Page 3 of Freedom's Kiss
The back door opened and shut, the Hurricane in a Marlin’s baseball cap standing with her hands on her hips. “I told them it would be a while but worth the wait. Most were fine with that, except one guy who seemed wound especially tight.” Her lips pushed to the side before she shrugged. “His problem, not ours. Oh! And I said your famous citrus sweet tea would be on the house with their meal. Hope that’s not a problem, but I did just save you about thirty tickets.”
Adam glanced over his shoulder as he plated two more burgers and a salad. “Seeing as how I’ve run out of tea, that’s going to be a problem.” He’d wonder how she knew about his citrus tea, but itwaswritten in his sister’s handwriting on the chalkboard menu he had out front. Amber had added thefamousbit, claiming once everyone had a taste, the word would be a self-fulfilling prophecy.
The Hurricane walked past him toward the fridge. “No problem. What’s the recipe?”
“Problem. It takes over an hour to chill.”
“You’re such a pessimist. Recipe.” Her head cocked to the side, an eyebrow raised in another challenge.
No risk, no reward, and whatever this woman would cook up was better than turning everyone away.
He nodded to the open fridge. “You’re going to need the pineapple, orange, and lemon juice from in there.”
She pulled the ingredients, then shut the fridge. Grabbed another pot and filled it with water to boil and steep the tea. Adam moved past her and lifted a bag of cornmeal, a dozen tomatoes, jalapeños, onions, and limes onto the counter. He paused his movements and looked up from his kneeling position, a grin teasing his lips. “One question.”
She moved the tomatoes in front of her and cleaned off the knife she’d used to cut the watermelon. “Think you have time for one?” Her cheek twitched, hiding her efforts of keeping her smile at bay.
Adam stood and leaned a hip against the counter. The Hurricane continued to work, a small bead of sweat trailing the side of her face. Her shoulder brushed his chest as she reached for the salsa bowl on the other side of him. He would move out of the way if there was anywhere to go, but the inside of a food truck wasn’t exactly known for its expansive space.
“Some things are worth making time for.” Ooph. That sounded too much like Olaf fromFrozen. The words and the sappy tone.
Her movements stopped as she looked up at him and used the knife to point at the bag of cornmeal. “I think you should keep all the corny-ness to your cakes, don’t you? That sort ofsouthern charmdoesn’t work on me.”
Adam’s grin widened as he opened the bag of meal and tilted the contents into a mixing bowl, studying the woman beside him. He hadn’t meant the phrase to be a pickup line. If Disney quotes could even be used as such. He shook his head. Some habits died hard, and his pattern of teasing was more second nature than anything. No one ever took his playfulness seriously. Not any of the women he’d fake proposed to in the law firm. They’d roll their eyes and slap his arm. A contrived reason to laugh when there didn’t seem to be a genuine one.
The telling twitch still caused the Hurricane’s cheek to jump, the corner of her lip forced down. In an attempt to keep her mouth from curving up? She wasn’t upset by his teasing. In fact, if he was right—and when was the last time his read on someone had been wrong?—he’d say this little lady could take and dish out as much wit as he could.
Adam added the rest of the corn-cake ingredients and retrieved a whisk, his arm making round, sweeping motions as he stirred the dough. Once the right consistency, he poured circles of batter onto the griddle and waited for the telling bubbles.
“Spinach, feta, watermelon, sliced onions, slivered almonds, topped with the balsamic dressing, yes, Chef?” The woman’s voice was less muffled than before, and a glance over his shoulder said why. She’d finally stopped long enough to turn and look at him when she spoke.
“I’m not a chef, but yes.” Adam flipped the cakes and hamburger patties. “How’d you know how to assemble the melon-spinach salad?”
“Besides the fact you didn’t come up with a creative name and called it exactly what it is? I may have eaten here a time or two.”
Oh really? He scrolled through his mind like a rolodex but came up empty. He hadn’t been open long, and he was still getting a handle on all the ins and outs of the truck. Unfortunately, that meant his customer service side had been a bit neglected. But this woman? He would have remembered her for sure.
“I’m going to serve these salads, but when I get back, be ready for more orders.” The back door opened. “Chef.”
“I’m not a—” The door shut. “Chef.”
He spent the next few minutes plating the orders the Hurricane had already brought in.
“Got some help, did you?”
Adam lifted his head from arranging the pico de gallo on top of his protein. His old partner stared at him with a steady gaze. Pushing. Probing. Relentless. The same scrutiny he used on a jury, which worked to determine the direction of his argument. The ones that would sway the group of peers to his side.
“Isn’t your dinner break about over? And since when did you frequent the food truck scene? Your Armani suit doesn’t really fit in to the vibe going on here.” Adam said it with a smile, but the jab held truth.
“Can’t a friend stop by to see an old buddy?”
Adam topped the burger with a corn-cake bun and slid the paper boat into the Hurricane’s waiting hands on the other side of the window. She regarded him with a question in her expression and a sly glance at Hudson out of the corner of her eye.What’s up?her look seemed to say. Too long a story, and if they didn’t have time for him to simply ask her name, they surely didn’t have time for this tale. He gave her a nod of encouragement, reminding her of the line that still stretched too long and the assurance that he could handle this power play at his window. They both turned, her to deliver the order and him back to Hudson.
“A friend, yes. You? No. Not without an angle.”
“Can still read a man in a blink, I see.”
“And you still can’t take no for an answer.”
