Shake Your Love: 80s Baby Series 4

Chapter One

Pierce

How someone eats their eggs tells a lot about them.

Scrambling eggs on the griddle next to a burger and some pancakes, I decide food itself gives clues to a person. Being a cook gives me insight into most of Pine Grove. Half the town comes to The Shake Shack on a regular basis, giving me a chance to get to know them through their order.

Brenden, my best friend, is a meat and potatoes guy—the pot roast, or the morning sampler with ham, sausage, and bacon, are his go-to orders. A slightly reserved, quiet man whose turns beast for the right reasons. A caveman if you will, because he turns downright barbaric over his old lady.

Reggie, the sports memorabilia shop owner from next door, prefers his eggs runny enough to dip his toast in. He comes in at eight am sharp, eats while filling out a crossword puzzle, and finishes off three cups of coffee before he goes to open his store. All his meals, eaten here, are part of his habit, part of his day-to-day routine.

“Stop judging their orders, Pierce,” Imelda teases as she watches me through the pass through.

Grinning, I bounce a shoulder as I plate the order she is waiting for. It is a slow Tuesday afternoon, so judging orders is all I’ve got today. Turning up the radio to hear the new Def Leopard song, I spin back to the griddle. As I flip the burger, for Dale our Sherriff—three slices of cheese, mayo and extra pickles—I wonder what my own tastes tell others about me.

For me, a fluffy frittata with fresh herbs and veggies, some fresh squeezed orange juice, and smokey sausages would be a perfect breakfast. I cook because I love food, I love flavors and I love making food others love. I have big tastes, yet I often settle for the scraps.

At twenty-five, I came back home to Pine Grove after finishing culinary school. To be closer to my mother and sister. To open my own place in a town lacking diverse flavors. That was two years ago. Now I am just a lead cook at Shake Shack which is to say I flip pancakes and burgers for little pay and less respect.

“Order up Imelda,” I call after carefully putting together the burger.

Piling the plate high with fries, I sprinkle a little of my secret spice blend over the fries. Customers love my hand cut fries with that dash of spice. It is my secret weapon to keep them coming back to the diner.

“You got it,” Imelda calls as she grabs the burger from the pass.

Glancing past her, I hesitate for a moment. Outside it is pouring out, the skies gray, the sunshine blotted out by thick clouds. There is something in the air that makes me forget about the eggs and bacon sizzling behind me. I step from behind the pass, towards the front counter. And I am glad I do.

Blowing in with a huge gust of rain and heavy wind is a vision unlike I have ever seen. Thick blond hair hangs down in damn, kinked waves, framing a beautiful face. The wind kicks up her pleated pink skirt, showing off creamy thighs. With a laugh, she grabs at her skirt to stop it from blowing higher and giving us a real show.

Stepping back from the stove, I lean back to get a good look at her. I’ve never seen her before. I would remember a woman who looks like...that. She could be a movie star. All that thick, wavy blonde hair, soft green eyes that light up as she continues to laugh. Almost bouncing to the counter, she takes a seat, pulls down a menu and gives it a good look.

“How can I help, darlin?” Imelda asks, popping her gum as she readies to take the order.

“How about,” the starlet looker tilts her head as she sets the menu aside. I like it, going off menu. “Two pieces of French toast, some French fries, and at least five pieces of bacon. Can I do that?”

“Sure can. Coming right up.”

Backing up before she sees me, I duck behind the pass through to catch my breath. I never take my eyes off her as I start putting bacon down. Still watching as I throw in a batch of fries, I wonder why my heart is beating so fast. Why do my hands shake as I dunk thick Texas toast into my creamy toast batter?

Looking up from the menu, those green eyes lock on me for a moment. My heart really starts to pound. I almost drop the spatula I am flipping the golden bread with. A slow smile spreads across her face as she notices me being flustered. I smile too, bowing my head.

I am not good with women. I’ve never dated much or considered settling down at all. After my — abandoned us before he even walked out the door, I feared I would be no better. How could I risk hurting someone the way he had hurt all of us? I thought it best I never gave dating a shot.

“Who’s the new doll, dude?” Imelda asks with a jerk of her head.

