Page 89 of Make Me Swoon

“Just thought I’d see if you needed any help. You left this morning before I could ask how last night went,” she says as she grabs an extra sponge and starts to wipe down the front counter.

“Thanks. Last night was busy. I got like triple the customers over here, so I had to run to the farmer’s market right when it opened. I was so tired that I didn’t clean as well as I should have last night.”

She hums, scrubbing at a particular spot by the front window.

“Are you going to hire some help soon?” she asks as I move from the grill to the prep counter.

“I wish. Right now, I’m still barely making enough to cover all of my expenses and share of the rent. Maybe after a few more weeks over here on this side of town, I’ll be able to swing it.”

“I can cover your share of the rent for a bit,” she offers but I’m already shaking my head no.

I know that Sayler would do anything to help me out, but I don’t want to take advantage of her. Her parents are loaded, both lawyers, but they tend to try to buy her love and she’s sick of it. That was part of the reason why she moved to Pittsburgh. She wanted to get away from them and stand on her own two feet and while I know that she’s doing better than me, she’s still growing her business too.

“I’ll be fine,” I promise her and she just sighs, shaking her head in exasperation.

She’s used to me refusing help. I’ve always been independent. That probably stems from a lifetime of having to do everything myself. My mom and dad were always too wrapped up in their drama or latest argument to remember that they had a daughter most of the time.

They were like that for as long as I can remember. Miserable, tearing each other down instead of working together. They should have gotten divorced, hell, they never should have been together in the first place. They were way too toxic and growing up in that environment certainly left me with more than one hang-up about relationships. That’s probably why I’ve never tried to date anyone before.

“Have any interesting customers last night?” Sayler asks and my mind flashes back to the hot tattooed guy.

“Yeah, this one guy who works at that tattoo shop over there. Said his name was Harvey. He was pretty entertaining.”

“Yeah? Does he have tattoos?” Sayler asks curiously.

“Yeah. He asked me what my name was and if I’m a fan of shotgun weddings,” I say with a laugh and Sayler cracks up.

“Marry him.”

I laugh at her and she grins at me.

“I’m being serious!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say as I move onto the last stretch of counter.

“I can’t wait to meet him. Was he hot?”

I don’t answer her right away but I think my blush answers that question for me.

“So, you’ve met the tattooed love of your life then? You lucky duck.”

I roll my eyes, cleaning up the last of the cleaning supplies and storing them in the back of the truck. Sayler is the romantic of the two of us. She also knows that I’m not interested in guys or settling down right now. I just got out of culinary school a year ago and I need to make my little food truck a success and hone my craft. Or better yet, get a job working in a restaurant so that I don’t have so much on my plate.

That’s always been my dream but I couldn’t find any restaurants hiring a chef, or even a sous chef, back in New York. I’ve applied to a few places here in Pittsburgh but haven’t heard anything back yet. That’s why I’m still working at The Culinerdy Cruiser.

Sayler meanwhile has been dreaming about her happily ever after since we were kids. Too bad she’ll never get it since her parents have been planning her wedding to their rich friends’ son, Trevor, since before she was born.

I pull some of the vegetables from the fridge and get to work prepping some of the food for tonight.

“What’s tonight’s special? I’ll put it up on the website and your social stuff while you cook.”

“Since it’s Tuesday, I’m going to make crispy pork belly tacos with my chili lime sauce. I’ll also have regular tacos and burritos with my homemade guacamole and queso sauce.”

“Ugh that sounds so freaking good,” Sayler says, pretending to wipe drool off of her chin.

“I’ll make some for you right now,” I tell her, firing up the grill.

I make the pico de gallo and set that back in the fridgebefore I move onto the chili lime sauce. Sayler hums some pop song to herself as she updates all of my accounts and I reach over her, turning on the little fan I have clipped to the top of the food truck window so that we both don’t die from heatstroke.

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