Chapter 5 A Missed Connection Thing
A MISSED CONNECTION THING
And then, things got weird.
While Wes preoccupied himself with swiping up the sauce explosion on his counter, Sasha plummeted into nerve-deep awkwardness, leaning heavily on her nervous tic (i.e.
, repeatedly and aggressively tucking her hair behind her ears).
Behind her, the line rustled with concern, wondering who or what had killed the vibe.
Destiny, who’d joined Sasha for moral support—and was spying a few feet away, near the Wok This Way truck—audibly whispered, “Noooo.”
What had Sasha expected from Wes when he saw her?
Now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure.
Pleasant surprise, maybe. A long time no see hug, perhaps.
She would’ve taken a fist bump. But nothing could’ve prepared her for his thunderstruck reaction.
The second Wes locked eyes with Sasha, he instinctively drew back, his face an almost slapstick collision of stress, shock, and confusion.
The man shattered a glass bottle of barbecue sauce, for God’s sake. Was her presence such a jump scare?
Besides, Sasha should’ve been the shocked one.
Her detective in shining armor had become a natural born griller?
Pardon? Not that Wes’s truck wasn’t cool as hell, all tricked out in retro oranges and browns, like a prop out of Shaft or Boogie Nights.
And his food must’ve been delicious, given the size of his crowd.
But . . . why, though? He was incredible at detective work.
His ingenuity and focus had saved her life.
Why give up a career that he excelled in?
Wes Dane never struck her as the kind of guy who’d blow up his life for barbecue.
And she told Destiny as much, twenty minutes before, when they first spotted his truck at F.E.A.S.T. They hid behind a truck, gawking at Wes through the crowd.
“I can’t believe what I’m looking at,” whispered Sasha to Destiny, who was overdressed for an outdoor food festival, wearing a pink corseted maxidress. And a fascinator. “That’s Wes Dane? My absolute God. Is he on OnlyFans?”
“Look at the women, though. Matte red lips to eat pulled pork?” Sasha was wearing a short halter top and slouchy jeans. Too casual? “I mean, go off. I love their commitment to the game. But what a scene.”
“Did he always look like that?”
“Like a beautiful demon? Yep.” She answered without hesitation. “I tried to cast him in a scripted series about a big-city female lawyer who returns to her tiny hometown for Christmas. And she falls for the local sheriff.”
“You saw him as the sheriff?”
“No, the sheriff’s promiscuous brother. He refused.”
“He just allowed a woman to kiss his biceps. I believe this version of Wes would consider it.” Destiny squinted her eyes in his direction. “He has no business being that fine.”
“Eh. I’m around fineness all the time, at work. Means nothing to me.”
Wes wasn’t her type, at all. She had no patience for guys that were a bit too pretty and charming for their own good.
She’d auditioned a million of them—actors and models who’d had the world handed to them in exchange for the bare minimum, simply because their features sparked joy.
She felt thankful that the universe had always protected her from such men.
Well, she thought. Except for that one time.
“Wait,” said Sasha suddenly. “I do remember him mentioning that he liked to grill on the weekends. But it sounded like a hobby, not a career.” She paused again, her mind rewinding, in superspeed, back to their long-ago conversations. What if he didn’t remember her? What if he turned her away?
And then, Sasha began to chicken out. “You know what? I’m rethinking everything. I feel weird about this. Maybe I don’t need a detective. I can look for Seat F myself.”
“Yourself?” Destiny held up an index finger in Sasha’s face. “No. I do not believe in breaking a sweat to land a man. This is dating, not an endurance challenge.”
“Maybe I should warm up first. You want an empanada?”
Sasha saw that Pastelitos de Titos, a popular Dominican restaurant, had a truck outpost there.
Before her life imploded, Sasha always tried to expose herself to Dominican things, to feel like she belonged.
But she usually felt like a poser at Dominican hair salons and restaurants, or Spanish-speaking bookstores, stumbling over her public-school-meets-Duolingo Espanol.
Her accent was so poor, she inevitably switched to English.
But she was back out in the world. Now was as good a time as any to get back in the game.
“Now’s not the time to explore your cultural identity,” said Destiny, with no-nonsense finality. She had Sasha’s number. “You dragged me out here, where people are eating outside, so you can meet Wes. What are you so nervous about?”
“I didn’t say I was nervous!”
“It’s obvious. Honestly, you’re acting like he’s an ex. Was there some pumpin’ and thumpin’ you never told me about?”
“Destiny, please.”
