Page 36 of Freedom's Kiss
“See that it doesn’t. You’re a good server, but Seaside can’t afford to comp a hundred-dollar ticket. I’d rather you take a day to get your head back on straight than have you back tomorrow and make another disaster of my kitchen.”
Olivia nodded while she wrapped the strings of her apron tightly around her fist, cutting off the circulation. “Understood.”
“Good.” Without another word he spun on his heel and barked orders for the cook to return to the line.
She released the curl of her fingers and wiggled them from their bounds, striding toward the back exit and muttering under her breath. If not for the tips, which had covered her parents’ mortgage for the past four months, she’d quit on the spot. But until her dad found another job, she’d have to swallow her pride, paint on a smile, and continue doing what she’d been doing.
She dug her keys out of her apron pocket and unlocked the driver’s-side door. Adam expected her at Southern Charm in an hour, just enough time to swing by her house and change her clothes. The food truck was low key, and her black slacks and black button-up oxford, not to mention the silver tie wound in a Windsor knot around her neck, didn’t exactly mesh with the ambiance of street-side dinning.
Releasing her cell from its prison in the center console, she checked the screen and swiped to listen to a missed call.
Hey, it’s Summer…Adam’s sister-in-law? Anyway, just wanted to say it was so nice to meet you last night and I was wondering if you wanted to meet up for coffee sometime. That is, if we didn’t scare you off too badly. Anyway, talk to you later.
A smile spread across her mouth as she turned the key in the ignition. With Lily so busy with her dissertation and lab studies, Olivia could use another girlfriend to hang out with…and maybe talk her off a ledge or two, depending on where her swinging emotions regarding her birth landed her.
What would her parents’ response be when she showed them the DNA results? Would they try to deny the truth or justify their years of living a lie—of making her out to be something she wasn’t? Did they know who her mother was? Her father? Would they know how to contact her biological parents? Did Olivia even want to?
She slowed at a stop sign and noticed a bright-orange sign along the side of the road, with a Native woman dressed in traditional patchwork garb on it. In large white letters she read,Intertribal Powwow.Olivia scanned the sign. The event was being held in a couple of weeks.
What did she even know about the Seminole—her people, apparently—other than they owned the Hard Rock Café and so many places in Florida were named after them—Osceola, Micanopy, Okeechobee, Withlacoochee, Loxahatchee? If she didn’t know where she came from, her own culture and history, then how could she know who she was?
She pressed the accelerator and turned onto her street. An empty driveway greeted her as she parked her car, and her lungs released with relief. Dad was no doubt filing out applications or standing in line at the unemployment office, and Mom had her shift at the nursery. For now, she wouldn’t have to pretend that everything was all right. Thatshewas all right. And until she figured out how to broach the topic and start the conversation with them, she’d have to go on like nothing had changed.
* * *
Where is everyone?
Given the popularity and crush of people she’d come to expect and associate with Southern Charm, she was surprised to find the sidewalk in front of the food truck deserted. More surprising, she noticed as she parked her car in an empty spot a few spaces behind the truck, was the window remained closed, as if Adam hadn’t even opened for the day yet.
He’d acted affected the night before, but not opening his truck? A surefire way to tank his new business.
She walked to the door at the side that led to the kitchen area and knocked. Maybe he’d skipped lunch service and now prepped for dinner. She waited a few beats, but no sounds came from within the truck, and the door remained closed in front of her.
“Olivia!”
She turned and found Adam jogging toward her, the backward baseball cap that he wore to cover a hairnet absent from his head.
“Good.” His chest rose and fell as he pulled air in deeper “Now that you’re here, we can go.”
“Go where? Don’t we need to open for dinner?” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder.
He flashed a grin. “Privilege of ownership.”
“It’s going to be privilege of the unemployed if you think a business—a fledgling one, no less—can survive whimsical operational hours.”
“What if I said it was an emergency?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, not buying it for a second. People in emergency situations didn’t grin like Jim Carrey fromThe Mask. “Is it?”
“Yes. I had a horrific morning and am in urgent need of a distraction.”
The breeze blew a strand of hair across her face, and she lifted a hand to free it from between her pressed lips. “I’ve always found work to be a very effective form of diversion.” Except it hadn’t been so successful for her that morning.
Reaching for her wrist, he tugged her back in the direction he’d come. “What happened to not arguing with your boss?”
“Technically you aren’t my boss since you aren’t paying me, except a percentage of profits, and if the truck isn’t open, then you’re not the only one not making money tonight.”
He stopped in his tracks, and she nearly bumped into his side. Peering down at her, a mist of guilt overshadowed his features. He lifted his eyes to look behind her—back at Southern Charm—and a weight settled along his shoulders. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t think—”
