Opposites Attract: The complete box set

by Higginson, Rachel

  Fast forward twenty-ish hours or so and my pride-fueled optimism had evolved into full-fledged panic.

  The line in front of my window stretched six people deep while three other couples waited for their food.

  I scrambled around my tiny kitchen like a mad woman, carefully balancing taking orders and filling orders. If I ignored the window for too long, the people waiting would leave. If I ignored the orders waiting, those people would leave too and drop scathing reviews all over the internet.

  Or shout their complaints straight to my face.

  I wiped my hand across my damp forehead and ignored the hard pounding of my heart. Adrenaline coursed through me. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to dance in triumph or puke in early defeat.

  “Hey, anybody home?” A voice called through the window sounding cartoonish in its dramatic impatience. “I’ve been waiting forever out here!”

  I finished slapping together a grilled cheese and set it on the stove before I hurried over to the window. Vann grinned at me through the open window.

  “Look at you.” His smile stretched across his face, and his eyebrows danced on his forehead. “I’m impressed, sis. Opening night and you’re killing it.”

  “Oh, thank God,” I panted, ignoring his compliment. “I need your help.”

  His eyebrows stopped waggling and drew down in concern. “Do you need me to get something from the store? I’m not sure what’s still open, but I can-”

  I cut him off, desperate to get him inside. “I need you to take orders. Inside. Now.” I turned back to the stove to flip the grilled cheese. Glancing back at Vann, I tacked on a quick and panicked, “Please.”

  He shook his head, fear reflecting in his eyes. “I can’t go in there. You’ve seen me in a kitchen! I’m a disaster.”

  “I don’t need you to cook anything!” I reached overhead for a disposable cardboard basket and a butcher paper square to line it. “I just need you to take orders and money.”

  My brother’s voice trailed after me. “Are you serious?”

  I threw a desperate smile over my shoulder. “I’ll owe you one!”

  “You already owe me!”

  Gently placing the toasted grilled cheese on one side of the basket and dumping a handful of fries on the other, I gracefully added the tomato soup drizzle as well as a plastic ramekin of the sauce for the fries. With a small sprinkle of parsley for garnish, I stepped to the other window and handed it to the man waiting.

  “Here you go.” I smiled again, hoping he didn’t notice the lines of sweat coating my face or the way my hands shook as I passed him his late night meal. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  Thankfully his bleary eyes were fixed on his food. “This looks amazing.”

  I had a line of people and more plates to make, but I couldn’t help soaking in his compliment. “Thank you.”

  With his mouth already full of a bite of sandwich he shook his finger at the truck and crooned, “This was such a good idea. This area needs more late night food.”

  My grin stretched across my face. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

  “Okay, what do I do?”

  I glanced to my left to see Vann tying on one of the extra aprons I had hanging near the door. He didn’t need to wear one since he wouldn’t be handling food, but I didn’t waste time telling him that.

  “Thanks again,” I hollered to the customer and then spun around to make the next meal. To Vann, I said, “Just take orders. Write them down here.” I pointed to a pad of paper. “Put them up here.” I pointed to the order line over my head. “And don’t get them out of order.”

  He leaned out the window. “Just a second.” To me, he asked, “And payment?”

  “Use the pouch for cash and my PayPal thingy for cards.” I slid my phone to him with the card reader attached to it. “Everything’s five dollars tonight,” I explained while my hands flew with superhuman speed to make two pulled pork meals.

  The cunning businessman in my brother perked up, and he couldn’t help but ask, “I thought you wanted to make money?”

  I smiled at the sandwich in my gloved hand. “Opening weekend special. I’m hooking them on good, cheap food. I need them to come back. Even when the prices double.”

  “Huh,” Vann grunted. He didn’t say anything more so I couldn’t tell if he thought that was a good idea or a bad one. Regardless he started taking orders and payment, and I stopped freaking out.

  I exhaled a slow breath and finally let myself settle into making good food. For the past three hours, it was nothing short of a relentless scramble. I hadn’t been able to breathe, let alone enjoy the thing I loved most in this world.

  Now I could finally find my stride. I was used to full menus to cook from, so limiting myself to two dishes became an easy routine I glided through effortlessly.

  I was happier with my dishes too. Even though I knew they tasted fine, they weren’t always the prettiest things to look at in my haste to shove them at the customers. With Vann’s help, I could take the time to make each order look as good as it tasted.

  Which made me immensely happy.

  I finished up the orders practically twirling around in the kitchen, and when we finally got a second for a break twenty minutes later, I threw my arms around Vann and squealed against his t-shirt.

  He hugged me back, squeezing me affectionately. “Has it been like this all night?”

  I blinked back happy tears and pulled away with a huge grin plastered on my face. “It was slow at first, but once it got dark, things really started to pick up.”

  “You’re going to have to hire someone,” he murmured practically. “I can’t moonlight as your cashier every night.”

  I narrowed my eyes, playfully negotiating with him. “How about just the weekends?”

  “I’m already giving you the space for free, Vera! Good God.”

  I laughed at how affronted he was. “I’m just kidding. I know you can’t, but I appreciate your help tonight. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up.”

  “No kidding,” he grunted.

