Page 17 of Joy
“No school today,” George said as he looked back at me. “Sorry about that. What’s with the bag? You’re not leaving town already, are you?”
“No,” I said, wondering if I had actually heard disappointment in George’s tone or simply hoped I had. “The B&B overbooked so I have to leave for a week and stay somewhere else.”
George made a face. “Where you going?”
“I don’t know. I guess there’s an inn I can try. I got back my unused deposit. It’s just going to cost more.”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, nodding to himself.
“I’ll call them later.”
“Hmm. You got some coffee on you.”
“I know.”
“Long morning?”
“You can say that.”
George chuckled, and I was gladhewas amused by all this fuckery. “So the bridge crew. Cooking went all right yesterday?”
I straightened in my seat. “Yeah, I think so, I mean. Did… anyone not like the food?”
George patted his pockets before pulling out a ticket. “They called in their lunch order this morning. Half of them are asking for fish tacos. Including Silas—who, you might not know, is notoriously the pickiest eater in Lancaster. I gotta make the same three or four things for him because he won’t eat anything else. What did you do? We don’t even offer fish tacos.”
I grinned. “He wanted another one of those nasty sandwiches. I figured he’s a big guy and needs something with more protein for lunch. Hereallyliked the tacos?”
George nodded. “I’m shocked, frankly.”
“I could make something else,” I offered. “I kind of had fun doing that yesterday.”
“I wouldn’t chance another new dish.”
I waved a hand. “Trying something new won’t kill him. Don’t you think?”
George laughed. “I’ve been saying that for years.”
“I make good burgers. And ramen! But you might not have the ingredients for that.”
“Or chopsticks,” George said with a smile. “But give me a list of what you’d need for a few dishes and I’ll see what I can do.”
“Really?”
“Sure. You got Silas to eat andlikesomething new. You can help me with the lunch orders every day, if you’d like.”
“I would,” I said, standing. “Yeah, that sounds great!”
If there was one thing I loved as much as tattoos, it was food. And that was probably the one real thing I missed about LA. The late-night food trucks, the crazy desserts like macaroon ice cream sandwiches, and the sheer number of so many different cuisines meeting and living within one city. Not that the food I’d had in New Hampshire was bad—it was just simple. American and comforting. Anyway, I kind of enjoyed cooking almost as much as I did eating, and it was a welcome change to wiping tables and carting around dirty dishes all day.
I got to make a salsa for the tacos this time, which was way better than the stuff in a jar from the grocery store, if you asked me. I showed George how I made the tacos for the guys who were requesting them, but Silas got a killer burger instead. George was insistent that it wouldn’t be liked. Silas wouldn’t want the cheese or the jalapenos or the red onions, but I figured if hereallydidn’t like them, he could pick those off.
When I got to the bridge that afternoon, the guys took their requested meals with a lot of enthusiasm, which boosted the hell out of my ego.
“Here you are,” I said to Silas, handing over his take-out container. “It’s not tacos.”
He looked surprised. “No?”
“But I heard you liked them.”
