Cooking Up Romance

A full body shiver nearly had her missing the sizzling grill with the marinated chicken concoction. It was him, had to be, except twenty years older and, in her opinion, sexier than ever. Because what had she known at eleven about sex appeal?

She’d had the most amazing and superinnocent daydreams about him then. Simply because he’d been nice enough to smile at her and tease her about her copper-red hair. You look like a new penny. Maybe I should call you Penny instead of Lacy? In her little-girl fantasies, he’d held her hand and told her how beautiful she was. They’d walked through meadows of wildflowers, and, as dreams go with little girls, he’d delivered her first kiss. Her idea of what a kiss would be like, anyway. A chaste kiss, because again, what had she known about any of that back then?

His mouth came to mind, while he’d read her menu with that lower lip man-style pout. She wouldn’t mind trying out everything she’d learned about kissing with him since she’d grown up. She snorted and made a dry swallow. Whew, was the grill superhot or something?

Wait. In her rush, she’d forgotten to turn on the vent and open the back windows. After a quick push of the chicken around the grill, she slid open the extra windows and wiped the tiny sheen from her upper lip. Where had she left the water?

Finding the bottle, she took another drink and focused on making the best dang wrap she could. Her welfare depended on it since she’d recently quit her other job. While she was at it, she’d warm one of her apple hand pies from the batch made fresh last night. Wasn’t that every man’s favorite?

For the sake of the next phase of her career, she sure hoped so.

Ten minutes to the second later, Zack Gardner strolled from his office toward the bright food truck. The sight of it made him smile, but he kept it to himself. Wouldn’t want to encourage her when he had zero intention of letting the redhead set up shop. That girlie rig was meant for kids’ parties and Santa Barbara beach volleyball games, not construction sites. Any serious business person should know it, too.

A flash of her natural red hair while she cooked sent a memory whirling through his mind. The color was the kind so many women tried to match in salons, but usually fell flat. Hers was nothing short of stunning, and he’d only met one other person with that shade in his life. He’d gotten his first summer temporary job in construction when he’d been nineteen. He recalled that he couldn’t believe how hard the job was and how ravenous he’d been, all the time. There’d been a long line of jobs and food trucks over the past twenty years, all blurry. But he remembered his first real job and first food truck just like it was yesterday because, well, everything was the first back then. The Winters Breakfast and Lunch truck. That was it. That guy hadn’t needed a catchy name or flashy color. Winters’s truck had been institution white with black lettering on the side. And didn’t the middle-aged guy have to bring his kid with him during the summer? Just like Zack would have to do over spring break next week with his own ten-year-old daughter, Emma. His memories grew stronger. Back then, John Winters made the best cheeseburgers he’d ever tasted, and Winters’s daughter had bright red hair just like her father. A copper penny came to mind. Could this woman be that kid?

He narrowed his eyes, studying the foodmobile. Erase the neon-pink paint job, and it looked about the same size and style as that other food truck. When she’d first pulled up and had caught his attention through the office window, he’d had a hunch the truck was vintage. Here in Little River Valley, people liked vintage stuff. On closer examination, it most definitely was an original, even for twenty years ago. He had to respect someone who valued history. It showed insight.

Getting nearer to the truck, with a delicious aroma perking up his nose and appetite, even though it was way too early to think about lunch, he made a snap decision. He’d keep all his memories to himself because, as he’d previously decided, he wasn’t going to let her set up. The guys were perfectly happy bringing their lunch pails or piling into cars and driving into town on their break. Why get her hopes up, make her think they had some connection, by playing the reminiscing game?

Those bright blue eyes noticed him coming and another inviting smile creased her lips. Don’t even think about it. Women are bad news, especially ones that look like her.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she said with an eager-to-please expression. An expression that came off far too sweet to ignore. How could she be bad news?

History, remember? As in all women.

Still he fought off a smile. He hadn’t been hungry fifteen minutes ago, but now his stomach growled in anticipation. “Sure smells good.”

She handed him a supersize paper plate with the enormous wrap nearly filling it. “Whoa, this thing’s huge.”

“I know how big construction workers’ appetites can be.”

Yeah, he did, too, but he no longer did the hard work, not for the past five years, anyway. He’d put in his time breaking his back with construction company after construction company, and eventually worked his way up to foreman. Now he was the owner-manager. Half of this wrap was going home to share. Just like her logo said, he’d wrap it up and take it home.

He bit into the wrap. Holy heavenly taste buds, she knew how to season, and the chicken was melt-in-your-mouth tender and juicy. Filled with unexpected vegetables and bits of potato swimming in her special sauce, the mouthwatering spinach-green wrap was more a meal in a megasize tortilla than a substitute for a sandwich. She should’ve named the truck Manwich—Sandwiches for men with manly appetites. But Emma would love the wrap, too, and it was so much healthier than their usual fast food. Still, he didn’t want to get Ms., uh, her hopes up. “What’d you say your name was?”

“Lacy Winters.”

Dang it! Memories were strange things, popping up after lying dormant for years, and right now his recall worked at hyperspeed. “John Winters’s girl?”

She nodded, a hint of surprise in her stare.

He knew it. How many people walked the earth with that color hair? Penny! “This is pretty good,” he said, before he had a chance to remember he wasn’t going to go there—reminisce—or give his consent for her to park on his construction site.

