Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
FRANKIE
“Daddddddddeeeee!”
Frankie pinched the bridge of his nose as he turned the corner in the hallway and found Elodie stuck in her doorway.
It was a new, fun game for her she’d started after they moved into the new place a few weeks ago.
The doors were more than wide enough for her walker, but she always managed to turn at an angle to ensure the handle and wheel would wedge in the jamb and stick.
“Straight, remember?”
“Nooooo.”
He sighed and took the handles, rocking her back and forth until it dislodged from the wood. She laughed her head off when she rolled back, and he straightened her out. Her eyes, massive from behind her thick glasses, shifted restlessly back and forth.
“Okay. Forward. And hurry up, Bugs, or you’re going to miss the bus.”
That was a lie, of course. Her bus pulled right up to their apartment building, and an aide took her from the door to her seat. Even if it took them a half hour to answer the knocking. But it was his god-given right to say those things as the parent to a toddler.
Or, well, an almost-parent. The adoption motion had been filed since his mom finally agreed to give up her parental rights. He didn’t want to think about the therapy Elodie was going to need later in life when he had to explain to her that her dad was also her brother.
But he’d had her since she was six weeks old, so it wasn’t like they had to adjust their relationship the way he’d needed to do with Fenton and Fallon.
Four years later and she didn’t quite understand that he wasn’t her bio dad.
But they’d deal with that when she was ready.
“Do you want to eat the rest of your Pop-Tart?” he asked when he heard her shuffling behind him.
Her speed picked up as she neared the end of the hallway, and like always, she smashed into the corner with a soft oomph.
Not that it mattered. Every corner of their house was padded with pool noodle foam.
Her physical and occupational therapists recommended it until she became a bit more aware of her surroundings.
Her cerebral palsy made it hard for her to start and stop gracefully when she got going, and her cortical blindness made it hard for her to see objects that didn’t have a lot of contrast. He’d tried to fix that by painting the foam padding black, but he was starting to think she enjoyed giving him an anxiety rush every time she hurtled headfirst toward something dangerous.
“Mmm’not hungry,” she said. Her words were more clear now since she’d started taking speech therapy. Her cerebral palsy luckily didn’t affect her tongue or hands as much as it did her legs, which he was grateful for.
It meant she could start her therapy sooner. And she could work on braille.
“You’ll regret that later, Bugs.”
She just giggled and headed for the spot on the wall where she kept her backpack. It was bright pink and white with unicorns all over it—her current hyperfixation. He never in his life thought he’d have so much color in his house, but here he was.
For a moment, he thought about what Eddie would have said. Then he shoved that thought aside because his ex-husband would have been entirely disgusting about it. He would have made rude jokes and come up with some offensive private nickname for Elodie that would have made Frankie want to punch him.
God, he did not miss him at all.
The doorbell rang, and he let out a small sigh of relief. He was running late for work. He had three food trucks on his agenda, and the first one was all the way across town. “Come on, Miss Annie is waiting.”
Luckily for him, Elodie loved her aide, so she didn’t put up a fight when he brushed past her to open the door. Miss Annie gave him a wink as she tapped Elodie on the arm. “You ready, Bugs?”
“Can we play wiff…eggs today?”
“Eggs?”
Elodie burst into laughter. “Eggs and green ham.”
“Oh boy. I think we can,” Annie said. “Tell Dad bye.”
“Byeeeee!” Elodie didn’t turn or even attempt to glance back at him, because of course she didn’t. Four going on forty. He was chopped liver now. His chest hurt a little bit at the thought, but he quickly turned his attention back to his task at hand.
He didn’t love his job. It was meant to be temporary—something to pass the time while he figured out what he really wanted to do to support himself and Eddie while also making sure he could help his brothers out in an emergency.
He’d never really had time to figure out what he wanted his life to look like.
It felt as though he’d been moving from one crisis to the next.
And what little stability he’d managed to carve out had all crumbled at his feet.
As much as he would have loved to quit this job, it paid the bills and left room for all the shit Elodie’s insurance didn’t cover.
And it assured he wasn’t going to get laughed out of the courtroom for not having enough money to support her during the adoption hearing.
So.
