.”
He studied the picture on the counter. “It opened more doors than we could imagine. But after shooting the first season, the show shifted its emphasis from the three of us to me. I didn’t think it would be a problem. We were a team. My success was their success. But I was blind to what was happening right in front of me.”
An affair. And then, a baby.
“You thought that Oscar was Seth’s son,” she supplied.
He nodded, looking away.
“How did you find out he was yours?” she asked, her heart breaking for the man.