There went that extra bright smile again. It was hard to take his eyes off her, especially while mouthwatering flavors hit his tongue. He looked around for a place to sit and couldn’t find one, so he left the plate on the food truck counter and, using both hands to hold the wrap, took several more bites.

“Can I get you another napkin?”

Sauce dribbled over his chin and onto his hands. “Thanks.”

“Would you like a drink?” she said, after handing off the wad of napkins.

“Water’s fine.” Wouldn’t want anything to compete with the delicious ingredients he was ingesting like a man who hadn’t eaten in days. “What’s this?”

She’d placed, next to his wrap, a much smaller plate holding a pastry with a light brown crust.

“That’s half of one of my apple hand pies. I heated it for you.”

Why wait until he was too full to want or be able to enjoy dessert? He grabbed it and took a bite. Warm melt-in-your-mouth piecrust hit his taste buds, the kind he only remembered from his mother’s kitchen, until now. Cinnamon-seasoned, obviously fresh apples sweetened to perfection broke through as he chewed. “What’s your background?” He couldn’t help talking with his mouth full.

“I’ve been a cook at the Local Grown Restaurant here in town for the past three years. Before that, I was a short-order cook at Becky Sue’s.”

“That breakfast and lunch diner?”

She nodded, then continued. “My dad got me started in the food industry. This is actually his truck.”

He knew it!

“I got it updated and overhauled after he died last year.”

The man would probably roll over in his grave if he knew it was pink. “I’m sorry to hear that. You know, I remember your father. He had red hair like you, right?” The Winters food truck had shown up at a lot of construction sites he’d worked over the years, but not with her. Except for that first summer.

Her prideful closed-mouth smile and nod told him she loved her dad, and was both pleased and surprised Zack had remembered the man.

He finished off the hand pie and took a swig of water. “I’m fairly sure I remember you, too.” With a happily full stomach, and in the presence of a pretty woman, he was suddenly in a chatty mood. “You were about this tall.” He leveled his hand waist high. “And skinny. Looked like you were all head with that wild red hair.” He half grinned, proud of his recollection.

Well, so much for Lacy’s little-girl daydreams. He’d thought she was “all head” and skinny as a rail? At least he remembered her. Bet you didn’t know you were my first imaginary kiss, did ya? For some crazy reason, probably from still being raw for the last several years, after losing the two men she’d loved most, her dad being the latest, she’d let Zack hurt her feelings. Irrational thinking or not, calling her “all head” had stung, and Lacy did a lousy job of hiding her reaction.

She studied her feet, dejected, awash in insecurity. Why had she thought it was a good idea to wear a chef toque in a food truck? To him, she probably still looked like the puff pastry dough boy with a red wig.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said, catching on, a sincere cast to his gaze. “You’ve certainly filled out since then.”

It should be his turn to cringe. Filled out? Now who was saying awkward things? He was trying to fix the unintentional slight, but, still wincing from her childish response, she let him marinate in the iffy-at-best comment rather than immediately letting him off the hook.

His shoulders tensed, and his collar rose slightly up his neck as he must have realized how his statement could come off. “Did not mean to make you uncomfortable, Ms. Winters. Apologies.” Even his cheeks looked a little peachier than earlier on the gorgeous olive-toned tan.

She nodded, appreciating his minor squirm. He was a man of few words, but he’d said the right ones just now. “Call me Lacy.” May as well take advantage and move in while he was in a vulnerable position. “So, what do you say, can I park here during the week? Feed your guys?”

Amused by the obvious battle going on behind those seriously green eyes, Lacy watched as he thought. Ate. And thought more. He glanced over his shoulder to the men on the site who’d stopped working to check out the pink foodmobile. If he’d let her, she’d sell a crateload of food to those men right now. She was ready for this. She knew how to cook, and she’d had a great role model in her father. Maybe she wasn’t completely up to snuff on the finances and business side, but she’d work it out as she went along. She just needed a shot to prove she could deliver on her own. Because, on her own, as it turned out, was how it was going to be. Forever? She shrugged.

Her father had died suddenly—she hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye. Taking over his truck was her homage to him. Plus, it promised to get her out of the four-walled kitchens she’d spent too many hours trapped inside, where stress, too often, drove the show. That wasn’t what she wanted anymore—this was. Outdoors. Hungry guys. She could do with a little less noise, but why be picky?

She was ready to be her own boss, to take charge of her life. This overly bright truck was her ticket to renew her love of cooking and reclaim her independence. She wasn’t looking to get rich, just to get by. She didn’t want to put too much pressure on Zack Gardner or to come off as desperate, but she slipped a subtle please, please, please glance his way. No harm in sending subliminal messages, right?

He was obviously still fighting some internal battle, looking at the other half of his chicken wrap, checking out his work boots, gazing at her silly logo again, then into her hopeful stare. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll try you out three days next week, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and we’ll see how it goes from there.”

It wasn’t a total yes, but it was a maybe, and maybe was better than good enough today. Yes! She’d count it as a victory. Besides, she was bound to win over those hungry-looking men who’d quit sawing and hammering and were still watching the show over by her pink truck. After they’d had a taste of her hearty wraps, they’d be begging their boss to let her come back.

“That’s a deal. May I leave my menus for your men, and heat up a few more hand pies for them to sample as a thank-you? I’ve got a pot of coffee ready to go, too.” She’d thought ahead and set up for half of her hundred-cup coffee maker, just in case. “Just say the word.”