Page 30 of Welcome Home, Katie Gallagher
My salivary glands went nuts when I stepped into a cupcake shop. Oh my goodness; everything looked gorgeous and delicious! My stomach rumbled and I slapped a hand over it.
Just then, a woman walked out of the back room. “Afternoon, hon. What can I get for you? The white chocolate raspberry are amazing today.”
My stomach rumbled again, louder.
She laughed. “I heard that. Which one looks good to you, and would you like a drink to go with it?”
My face flamed. “Sorry. Honestly, they all look delicious, but I’m here for a job. Are you hiring?”
Her smile dropped. “Oh. Sorry. This time of year, it’s too slow to afford more help. I can handle things myself. Try again in late May. I usually hire a part-time assistant then.”
Nodding, I replied, “I understand. Thanks anyway.”
As I turned, she said, “Are you sure you don’t still want one?”
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry,” I lied as I stepped out the door.
Standing on the sidewalk, I took in the gorgeous park and harbor. The trees were aflame in red and gold. I might starve, but I’d do it in picturesque surroundings. There was that.
I was just about to dash across the street, to try my luck with the shops on that side, when someone yelled.
“Yo, Red. You wanna dog?”
I spun, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from. A man was leaning out of a food truck, his arms braced on the counter, watching me.
I walked over and stood before his counter. “Actually, I wanna job.”
He shrugged. “Buy a dog and we’ll talk about a job.”
Squinting, I took in his blotchy face and bloodshot eyes. “Really? Or are you just trying to sell me a hot dog?”
He laughed before taking a large gulp of water. “Oh, I’m definitely trying to sell the dog, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a job, too.”
I went up on tiptoe and tried to see inside. “It’s clean in there, isn’t it?”
“Not as clean as it’s going to be once you get to work. Now, do you want that dog?”
“How much?” I was calculating how long the money I had would need to last.
“Seven bucks.”
Stepping back, I looked around. “What is this, a baseball stadium? Seven bucks for a hot dog is robbery. No wonder I’m the only person standing here.”
I turned to leave, but he held up his hand. “For that seven bucks, you get a dog, a drink, and a possible job. Seems like a good deal to me.”
He had a point. As if on cue, my stomach rumbled again. He sniggered, pointing. “Gotcha! Now, whaddaya want on it?”
I gave up the seven bucks and ordered a dog with chili, cheese, and jalapeños. When he handed it to me, I was hit with the overpowering stench of sour, stale booze. Either he bathed in it or it was seeping from his pores. Given his rough appearance and bloodshot eyes, I was going with the latter.
I had to stop myself from inhaling the hot dog. I opened my mouth to take a bite and then thought better of it. “Do I want to know how many days you’ve been reheating this chili?”
“No,” he said before taking another gulp of water.
My mouth was watering. E. coli be damned. I took a huge bite, closed my eyes, and stifled a moan. Truly, this was the food of the gods! I opened my eyes to study the man and his food truck. If I worked here, at least I’d be able to eat.
As if reading my mind, he said, “You can have one free dog per shift.”
I took another juicy, spicy, smoky bite, wishing I had three more waiting for me. I swallowed and asked, “What would my job entail?”
