Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
MARISSA
Marissa checked her watch. She and William had been unsuccessfully attempting to untangle the gigantic balls of Christmas lights for nearly two hours. She wasn’t entirely sure what she had learned about him. He was patient. She’d give him that.
And funny. He read Maya Angelou, loved food, and teaching was his passion, yet he and Parker were friends, or maybe something more. Parker’s “warning” had been clear. Stay away from William.
Understood.
But then, after leaving the winery, William returned to his usual self.
It was so confusing. They had collapsed on the floor in a fit of laughter when they had thought they were close to freeing a twisted strand, only to realize that it was attached to yet another strand that the endless loop had swallowed up.
William had taken it in stride. “Are we the worst at this?”
“Yeah, we are the absolute worst.” Marissa cracked a wide smile, looking at the piles of Christmas lights. “At least we have a head start.” Her stomach growled so loudly that it sounded like a jet revving its engines.
“Should we take a lunch break?” William cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders. “I happen to know some killer food trucks are in the adjacent building. Maybe some sustenance will give us the final push to sort this mess out.”
Marissa’s stomach was in immediate agreement with his plan. “What if another team comes and uses our bundle of lights?”
“No problem.” William picked up their tangled pile. Watching him lift it made Marissa realize they had made more progress than she thought. A solid ball remained, but at least half of the strands had been separated.
“What are you going to do? Take it with us?”
“No, I’m going to get someone to watch it for us.
” He proceeded to drag the lights over to the ski jump float.
A quick conversation ensued. Marissa noticed she wasn’t the only one slightly dazzled by his charm.
The two young women he approached appeared eager to acquiesce to his every wish.
She felt a brief pang of envy, watching as he shot them his signature grin before returning to her.
Knock it off. He thinks you’re a project.
“We’ve got eyes on the lights. Let’s go eat.” William offered her his arm.
She wanted to resist, but her arm reached out for his like it was operating independently.
“What sounds good?” William’s touch sent shivers up her spine. “The Peruvian cart is amazing. Have you had their Bomba Tacos?”
Marissa shook her head, mainly because she didn’t trust herself to speak. Being this close to William made everything else fuzzy. He was in focus while the floats and volunteers and activity around them had gone blurry.
“If you’re not into tacos, the Smokin’ Heat truck has a bomb pulled pork sandwich. I have a standing arrangement with my students: If they bring me one for lunch, they get ten bonus points on any future assignments.”
“For real?” Marissa could feel his leg brush against her. She sucked in a breath and forced herself to think about food, not images of William yanking her closer to his body.
“No.” William wrinkled his brow. “I wouldn’t take bribes. I’ve wanted to talk to the food truck owner about popping by school on the last day before winter break and treating my students to lunch.”
“Could you do that?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
Because lunch for all his classes would probably cost as much as a month’s rent, Marissa thought.
“So, what sounds good?” he asked again.
“It has to be the pulled pork,” she replied, wondering again what it must be like not to worry about money every waking minute.
There was a short line at the BBQ cart. The dining area of the fairgrounds housed semi-permanent food cart pods and picnic tables.
“Do you want to find us a seat, and I’ll order?” William suggested.
“Uh, okay.” Marissa reached into her bag, hoping she had enough cash to cover it.
“No, don’t worry about it. It’s on me.”
“You don’t need to pay,” she protested. This was becoming a habit, and it was one she didn’t like. She didn’t need his charity.
“It’s cool.” William held up a hand to stop her. “My guy will give me a deal, and I want to talk to him about coming to school, anyway.”
Marissa protested, but he cut her off.
“Just let me do this, okay?”
“Okay.” She was out of her league here. She wanted to believe that William was a nice guy.
She almost wondered if he felt a hint of something between them, too, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that Parker was right.
She was nothing more than one of his “feel-good” projects.
It came with being a Graff. He was used to his family making broad, sweeping gestures for the community.
She had no interest in being a charity case.
She found a table, pulled out her phone, and spotted a missed text from Olivia.
You at the float barn? We’re on our way. Maybe see you there. How’s it going with Mr. Graff?
Yes.
Marissa didn’t want to get overtaken by her young cousin, but she was also torn. She was rooting for Olivia, too.
Can’t get a read on this dude.
Olivia texted back right away.
I like it.
Like what?
He’s making you sweat.
William returned with a tray of food before she could come up with a witty retort. “If you don’t fall madly in love with this sandwich, then I’m afraid we can’t be friends.”