  I glanced out at the plaza. It was getting close to midnight, and only the late night venues were still open at this point. The shops and businesses closed hours ago, and the restaurants were dark now, with only their staff remaining.

  Seeing no one wandering our direction, I turned back to Vann. “Are you hungry? I can at least pay you in food.”

  “That is why I came over here.”

  I smiled at him and his sarcasm. I couldn’t help it. Not even Vann’s surliness could put me in a bad mood tonight. I was high on endorphins, unexpected success and the feeling I got every time I stepped into a kitchen. “Pulled pork or grilled cheese?”

  “You pick for me,” Vann said, letting go of a small, amused smile. “Grilled cheese, though? You really know your clientele.”

  “If you mean drunk people, I told you. It’s all about catering to their need for greasy comfort food to soak up all that alcohol.”

  He snickered at my honest answer. Granted, there would never be enough drunk people to keep me in business forever, but it was a start.

  I finished making him a plate of one of everything and set it down on the counter next to him while he prepared to take another order. Glancing out the window, I saw there was a group of people staring at the menu, all dressed in white or black t-shirts and black pants. Some of them were wearing bandanas to hold their hair back. All of them look tired. And hungry.

  They were clearly the kitchen staff from one of the nearby restaurants, but I didn’t recognize any of them nor did I know the area well enough to guess which one.

  My gaze flickered to Lilou, but I highly doubted anyone from that kitchen would deign to grace me with their superior presence.

  Stepping away from the window so Vann could take their orders I moved to the back of the truck and slipped my plastic gloves off for a second. My hair was in desperate need of a redo, and I wanted a second to take a deep breath.

/>   In the back of the truck, I stepped up to the small mirror over the sink, and I fixed my hair in a knot on the top of my head. Using a few paper towels to pat my face, I felt refreshed and ready for more. I could hear Vann still talking at the window, so I let myself assess my face with a critical eye.

  I’d definitely been working hard tonight. My cheeks were red, blotchy from excitement and effort. And yet the blush stain did nothing to cover up my freckles, in fact, it only enhanced them. My chocolate brown hair was darker near the roots where I’d been sweating. I grabbed a fresh bandana and folded it quickly so I could tie it like a headband and cover the evidence of my hard work.

  Universal fact—nobody wanted to look at a sweaty chef.

  Second fact—all kitchens were hotter than hell.

  The only makeup I fussed with tonight was waterproof mascara, and that was holding strong, even if the rest of my face looked like I’d been running a marathon in the Sahara desert without sunscreen.

  For one painful moment, I saw myself through his eyes and my stomach dropped to my feet. His voice whispered up my spine and wrapped around my new sense of confidence. I was too heavy these days. I had at least fifteen pounds to lose. My hair looked crazy on top of my head in a fat messy bun that was truly messy. I should have worn eyeliner to hide how tired I was, how haunted my eyes still looked. My chef’s coat was unflattering. My ears were too small. My lips too big.

  On and on, the criticisms swirled around in my head, poisoning my good mood and flaring the insecurities that plagued me constantly.

  “Vera?” Vann called from the other side of the truck.

  My brother’s questioning voice broke the evil spell, and I shook myself out of that negative head space. Those were his thoughts. Not mine. Those were his words.

  Never mine.

  I was stronger than that.

  I was confident.

  Secure.

  Not the doormat any longer.

  I loved my hair, despite it being a pain in the ass. I was happy with the weight I’d gained, with the progress I’d made.

  “Coming,” I hollered back at Vann. Turning the cold water on, I splashed water on my face and then spent a significant amount of time washing my hands.

  I turned back to the kitchen and experienced a renewed sense of peace, a sense of being home, the thrill of anticipation and bite of nerves. I let those mixed feelings wash over me, mingling into a healing balm that I would never get enough of.

  Cooking was the thing that saved me before, and this kitchen was going to be what saved me now.

  Ignoring the orders Vann was still taking, I grabbed at the first ticket, glanced at it and got to work. I had filled three orders before I started handing them out the window.

  The people waiting stood in friendly comradery, laughing at inside jokes and commiserating over their brutal night.

  “He’s a beast,” a tiny woman with a lip ring growled. Her dark blue hair was cut in a hip pixie style, with shaved lines etched into the sides. I was instantly intimidated. She was way too cool for me.

  A tall, lanky guy with full sleeve tattoos that reached all the way to his ears countered with, “He’s the best.”

  “And he knows it,” the woman argued. “He’s a nightmare to work for.”

  “Nobody’s making you stay,” another guy laughed. He was thick, built like a linebacker. His hair was hidden behind a black bandana, and huge gauges stretch his earlobes big enough to make me wince. “I hear Applebees is hiring.”

  The woman glared at him, and I dangled their food out the window before they noticed I was eavesdropping. “Grilled cheese?”

  The huge guy stepped up with a tight smile. “That’s me.”

  I reached back for the two pulled pork orders. “These must be yours.” The tall guy and the short girl stepped up next.

  “You know I’m not going anywhere,” the girl continued their conversation. “I just like to bitch.”

  Both of the guys mumbled, “We know,” at the same time.

