Chapter 15
“Here you go. Enjoy.” I serve up the last five sandwiches for the day, handing them through my truck window to a guy about my age with a young family.
“Sure will, man. Thanks.” He’s clearly on vacation—if the board shorts and rash guard aren’t an indication, then the sunburn he’s sporting on his forehead and cheeks surely is—and he does an impressive job of balancing the disposable baskets with their sandwiches, homemade chips, and pickles. One of his kids rushes him, and he nearly drops it all but manages to bribe the little pig-tailed princess with a traditional grilled cheese, which she takes in hand before skipping back to the tables outside Rainbow Ice.
Chuckling, I double check to be sure nobody else is waiting or approaching before I roll down the window screen. Whew. My hand finds the back of my neck and massages there, working the muscles that are tired but satisfied from a long Sunday that started with a busy lunch and ended with never-ending dinner lines. Thank goodness for the air conditioner blowing coolness onto my skin or I’d be a sweaty mess in addition to a weary one. But despite my exhaustion, there’s energy too. It’s buzzing underneath my skin, moving like a swarm of bees.
Because last night’s cilantro grilled cheese creation was a hit. All day, excited return customers ordered it with enthusiasm, and lots of newbies still chose it over my classic offerings.
It’s definitely going on the restaurant menu.
Now if only I can figure out what Lucy thinks is missing from the apple and fontina sandwich. She’s right, though. After she gave her critique, I tried making it again and couldn’t help but see things from her perspective.
Of course, she could have been saying it to mess with me, but I don’t believe that. Not really. Lucy Reynolds is many things (many things that I will not say out loud because admitting them would be admitting other things), but vindictive is not one of them.
In fact, last night, things almost felt normal between us. Comfortable. She was the old Lucy—the one she is with everyone else. The one she used to be with me.
I didn’t realize before then how much I’d missed her.
Of course, I knew that she’d inspired me—I’ve been a creating machine since the bake-off nearly a week ago—but this was about more than inspiration.
It was just about…her.
I groan because I really need to stop being so sentimental.
Then, as if the woman materialized out of my mind, there’s a knock at the back door and Lucy’s voice. “Blake? You in there?”
“Yeah.” I hurry to the door and fling it open.
Lucy’s standing on the bottom step, looking so casually gorgeous in a bright pink tank top and white shorts. Her hair is in two braids today, and she looks sporty and strong with her tan shoulders and arms on display. “Hi.” She’s got something held behind her back, and there’s a somewhat shy smile that she’s also trying to hide. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“You’re not interrupting. I was just closing up.”
She bounces on her tiptoes. “Okay, well, I know you’re probably tired, but I couldn’t stop thinking about last night.”
Her words are a gut punch. She can’t? “Me either.” I find myself saying the words, wondering what revealing them means. Wondering why I’m openly admitting that I can’t get her off my brain.
She squints at me. “Really?” Her head tilts as she studies me. A breeze blows the grass just below her. “So have you already come up with a solution?”
“A solution?” To what? How we could possibly be together?
“For the sandwich?”
Okay, slow your roll, Blake. What an idiot. I want to curse. Of course she’s talking about the sandwich. I clear my throat. “Yeah, of course.”
“Hmm.” She looks past me, as if she can see something by studying the contents of the truck. “Guess you won’t be needing this then.” With a flourish, she takes the last two steps so she’s standing even with me, then draws a small container from behind her back.
Whole-grain mustard.
My mind goes berserk.
“Lucy freaking Reynolds. You’re a genius.”
“Of course I am.” Then she reaches into the back pocket of her pants and pulls out a small bag of something else. “Aaaaaand try a few of these to go with it.”
I grab for the bag, but get her hand instead, tugging her closer to me so her hand is pressed between us. Her skin is soft, and my rebellious thumb reaches for a silky stroke before I can stop it. The apples of her cheeks turn pink.
I could stay in this moment forever.