He was stuck. Probably for the rest of his life. A hated man—a pariah of the food community because he was not only strict, but he was good at being strict. He was a man entirely out of fucks, and Frankie was more than happy to wear that badge.
Grabbing his keys, he popped in front of the mirror to make sure his hair was in place. Some days, he looked his age. Some days, he looked older. Today, he felt like his wrinkles were a little more prominent, and oh god, was that a white eyebrow hair?
He couldn’t fixate on that now.
Moving to the table, he made sure his laptop and tablet were in his bag, then made sure all his other equipment was charged and ready to go. He wouldn’t be at his office until the very end of the day, and he didn’t want to make time driving back and forth for shit he’d left behind.
“Breathe,” he told himself, then snagged a banana off the counter. “Breathe. Relax. It’s just another day.”
But dear god, he had no idea how wrong he was about to be.
The first food truck was parked in the lot of the museum, which was a prime location.
It was downtown, so it was close to all the corporate offices and the community college campus.
It was mostly shaded by huge trees in the roundabout but had plenty of parking around so customers could get to it easily.
The truck itself was black, with very large photos of all the food. It was very simple and easy to read, which Frankie appreciated. Oftentimes, they had chalkboards with bad handwriting and fuzzy photos that looked like they were taken off a first-generation smartphone.
Pulling behind the truck, Frankie stepped out and slung his bag over his shoulder.
The food truck window was still closed, but he could smell something frying, which would make his job easier to do.
He glanced at the time—five minutes to eleven.
Off in the distance, he could see a handful of people waiting.
Fuck’s sake. Whatever, he could make this quick. He could do this in his sleep.
Walking to the back door, he knocked and tried not to feel impatient as he waited.
“We’re closed!”
“I’m aware of that. Health inspector.”
The door cracked open, and he saw a sliver of a face profile. “Did you say health inspector?”
“I did.”
“We’re not scheduled for an inspection.”
“Right. This is your random inspection for the quarter.”
“But no one called.”
He fought the urge to pull a hand down his face and groan so loudly it blew out his eardrums. “Right. Because it’s a surprise inspection? That’s how surprises work. We don’t give you a heads-up to clean up all your mouse shit.”
“Excuse the fuck out of you!” the guy said, yanking the door open. He had very wide, staring blue eyes, and he didn’t blink much. Christ, he thought, please say it isn’t drugs. “There are no mice in my truck.”
“There are mice everywhere,” he said flatly. “It’s a matter of how you deal with them. Now, can you step aside, please?”
“Do we seriously have to do this right this second? I have a line.”
“Uh…no you don’t.” He peered around the truck again. There were a few more people milling around, but they weren’t queuing yet.
“I will have a line. It’s almost eleven.”
“And we can be done in five minutes if you let me do my job.” His tension was bleeding into his tone now, and the guy gasped and stepped back.
“You’re rude.”
“And you’re a pain in the ass,” he shot back.
Fuck, this was so not professional, but he was a little tripped up.
He wasn’t used to being spoken to like this by a chef or a truck owner.
They were usually overly polite and trying to distract him and kiss his entire asshole with their whole mouth so he wouldn’t notice all the violations.
He didn’t know if he hated or liked this version better. But he was going to do his job like he always did, no matter how much he did or didn’t like this man.
Glancing around, everything seemed fairly in order. No, that wasn’t fair. It was very in order. He’d never seen a space this small this well organized. Everything was in tidy bins, and there was no clutter at all.
“Impressive,” he muttered.
“The fuck did you just call me?”
He sighed and turned to face the man—Lucas, his name was, he noticed from the top of the file on his tablet. The owner of the Eyeless Potato. His brows dipped. He was pretty sure he didn’t see potatoes at all on the menu.
He didn’t get the pun.
Turning his gaze to Lucas, he took him in. He was very tall, long hair pulled neatly into two french braids and tied behind the nape of his neck in a bun. He was thin but muscular, a little pale like he didn’t spend much time outside, and, well…
Send him to hell for thinking it, but the younger man was absolutely fucking beautiful.
Frankie was a little taken aback by it, actually.
Lucas could have been a damn model. And hell, maybe he was one of those failed Instagram fashionistas.
His very, very blue eyes would have caught a lot of attention.
“Hello? Are you still here?” Lucas demanded.