“Teammates,” Marissa corrected him.
“Ouch.” He winced. “And here I thought we were getting along.”
“We are, as teammates.” Marissa took the plate from him.
In addition to the pulled pork sandwich, he had gotten her a side of beans, coleslaw, potato salad, a bottle of water, and a chocolate chip cookie.
“Thank you for lunch.” She didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but the flirting had to stop.
It wasn’t going anywhere and it was only serving to distract her.
“My pleasure.” He looked at her expectantly while she took a bite. “You’re going to love it. I know it.”
He wasn’t wrong. The pork was tangy and bright with a touch of heat that lingered on her palate and balanced perfectly with the cool, crisp coleslaw. “Damn, this is amazing. No wonder you’re hyping the truck,” Marissa said through a mouthful. “I didn’t realize I was so hungry.”
William smirked. “Untangling lights will do that to you. It’s exhausting—physically and emotionally.”
She smiled. “I’m surprised more teams haven’t shown up.”
He shrugged, watching her eat with a glint in his eyes. “The last time I checked the app, we were still in the top three. Not bad for a team of two, fueled only by food truck snacks and the pure passion to win.”
“Is that your way of saying we make a good team?” She scowled, taking another bite.
“I’m just saying, we’re not a bad duo, Grazing Table.”
“I wonder if the teams in front of us have already completed the challenge.” Marissa’s pulse jumped.
She focused intently on her half-eaten sandwich, picturing, hoping he wouldn’t notice her cheeks warming.
She pictured creating a new board for Yes, Cheese with brioche buns, pulled pork, and dipping sauces.
Maybe a trio of pickle spears, brined veggies, and salty chips.
William did have good taste. Whenever she had a new eating experience, she tried to envision how to reimagine it in miniature form for Yes, Cheese.
For the moment, the business consisted of arranging food.
Still, her ultimate goal was to do more actual cooking and baking; however, that required commercial kitchen space and a different food license—one step at a time.
“I wondered that, too.” William scooped baked beans onto a spoon. “The organizers weren’t exaggerating when they said they were going all out for the tenth anniversary. They are making us work for that fifty k.”
“That’s fine. I’m not afraid of hard work. I’ll gladly put in more blood, sweat, and tears if we end up with the sledful of cash.”
William took a drink, eyeing her thoughtfully. “Tell me more about Yes, Cheese.”
“What do you want to know?” She felt an unexpected flutter in her chest.
“Who’s your dream client? What’s your long-term vision? I want to know everything,” he said seriously, propping his elbows on the table and leaning in.
Marissa found herself telling William about her ideas for a commercial kitchen and how she had even dreamed about the possibility of a summer food cart, where she could offer picnic-style boards at outdoor concerts and music fests.
“For that, I would need to hire staff, so that’s way out in the future. ”
“Why?”
“Money, for one. I’m trying to build my base right now.”
“How many clients a week do you need to cover your overhead?” His gaze drifted upward like he was doing calculations in his head.
“It depends on the gig.” Marissa had eaten half her sandwich and polished off her sides.
“Ballpark.”
“If we’re talking bigger events, like your parents’ party, ideally one a week, along with three or four small catering jobs, would probably do it.”
William scowled. “Is that just to break even and cover costs, though? You want to make an income, too, yeah?”
“Yeah, but I live very frugally. I could make it work with those numbers.”
He tilted his head, clearly surprised by her drive. “Impressive.”
“I’m sure my salary goal is the equivalent of your ski budget.”
“Hey, that’s not fair.” He flinched. “I’m simply trying to get to know you better and learn what you want to do. You don’t have to be a jerk about it.”
Marissa felt bad. She looked away, pretending to scan the fairgrounds. “Sorry. I get uptight about money.”
“That’s obvious.”
“This is kind of my last shot. I gave myself until the end of the year to move out of my parents’ house, and the clock is ticking.” She’d gone too far. “I don’t know, maybe following your passion isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
William shifted his body weight and bit his bottom lip, as if he wanted to say more but wouldn’t. “I don’t know about that. Like I said before, money is just money. My family happens to have some, but money and passion are two completely different things. I thought you knew that, too.”
They finished their lunch in silence. Marissa wished she had kept her mouth shut or dared to ask him more about teaching and his family.
William Graff was slowly working his way in, but she couldn’t let him.
She had to guard her heart. Otherwise, she might get caught up in his spell like everyone else, and she couldn’t risk losing her heart—and the cash.