“Well, what was your dynamic like, back in the day?”
“Hard to say. It was a dark time,” she said haltingly.
“I was scared, and he cut through that. He was strong and took charge. We just instantly had this bantery, fun interaction. It was exactly what I needed at the time. I was actually sad when we went our separate ways after the case. I would’ve liked to stay friends.
But it was for the best, I guess.” She shrugged vaguely. “That’s all I remember.”
It wasn’t a total lie. Sasha had blocked out a lot of that time. It only resurfaced in vague dreams. The kind where you woke up paranoid and unsettled; but the details were fuzzy.
As soon as Sasha found Wes in her contacts list the day before, she dove into action. She tried calling, but she was sent to voicemail. After leaving a few messages, she texted him; but they all bounced back. So frustrating. Seat F was her future. She refused to let him slip through her fingers.
While she waited for Wes to return her call, she googled his name. And to her surprise, the Dane & Son Detective Agency website didn’t show up till the third page. The first two pages were all Natural Born Griller media.
Which led Sasha here. But what had led Wes here?
Kind of ironic, that someone who solves mysteries was now at the center of one.
Wes had hung a sign reading BACK IN TEN from the window and apologized to the Barbecuties for stepping away. Catching Sasha’s eye, he cocked his head to the left, gesturing at her to meet him behind the truck.
She nodded, scurrying over to a small, shaded area.
And then, Wes slid open the truck door, stepping down and standing in front of her.
A hand towel was tossed over his shoulder, a pencil was tucked behind his ear, and he looked outrageously broad-shouldered and startled and concerned.
She cupped her hand above her eyes, blocking out the sun as she peered up at him. God, she forgot how tall he was.
“Sasha Cruz. Sasha. Cruz.” Wes sounded like he was trying to talk himself into the truth of her presence. “Where did you come from? You scared the hell out of me.”
“I’m so, so sorry,” she whisper-yelled. “I didn’t mean to make a scene or just, like, pop up out of nowhere . . .”
“Oh, you didn’t mean to pop up out of nowhere?” He laughed a little at this, his hand over his heart like he was protecting it from pounding out of his chest. “Fuck.”
Wes scrubbed a hand over his face, pressing into his eyes.
Then, he dropped his hand into his pocket.
Shifted his weight from foot to foot. And finally looked into her face.
And, oh, she’d forgotten. She’d forgotten the hard line of his jaw.
The puffy, sensual contours of his mouth and his long, long lashes—the kind that were truly wasted on a man.
The dimple so deep, it flashed and flirted when he spoke.
A long-ago sense memory flooded through her. Quickly, she squeezed her fingernails into her palm, and let it go.
“You’re right, this was so unexpected,” she conceded. “But in my defense, I tried to call.”
“I changed my number.”
“That’s why my texts bounced.”
“But you found me anyway.”
“I did. Who’s the detective here, me or you?” she joked, trying to lighten the mood.
He smiled hollowly and then glanced at the ground. “Definitely not me.”
“You really gave it up, huh?”
“Ages ago.”
“Not to pry,” she started, tentatively, “but why?”
“I’ll tell you over a drink one day.” His eyes darted over in the direction of his crowd, and then back at her. It was clear he needed to get back to work. Sasha felt like a fool.
A lengthy silence followed. Two women peeked around the side of the truck, spying on Wes and the random girl monopolizing his time.
With studied amiability, he turned on a smile and raised his chin at them.
For a moment, he was caught in a beam of sunlight, bathing his face in radiance.
Sasha forgot how easily he accepted attention from people. He bloomed under it.
“I’ll be right there,” he called out, and turned back to Sasha. Almost apologetically, he said, “Folks show up to F.E.A.S.T. starving.”
And thirsty, she thought wryly.
“Looks like you only have a few minutes before the riots start,” she said.
“Less than that.”
Just then, they noticed another customer peeking around the truck. Cheerfully, he held up six fingers. She shot him a thumbs-up and disappeared.
Sasha felt so out of place. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shown up like this.”
“No, it’s just . . . you caught me by surprise, you know? After three years of no contact.”
“Four,” she corrected. “And you’re the one who disappeared, if I recall.”
“I didn’t disappear. The case was over,” he reasoned. He slid the towel off his shoulder and began wrapping it around a hand, boxer-style. Fidgeting. Was he as nervous as she was?
“I never even got to thank you,” she said.
“You didn’t need to,” he said, glancing again in the direction of his crowd. “I provided a service and fulfilled my contract.”