“Sliced chives!” she blurts out, just like she did last night, all loud and awkward. I think she must do that when she’s uncomfortable.
Immediately, I drop her hand and take a step away, because I refuse to be the guy who makes her uncomfortable. Then my brain processes what she said. Mulls it over. I blink. “That could really work.”
“Of course it could. It will.” She flips a braid over her shoulder with a confidence that’s as sexy as the curves she shows off as she pushes past me and hops up onto the counter by the window. “Wanna see if I’m right?”
She’s just teasing me like a friend would—really taking that truce to heart—and can’t know how much I both want to be trapped in these close quarters with her and dread it too. Thankfully, my hands will stay busy with the sandwich making. “Let’s do it.”
I grab a loaf of sourdough off my well-organized shelf. Flipping the grill back on, I let it heat up while I pillage my refrigerator for an apple and some fontina. “So.” What? I never claimed to be a riveting conversationalist. “Where did you get the mustard?”
Oy. That made it worse, didn’t it? But I just can’t think right now, not with Lucy’s bare legs dangling close to my backside. With her orange-vanilla scent quickly overtaking the small truck. Thank goodness for rote actions that my hands immediately know what to do.
Slice apple. Check. Apply mayo to bread. Check. Slide on the mustard. Check. Arrange the apples and chives. Check.
While I do all of this, Lucy talks. “I got it from the Robin. I was busy waiting tables all day because one of my servers was out sick again. But that gave me time to figure out what the sandwich was missing. I was running in and out of the kitchen and spied this on the counter because Tiny was using it for one of his burgers, and BAM. It hit me. And of course, chives are good on everything.”
“Everything?” I tease, peeking back at her.
“Within reason.” She smiles at me and I’m a goner. Yep. Total goner. Especially when she lifts her head a bit like she can see over my shoulder. “How’s it coming?”
“Patience, woman.”
Her laugh fills up the whole truck. My heart too. And I’m the biggest sap that’s ever walked the planet as I toss that sandwich onto the griddle and hear the satisfying sizzle. I take my spatula in hand and turn, leaning back against the opposite counter to face her. My truck is decent-sized, but there’s still only inches between us in the cramped galley.
Her eyes flit away from my face and onto the sandwich. Then back to me. “You know, I really shouldn’t be helping the competition.” A little bit of the light fades from her gaze. “But if I can’t help the Robin do better, at least maybe I can take some credit for your success.” Her smile’s back, but there’s something strained in it. Like she’s pretending again.
“Ha ha.” I turn back to the sandwich, peek under the slice. Ready to flip, so I do. Then, “Are things really that bad for you?”
She shrugs a delicate shoulder, and guilt pummels me. “I’m sorry, Lucy. If I hadn’t moved in here, then?—”
“No, Blake. It’s not your fault. We were failing before you ever arrived. You opening your truck just made things…”
“Harder?”
“More interesting.”
“Ah.” I frown. “I know it’s not any of my business, but why is all of this falling on your shoulders?”
“I’m the one in charge.”
“Well, yeah, but it’s Winona’s company. Her ultimate responsibility.”
She sighs. “True, but I want her to be able to enjoy her trip without worrying about it, you know? I don’t know what I’m doing, though. I sit and stare at the numbers and try thinking up ways to change them, but…I guess I don’t really have a head for business.”
I pull the sandwich off the griddle and set it quickly on my wooden cutting board. “What about a business plan? Have you tried creating one? You start with the vision, identify problem areas, and then that can help you figure out some solutions for those areas. It kind of lays things out in a more helpful and purposeful way.” Setting down my spatula, I slice the sandwich in half—the melty cheese pulling deliciously from slice to slice—and scoot one half onto a paper towel. The heat bleeds through, as does a bit of the grease.
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“I can send you the one I put together for the restaurant. It might help you get started. And I can look yours over when you’re done. If you want.” Turning, I offer the sandwich to her.
