The Texan's Second Chance

“It’s not my thing, that’s all. Like I said, I prefer to let my food do the talking.”

“I get that, but people connect to people as much as they do to food. The way you look, the way you talk about food, the connection you make with customers? All that is just as compelling as a great burger. You’re highly promotable, Jana. That’s a good thing. It’s a strength we can use.”

“That’s marketing talk for ‘you’re pretty and guys’ll like you,’” Jose said.

Jana gave Witt a dark look. “Is it?”

Witt knew this was thin ice, but he did want to get his point across. “Not in the way Jose thinks.”

“So how does Witt think?”

Witt searched for the right words to compliment her beauty without insulting her talent. “You’re unique. You don’t look anything like the other guys hawking burgers around here. You are a beautiful woman and I’d like to think we can use that without getting stupid or exploitive about it. The fact is you look as good as you cook. Why can’t that be a strength we can build on?”

“My man’s got a point,” Jose said as he leaned up against the truck door.

My man? Witt threw Jose a “don’t get cocky” glare.

“Look, I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I don’t want to cross any lines here. But the truth is that I can promote you just as easily as I can promote the food—maybe even easier. You make us unique in a way that people can see even before they taste your cooking.”

He could see she was skeptical. “I promise, you’ll have approval on every promotional shot that goes out,” he went on. “This photographer, Mica? I’ve used her before. She can get shots that really let your personality shine through. We want to promote you for who you are—not just for the way you look. No one wants to turn you into a spokesmodel.”

“But you could,” Jose offered. “I mean, the whole hot-chef thing could...”

Witt cut Jose short by yanking the door, nearly sending Jose tumbling. “That’s quite enough of that. You’re done here. Why don’t you head on back to your brother’s and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Hey, sure. I’m gone.” With that, Jose pulled off his apron, hopped on his bike and headed off down the street.

“Maybe I should have listened to my gut and not hired him,” Witt said as he watched the boy pedal off.

“He’s fine,” Jana dismissed. “He’ll be good, actually. Hard worker, quick on his feet, and just the right amount of misplaced machismo to appeal to customers. We just need to tamp down the teenage-hormone factor.”

Witt laughed, then turned to give Jana a serious look. “So we’re okay on the photo thing?”

She rubbed a spot of sauce off her arm. “I’ll get used to it.”

“Mica will get it right, I promise you. It’ll be as much about the food as about you.” He paused before he added, “But really, you’ve got nothing to be nervous about for the pictures. You’re...” He stopped short of paying her another compliment. He definitely found her attractive, but if that wasn’t a recipe for bad choices in this setup, he didn’t know what was. He settled on “You’re just what we’re looking for.” Standing up, he retrieved his notebook and files from the truck’s back counter. “You got the email from Mica to bring the chef’s coat and two changes of street clothes? She wants some personal shots as well as some cooking ones.”

“I got it.” He sensed she still wasn’t totally comfortable, but chose not to press it. Lots of women he knew got weird about having their picture taken, but none of them with less reason than Jana Powers. She was lovely, and Mica was friendly and encouraging. Tomorrow would be fun—Jana just hadn’t realized it yet. He got the feeling that once she got over her needless self-consciousness, she would glow for the camera the same way she glowed behind the grill—vibrant and engaging.

He changed the subject. “Did you get the parking rental agreement from your building?” To his complete and delighted surprise, Jana had negotiated a great deal on parking the truck in her apartment building’s lot in exchange for opening up on-site the first Saturday of each month. Marketing combined with operational savings—music to a number-cruncher’s ears. Plus, it was much better than having to haul the truck back and forth from an industrial lot by his own apartment farther out of town where Witt had been parking it before.

“Right here.” Jana pulled an envelope from her bag.

“This is an amazing deal,” he remarked as he scanned the papers. “I would never have thought of this.”

She smiled, some of the earlier tension leaving her face. “Makes for a blissfully short commute. And I can fuss around in the kitchen at midnight if I get a new idea.”

“Night owl?” Most people in the restaurant business were, according to Ellie, who worked with lots of chefs and other food professionals.

“More like insomniac. I have one of those brains that rarely shuts down when it’s supposed to.”

There seemed to be a bit of a story behind that remark, but Witt chose not to pursue it. “I know how that goes. I’ve kept a notebook by my bed for years, and another one next to my rowing machine. I seem to get all my best ideas away from my desk.”

“You crew?” she asked. “Or row just for exercise?”

“I was on the crew team all four years in college. Despite my height, I was never any good at basketball. Crew was the next-best place for a guy of my size.”

“I had a friend who rowed in high school, and she got me involved, too.” She met his surprise with a smirk—at her height she clearly wasn’t tall enough to row. Maybe coxswain, though—those people who sat at the back of the boat and called out the strokes and directions were often small. “I got into it as a coxswain, not a rower,” she added, confirming his guess. “That’s where I honed my talent for barking orders.”

His brain tried to conjure up an image of Jana perched on the edge of a rowing shell, gliding through the water on a misty morning, but he shut that attempt down as quickly as possible. Instead, he offered “Something else we have in common,” then wanted to swallow back the remark. Time to leave before you say something else stupid. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow.”