Frankie rolled his eyes. “Can you please show me where you keep your cold items?”
Lucas grunted and turned, his hand touching the handle to the fridge before yanking it open. Once again, everything was in a bin and neatly stacked…but not labeled.
“Dates?”
“They’re on there,” Lucas said.
Frankie snorted. “I’m being serious.”
“Uh, screw you. So am I? They’re right there.”
Frankie peered around his arm but saw nothing. “They’re not. Anyone with eyes can see these bins are all unlabeled, and I could shut you down for that. It’s dangerous.”
“Oh. That’s nice. They are fucking marked, for one. And for two, not everyone has the privilege of having eyes,” Lucas snapped back.
Frankie pinched the bridge of his nose. It was like this man got out of bed and thought, I’m going to pick a verbal fistfight with the first person who talks to me today. He rolled his shoulders back and searched for what little patience he had left.
“I’m sure that’s the case, but how many food truck owners do you know that don’t have eyes.”
“At least one,” he said as though Frankie should be in on that joke. Whatever the hell it meant.
“An eyeless man drives a food truck?” he asked flatly.
Lucas scoffed and took a step back, his hand out behind him to touch the counter before he rested against it.
He folded his arms. “No, dipshit. Until they start providing affordable self-driving food trucks, I’m shit out of luck and have to pay someone to take my truck where it needs to go.
Which are spent from the profits you’re cutting into by arguing with me, by the way. ”
Frankie let those words hit him.
Then he processed what they meant.
Then he panicked. “Fuck.”
Lucas blinked.
“Fuck!” Oh my god, he never said fuck on the job. He was so getting fired. “I didn’t know you were…”
Lucas threw up his hands. “Oh, here we go again. You didn’t know I was blind? Don’t they at least brief you on the places you’re about to inspect?”
Humiliation crept up his neck, a burning hot path. How did he not notice this man was blind? He had a blind daughter, for fuck’s sake! He opened the fridge again and looked closer. In his periphery, he could see Lucas smirking.
The bins were labeled. In braille.
He swallowed. “There should be print on these as well.”
“For what? Fun?” Lucas demanded. “I’m the only one who works here. What is the point of having print labels?”
“Because it’s against regulation!” It was…maybe. Probably. He didn’t know. He was well aware he was trying to save face because he was beyond embarrassed.
“Oh my god, you are such a dick. You are a prejudiced—”
Lucas’s rant was cut off when Frankie’s phone began to ring, and he looked down to see it was the school.
“Oh, hell. Excuse me, I have to take this.” He stumbled for the door and managed to make it out onto the street without braining himself before he answered. “Yes?”
“Hey, Frankie. It’s Grace. Elodie had a seizure,” came the voice of the school receptionist he’d come to know very well
His heart sank. “How bad?”
“Not too bad. It lasted about forty-five seconds, but she had an accident, and she’s not feeling very well now. She’d like to go home.”
And this was why he couldn’t quit his job. He could just not show up to the other trucks he had to do today because none of them knew he was coming. So long as all of his reports were filed by the end of the week, he was golden. He wouldn’t have that kind of freedom anywhere else.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thank you. Sorry to interrupt your day so early.”
“It happens. Thanks, Grace.” He hung up and shoved his phone back into his pocket, then grabbed his wallet and pulled out one of his cards, scribbling a time on the back. Nine a.m. tomorrow. That should give him plenty of time to finish his inspection without impacting his daily sales.
And the night would give Frankie to come up with a way to apologize for being an unintentional asshole. Twice.
“I’m sorry, I have to cut this short. Here’s my card with your re-inspection appointment time on it.” He thrust it at Lucas, who fumbled, then took it and ran his fingers over it.
“How the fuck am I supposed to read this?”
Okay. Unintentional asshole three times.
“Don’t you have anyone who can read it to you?” Four times. God, what was wrong with him.
He started to clear his throat and tell him the appointment time, but Lucas shook his head and said, “You know what, I’ll figure it out. Have a nice fucking day.”
Frankie left without another word. What else could he say that wouldn’t make the situation worse? He didn’t trust himself with another syllable, so he stayed quiet until he pulled up to the school to collect Elodie and tried to forget what an absolute shitshow he’d made of the entire situation.