But she just blinks at me, frozen. “Really?”
“Really, Sunshine.” I press the sandwich into her hands.
“Thanks.” She takes it and blows on it, not taking her eyes off of me. I like her here, all casual in my domain, like she belongs.
More importantly, I like the pretty picture she makes when she finally closes her eyes—her nose scrunching ever so slightly—and takes a happy bite of the sandwich. She gasps, and her eyes fly open. “This is it!” Lucy waves the sandwich in the air like a victory flag. “Try it. We are geniuses.”
So I do—and she’s right. It’s even more perfect than the cilantro sandwich that flew out my window today.
“Sunshine, I could kiss you right now.”
And whhhhhy did I have to go and say a thing like that?
Her arm drops onto her lap, and she swallows quickly.
My brain isn’t computing. It’s short circuiting. One thought—must recover. Must recover. I laugh. “I just mean, it’s really good. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Her shoulders relax and she laughs along, though again, it’s stilted. Hopefully my inane comment didn’t make her uncomfortable again. I’m really going to have to rein things in with her. Because it’s clear that I’ve still got a mad crush on Lucy Reynolds.
Not on the girl she was then, but the woman she is now.
And that is a very big problem.
Because I can’t be the guy I was then. And I can’t let myself give in to what that guy wanted, either. What my dad said is still true—I don’t want any regrets. I don’t want a small life. And even if I did, I have to press on, to make him proud. If I fail at that, well…there’s really no other option for me, especially since he’s not here anymore.
Lucy bites her lip and slides off the counter sideways to avoid running into me. “I guess I’d better go. See you at h—” Her jaw drops, and before she can say the word “home,” she’s reaching across the counter toward the window.
Where there are still some of her BOGO fliers.
I ran out of the ones I stole from Alberta, so I finagled these from Burt’s auto shop. Burt promised not to tell Lucy. But now, it seems I’ve told on myself.
She lifts the flier. “What’s this?”
I scratch the back of my head. “A coupon.”
“Thanks, Einstein. I recognize it. Quite well, in fact. But why is there a stack of my coupons in your truck?”
Now it’s my turn to shrug. “I know you say we can’t possibly share customers, but I don’t think that’s true. Consider this my way of making up the theft you accuse me of.”
Will this upset her? Make her mad? I’ve known people who would be mortally offended by something like this, wanting to be able to prove they succeeded all on their own.
But not Lucy. Instead, she tackles me with a hug, pressing her face into my chest and wrapping her arms around my middle. “You didn’t have to do that.”
I take this opportunity to hug her back, setting my chin on the top of her head so I don’t do what I’m dying to—which is bury my nose in her hair and take a big whiff like some sort of stalker. “I wanted to.”
She looks up at me, and her eyes are watery. “You aren’t so bad, Flake.”
I chuckle softly. “Neither are you, Sunshine.”
Lucy pulls back far too soon, wiping at her eyes and heading toward the door. At the last minute, she turns, her hand on the doorknob. “I’m sorry for how mad I let myself get at you six years ago. About how I’ve been treating you.”
Aw, Sunshine. I stick my hands into my pockets. “I’m sorry for leaving. You were right. I should have listened to you. Should have been here for Mare.”
“You’re here for her now. That’s what counts.” She opens her mouth as if to say more, then must decide against it. “I’m happy for you. That your dreams are coming true. Those L.A. foodies aren’t going to know what hit them.” Then she softly slips out the door and it latches behind her.
And I slump back against the counter, my heart beating double time. Because I’m no L.A. foodie. And unlike them, I know exactly what’s hit me.
And yet. I can’t pursue it. Can’t chase this feeling. It wouldn’t be fair to Lucy. To me. To Dad and his dream for me.
I have to do better at maintaining my distance. If I keep letting Lucy in like this—literally and figuratively—then I’m bound to break down.
I’m only human, after all.