  I got back to work, filling the next three orders. When I turned back to the window to hand them off, the tall guy was standing close by, waiting for me. His food was only half gone, and he held it close to his face, inspecting it thoroughly.

  I called out the orders, handed them off and then turned to him. “Is there something wrong?”

  His gaze bounced up to mine and I saw surprise written all over his features. “It’s good.”

  My mouth dropped open at the tone in his voice. He was really surprised. Genuinely shocked.

  “I mean, it’s really good,” he repeated.

  “Thanks?” What was this guy’s problem? It sounded like a compliment, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t even close.

  He must have seen the sneer on my face because he laughed a little and stepped closer to me. “I didn’t mean to offend you, I just wasn’t sure what to think.”

  I started to say something about how the food I made wasn’t anything especially difficult, but, “You were expecting garbage?” came out instead.

  “I was expecting grease and cooking one oh one.” I wanted to stay pissed at him, but his expression was so open and honest that I couldn’t hate him after all. “You know what you’re doing.”

  Not wanting to get his expectations up, I said, “For a food truck maybe.”

  He smiled at me. “He’s going to hate you even more now.”

  “Who?” I asked, even while dread curdled my insides and my gaze jumped to Lilou involuntarily.

  He smiled wider and held up his basket. “Thanks for the meal.” Turning his back on me, he joined the rest of his friends or peers or whatever. They all talked animatedly and laughed loudly, but no one else came back to compliment my food.

  A few minutes later, they left, and I went back to filling orders for the people filtering out of clubs and bars, people I was much more comfortable serving. I heard Killian’s motorcycle roar through the plaza, but I was too busy making progress on my new life to care.

  By the end of the night, I couldn’t stop smiling. I was utterly exhausted but in the very best way.

  I did it. I moved on. I started over. And I got to do something I loved more than anything else.

  There was no better feeling in the entire world. And nobody was going to take that away from me.

  Or distract me.

  Or ruin it for me.

  Six

  Saturday night, I recruited Molly to take orders instead of Vann because I thought it was cruel to force him to volunteer two nights in a row. Part of me wondered if I would even need Molly, though. Maybe Friday had been a fluke?

  The night even started slowly, but I blamed the weather. For early June, the heat was nearly unbearable. And locked away in the closed space of the food truck with the stove and fryer working hard to overheat us to death, Molly and I could barely breathe.

  Since it wasn’t much cooler outside, I hoped people were staying close to the air-conditioning for now.

  “I quit,” Molly groaned. “These conditions are unacceptable. I’m calling my union representative.”

  I snorted a laugh, too weak from the heat to work up real humor. “You can’t quit! You’re fired.”

  “You can’t fire me. I’ll see you in court!”

  I gave her my meanest glare. “You can burn in hell.”

  She grinned at me, then immediately started fanning her face with both hands. “I think I’m already there. How do you work like this, Vere? I’m dying.”

  “You know what they say? If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.” I winked at her to be obnoxious.

  She patted the back of her fingers over her flushed cheeks and breathed out slowly—as if that would help cool her down. “Seriously, this heat is an abomination. How are you going to cook in it night after night?”

  “It won’t always be this hot. There are other seasons.” She mumbled brat under her breath. “But it’s just something you adjust to. I’ve cooked in some crazy conditions over the la
st year. Hot, cold, tiny, ancient, makeshift. You name it. At this point, I’m pretty sure I could make you a five-course meal on a broken Bunsen burner.”

  Molly propped her head in her hand and tilted her face toward the small fan above her. “I have full faith in you, my friend.”

  I adjusted the clip-on fan so that it pointed directly at her head. Hey, what were friends for if not to save each other from heat stroke?

  She sighed in relief. Wisps of black hair danced around her forehead from where they’d escaped her high ponytail, mixing in with her heavy bangs. For all her complaining, she didn’t look uncomfortable. But that was so quintessentially Molly. Always unruffled. Forever cool, calm and collected.

  Where my pale skin turned splotchy and red when I was hot or frustrated or angry or embarrassed or feeling any emotion of any kind, Molly was all even-keeled and perfectly tanned skin. Her hair remained unfrizzed, sleek and straight like she’d intended. I already felt the natural disaster mine had become in the few hours we’d been here. Even hidden beneath a bandana, it exploded out the back like live wires.

  But usually, I could count on Molly to be together where I was perpetually falling apart. She was the kind of person I wanted to grow up to be someday. Smart and talented and without baggage. Responsible, driven, wholly comfortable with who she was. Except when it came to her art, but other than that she was basically my adulting hero.

  “So, has he who shall not be named been over to check out the competition?” Her eyes popped open, glittering with interest.

  I made a sound in the back of my throat. “He knows I’m not competition.”

  “Apparently not,” she singsonged evilly. “From what you told me the other day, it sounds like he’s shaking in his little chef booties afraid you’ll put him out of business.”

  A self-deprecating laugh burst out of me. “Which is so ridiculous. He’s just not used to other people playing in his sandbox. Killian Quinn might as well walk around with a giant Does Not Play Well With Others sticker plastered to his forehead. He’s an asshole. They’re all assholes.”

  “Chefs?” she clarified.