Get your head in the right place, Buckton, Witt scolded himself as he walked to his SUV. He needed to make this food truck a success, to show his family—both at Blue Thorn and at Star Beef—that he could do this. An attraction to Jana put that goal at risk. He’d had employees before. He knew how to manage a staff without getting too attached. He had a feeling, however, that managing someone as strong-willed, attractive and off-limits as Jana Powers was going to be a whole new challenge.

* * *

Jana pulled in a deep breath Wednesday morning as she turned the truck into the parking lot of the address Mica had given her. It wasn’t the turn that made her stomach tighten—she’d been surprised at how easily she’d picked up maneuvering the large truck—it was the task ahead of her.

Mica’s studio was in a more industrial part of town, a renovated loft space that made for the perfect interior and exterior shots Jana knew Witt wanted. Witt was right; Mica sounded warm and artistic even in her emails. Someone she might even come to call a friend in this new city. So it wasn’t the photographer that made her uneasy. In fact, it wasn’t even the photographs. It was the prospect of publicity. Of being known by strangers. Coming back up out of the shadows where she’d hidden herself for years—that felt hard. Maybe she should have told Witt—or at least Ellie—about all the Ronnie business when they’d first talked about this job.

Why? It’s not part of your work life. It’s personal. And anyway, it’s all in the past. You can do this. You need to do this, she told herself as she grabbed the extra clothing and opened the truck’s back door. Promoting is a huge part of Witt’s overall plan, and you don’t want start off messing things up with the new boss. She’d paid her dues for years making boring food or pandering to owners who jumped on the latest food fad—this truck could be her chance to truly establish herself and her own personal style. It was worth a trip outside her comfort zone. You’ve let Ronnie keep you in hiding long enough, she chided herself as she stepped out of the truck. I know You laid this opportunity at my feet, Lord, she prayed. Help me trust You with all of it. I don’t believe You want me to live in fear any more than I want to keep looking over my shoulder.

“Hey there!”

Jana jumped a foot before realizing it was Jose that had come around the corner of the truck. She’d been so startled she’d almost dropped her clothes onto the dirty asphalt.

Jose caught her bag just as it slipped from her shoulder. “Whoa, there. Didn’t mean to freak you out. Witt told me to meet you here at 10:30 to wash the truck.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“Hey.” Jose grinned. “It’s only 10:28. I’m shocked that I’m early, too.”

Jana tried to paste a casual smile on her face. “Good for you.” She tossed him the truck keys. “There’s a bucket and some sponges under the sink, and a ladder behind the door. Get her all ready for her close-up and come up to Mica’s loft on the third floor when you’re done, okay?”

Jose caught the keys in one hand. “Sure thing, Chef.” Witt had insisted Jose use classic kitchen protocol and reply “Yes, Chef” when responding to all her requests. It came out lots of different ways—things like “Sí, Chef,” “Gotcha, Chef,” and “Yep, Chef,” which continually amused her. Sure, she’d been a bit put off by his wild-guy look with crazy long hair, and a large tattoo down one arm, but the truth was the kid had a sweet nature and a soft heart. He loved being here. He worked hard, too. She’d been startled at Ellie’s recommendation of kitchen help at first, but could truly grow to like the guy.

“Go stun ’em in there,” he called, waggling his eyebrows and even adding a wolf whistle as she turned toward the loft.

Jose’s teasing struck an already raw nerve. She had to get over the way she dreaded this photo shoot. Restaurants were a PR-driven business—through advertising, social media, word of mouth, or hopefully all three. It was clear Witt expected her to give interviews, and pose for photos with her burgers and the bright blue truck. Witt had every right to expect her to be ready and eager to do all those things. And really, what was there to be so upset about? She was about to get her hair and makeup done by a professional stylist and enjoy the glamor of a photo shoot—most woman would relish this experience.

You’re not shy, she told herself as she pulled open the large metal doors to Mica’s building. You were scared once, but that’s not the same thing. And you don’t have to be scared anymore. Ronnie Taylor is hundreds of miles from here and years in your past. Don’t you dare let that that creep steal your present or your future. You walk in that room as Chef Jana, Austin’s next food sensation.

As the metal box of an elevator groaned its way to the third floor, Jana straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and inhaled all the way to her toes. I will live in fierce expectation of all God has planned for me, she recited, a favorite quote her mom had sent her in card after card during cooking school and beyond. Right along with the verse from Jeremiah 29:11—“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

Jana’s hope and future were waiting up there on the third floor, and in the bright blue truck that stuck out like an aqua sunbeam in the parking lot below. She yanked open the elevator’s cage door with a deliberate gusto and let herself feel excited at the scene before her.

Mica’s loft looked exactly as Jana had imagined—a huge industrial space strewn with equipment, drapes, fans and props as well as an artfully decorated living space tucked in one corner. Swingy, energetic Americana jazz filled the sunlit space. Mica looked up from a tripod to wave eagerly at Jana.