Page 14 of Joy
“Nancy serves black eggs on her best days. Come on, I’m serious. Can you cook?”
“I, uh—I guess so.”
“That’s what I want to hear. Come on over here.”
I put down the bin of dishes I’d been holding and followed George around the counter to his work station. He gave me the world’s worst tour, which basically consisted of: knives, fire, food in the freezer and pantry, thanks, kid!
“Wait!” I called as George was walking to the door. “What orders am I doing?”
“The Bridge! Let Nancy know when you’re leaving. I’ll be back soon!”
Great, nothing like diving right into the deep end. I mean, no pressure, right? Those big rough-and-tumble guys will only kill me if I end up cooking crap. But according to George’s tickets, it was basically the same meals as yesterday, and those had been simple enough.
At the bottom of the list was a Fluffernutter sandwich with Silas’s name beside it.
How did a man his size live off a sandwich that was pure sugar and peanut butter? George had made me one yesterday when I mentioned it after my delivery run. It was sticky and gooey and gross and, I’d learned, very popular.
With kids.
So I decided to make Silas something better. Or at least something that had more substance.
“WHAT’S THIS?”Silas asked when I handed him a take-out container.
“Lunch.”
He glanced up from his name on the box. “I only order a sandwich,” he murmured.
“Yeah. About that…. How is it you haven’t gained three hundred pounds or died yet?”
“Finally!” exclaimed one of Silas’s coworkers, unwrapping his food. “We tell this guy that every day. Fluffernutter sandwiches or corned beef and cabbage. That’s all he eats.”
“That’s not true,” Silas said.
Was Silas blushing?
Jesus Christ, I think he was.
“What’s that thing my daughter always says?” the coworker muttered. “Oh. Hashtag, picky eater.”
I snorted and crossed my arms, tilting my head to catch Silas’s expression. “George had to run out, so I helped with lunch.”
Silas looked up.
“I made you fish tacos,” I continued. “Tilapia. Do you like that? George didn’t have shrimp. And the salsa is canned, but….” I shrugged. “I just thought you’d like to have something different.”
Silas went back to staring at the carton. I wasn’t sure if the silence meant he was thoroughly disgusted by the idea and desperately wanted his marshmallows, or if this was—normal silence. I noticed over his shoulder that several of the other construction guys were watching us with varying levels of interest.
That was odd.
“So I’m going to leave,” I stated.
Silas cleared his throat. “Thank you for lunch.”
“Sure.”
The guys muttered and exchanged a few dollar bills between one another.
I made a hasty exit toward Eatery’s car. I’m not sure why I was suddenly feeling… whatever I was feeling. All I did was give a guy tacos. Sure, tacos pave the way to anyone’s heart, but I wasn’t trying to—
