Page 7 of Freedom's Kiss
“Right. So my brothers are like Remy’s family. I mean, Michael, he’s the ex-fighter pilot, ate MREs without gagging, and Trent is happy running through a fast-food joint. Doesn’t have time to let any type of flavors develop.”
Olivia leaned her elbow against the tabletop, the pinging of energy in her body slowing with the background noise of summer cicadas and the smooth cadence of Adam’s rich timbre talking about his family. “And your palette is more refined.”
He gave an exaggerated shudder. “Is there a manlier word thanrefined? Michael and Trent already give me enough flak about wearing an apron all day now.”
“Don’t they realize the industry is male dominated?”
“They don’t care. All they know is, I exchanged power suits for an apron, the courtroom for the kitchen. An opportunity to razz a sibling if ever one presented itself.”
A tic of his jaw had Olivia suspecting there was more to the story.
“Why’d you quit being a lawyer?”
His face shuttered, a curtain being drawn across the smoothness of his clean-shaven cheek and blocking out the brilliance that had been shinning in his eyes. Even his body tensed, his broad shoulders bunching under the thin fabric of his T-shirt. “Passion. Like you said.”
Definitely more to the story. While he was without question gifted with food, that wasn’t the singular factor behind his career move.
“What about you? Any siblings?”
Change of subject. Got it. “Only child.”
But he didn’t seem to hear her as he pinched the sides of his watch, illuminating the face. He looked back up at her. “I’m not gonna lie and say having you work in the truck tonight didn’t make service go a whole lot smoother. But how are you going to juggle the hours between the two jobs, especially since our peak periods will be the same? Also, I’m not sure how I could pay you. I could give you a percentage of the profits each night, but that doesn’t seem fair, as those will vary night to night depending on business.”
“I work brunch at Seaside, so I’m off by three. Which means I can make it here by four and can stay until either the food is gone or you don’t need me anymore. As far as wages…” Should she readily accept the pay as a percentage or try for more? “Whatever you think is fair is fine.” She held up a finger. “Provided I can add an item to the menu of my own creation. It doesn’t have to be the daily special or anything, and you can even write it in tiny letters at the bottom of the chalkboard. Most of your customers probably won’t even see it.”
The flat line of his mouth relaxed as his eyes retook their telltale twinkle. “Your arguments need some work, counselor.”
Her arms folded across her chest as she pushed up her chin.
He leaned in. “Basically, you want me to buy ingredients that might go to waste because no one will even see that they’re being offered on the menu.”
“But I thought if it was something small…” She thrust back her shoulders. “What if I buy the ingredients myself?”
“No.”
No? Her spine arched in deflation. They weren’t even going to discuss it? He owned the truck… They had only just met…
But…
But it felt like they were already friends. She’d shared her dream, and he’d talked about his family. Those were very friend-ish conversations. And it wasn’t like she was asking for a main course. She’d do a side. Hush puppies would be nice. Everyone loved those little balls of fried cornmeal, buttermilk, and thinly minced scallions. Especially since her recipe contained bits of whole corn kernels, which added a hint of sweetness. No great risk whatsoever.
“No,” Adam said again. “This is your dream, right? You mentioned specials, which I hadn’t even thought of. I had planned to have a rotating menu, keep the hot sellers on longer but switch with seasons and which ingredients were the freshest at the farmer’s market. We can still do that, but specials…” He drummed his fingers on the picnic table, a broad grin in place. “Think you can come up with a few to show me? I mean, I’m going to have to taste the dishes before I sign off on them, but…”
Olivia blinked slowly, processing theweand everything that came after. “You’re going to let me do the daily specials?”
Adam shrugged. “Sure. Why not? As long as they go with the theme of the truck, good southern comfort–type food, and they hold to a Remy standard of taste”—he winked—“I don’t see a problem.”
“That’s just…I don’t know what to…” Exuberance and gratitude swelled inside her, and she nearly flung her arms around his neck, but she held herself in check even though she was fairly certain if the roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have. Instead she folded her hands in her lap and took a deep breath before meeting his eyes. “Thank you.”
His shoulder flinched, the slight movement walking down his arm where it stopped at the pinky finger, which had escaped its prison under his leg. Her lips twitched. He wanted to reach out and touch her again. Second nature, the act of physical touch for him. In celebration, in comfort, probably in any range of emotion and situation. His no forethought go-to. She wondered how often that instinct got him in trouble.
“Tomorrow then?”
His rich voice broke through her introspection, and her head snapped up. “What?”
“There’s a farmer’s market on the east side of town tomorrow. Unless that’s too soon to come up with a few ideas for the menu?”
Ideas already poured through her brain in a steady stream. And if that dried up, she had about five two-inch three-ring binders full of recipes she’d concocted since she was a tweener playing around in her mom’s kitchen. “No. No, I can have some ideas ready by tomorrow.”
He smiled, a bit smug, like he was pleased with himself for some reason. “Great. I’ll pick you up at six.”
“In the morning?” Her voice cracked.
“The early bird…”
“I assure you worms will not be the source of protein in your specials.” She shuddered, not sure if the involuntary movement rooted from the idea of waking up before the crack of dawn on her only day off or eating wiggly-squiggly worms.
“Good to know. Still, six is when I hit the booths. All the good produce is still available. I promise I’ll come bearing coffee.”
An early morning was a small price to pay for this opportunity. “Make it a chai latte and we’re on.”