“You think I would know a woman that looks like that?”

Imelda laughs, shaking her head at me. One of the reasons I haven’t left the Shake Shack is how good the folks here are. We have a good time, even if I am slinging burgers and fries or she is making bad coffee and sweet milkshakes. Shooting me a look, she says what I expect her to.

“Any girl would be lucky to know you, Pierce.”

“Don’t you know I am just holding out hope for you to take notice, Imelda,” I tease her with a wink, laughing when she flutters her lashes.

“If I had not married my own prince charming, I might consider it.”

Laughing, I shake my head again, flipping bacon for the new girl. I get lost for a moment, wondering how I ended up here. I always loved cooking. It was me feeding us at home, making elaborate meals out of ramen or mac n cheese. Cooking was my way of taking care of the people I loved.

The dream was never cooking, it was to get out of Pine Grove on a scholarship to play football. A broken knee and busted elbow shot that dream down. It’s been nowhere jobs ever since—bus boy, line cook, now head cook. Loving to cook makes it easier to pretend I have something.

Glancing up again, I see the blonde watching me cook. I would give anything to have something more than this griddle and fryer. More than the tiny place I barely afford down the street. I wish I could have something to offer a woman like that. A woman who came from something.

Letting my eyes dip, I rein in those sorts of thoughts. Nothing good will come of them. I have a good enough life. More than a lot of others. No need to ruin it by letting myself chase a dream again. I did that once. It got me nowhere but laid up with a broken body and a busted spirit.

“Order up,” I call, plating the blonde’s order blindly.

“Oh, it looks awesome,” her voice gushes as Imelda sets it down. “The bacon is totally perfect. Thank you, Mr. Chef,” she calls loud enough I cannot miss it. Our gazes clash long enough for her to give me a huge smile.

I will take that smile and live off it for the next few days. It will make me feel good about being so alone. I can hold it up and say to myself, look, you did something good. You made a woman a damn fine, wicked random meal when she needed it. Good job, Pierce.

Turning from the pass through, I hide my own smile. How pathetic am I? That a single smile from someone being kind, being thankful, is something I have to hold on to. Something I will return to when I am feeling alone. When I am reminded that this is as good as life will ever get for me.

Stepping outside, I light up a cigarette and take a long drag. It burns my chest as I inhale. I suck the poison in as if it can fix what ails me. Burning it to the filter, I flick it towards the dumpster. Just as I do, I spot movement there. A baby kitten comes out from beneath it, crying at me.

“Oh, you poor thing. Where did mama go?” Scooping up the tiny black and orange ball of fluff, I bring her to my chest.

“You must be hungry. Come on, sweetheart, I will see to you.”

Taking her inside, I hide her inside my button up uniform shirt. Her little head pokes out and I gently nudge it back down with my chin. Behind the grill I do a once over. The coast is clear. Letting her pop her head out, I feed her a little bacon, laughing as she eats it with huge, chomping bites.

Glancing up, I see the blonde from earlier—my starlet—watching me. We share a look as I let the kitten nibble on the bacon. Her big greens get even bigger as she presses a hand to her chest. Whew. The new girl won’t snitch me out to Imelda or the other diner patrons.

Holding a finger up, I press it to my lips, petting the kitten with my other hand. Her head bobs agreeably and my heart stutters. We have a secret. Something about that makes me feel twisted up with excitement. Grinning at me big, she laughs as I tuck the feisty kitten back in my uniform shirt.

Finishing her meal, she whispers with Imelda for a moment before heading out. I watch her go, wishing I had the courage to go after her. To get her number so I could call her. Just as I let most of my chances pass me by, I never even say a word to the girl.

“Pierce, that new girl in town,” Imelda shouts as she starts closing things up for the night. “Take a look at her ticket.”

Frowning as I adjust the kitten in my shirt where she sleeps with a full belly, I pull the ticket off the stack. With a bunch of hearts and even stars, she signed a thank you for the radical food. Her words. That’s not what gets my heart thundering again. Her name—Paige with more hearts—and number scrawled across the bottom. With my name attached to it.

That stone cold fox gave me her number?

Looks as if I might get another chance at this—what do I do with it?