by R. L. Naquin
Okay. So maybe not everyone was going to be superfriendly. Brownies weren’t normally so grumpy, in my experience. I’d win her over eventually. I knew I could.
That left one truck still to open. The Burrito Bandito was still shut tight. I peered at the flying burritos painted on the side and chuckled. Whoever was running this truck had to have a good sense of humor.
“What are you laughing at?”
I jumped, then laughed again. “You startled me!” I turned, still laughing, to face the deep voice behind me. My laughter caught in my throat and turned into an unladylike gurgle. A devastatingly gorgeous man with bulging muscles under his tight shirt, eyes the color of smoke and a scowl ruining his perfect forehead stared at me from the back of his truck.
“You’re blocking my way. Some of us have real food to serve, and I can’t get my window open with you standing there giggling in your fairy costume.”
I swallowed hard. What the hell was up this guy’s ass? And why was my throat so dry? “I’m a genie.” I stepped out of his way.
He moved past me in a cloud of spicy aftershave. “What?” He didn’t bother to look at me while he worked to get his menu up.
“A genie. I’m a genie, not a fairy.” I watched him work, and my stomach did a little flip.
When he was finished setting up his storefront, he faced me. The scowl had eased some, but not a lot. “So, that’s yours over there?” He tipped his head toward my truck. “You’re planning to sell toast?”
I didn’t answer. It was pretty obvious, since it was written on my truck and I matched it. “I’m Kam.”
He stared at me as if looking deep into my soul. When he was satisfied with whatever he’d found there, he walked away without a word and climbed into his truck.
I’d been so surprised by his attitude and his physical charms, I hadn’t noticed what sort of creature he was.
Sandra leaned out her window from the next truck down. “That’s Lucas. Don’t worry too much about him. He doesn’t like new people, is all. He’ll thaw out eventually.”
I nodded my thanks and returned to my own truck next to Sandra’s, trying not to pout.
“What’s wrong?” Ash frowned when she saw my face.
“Look at this.” I waved my hands up and down my body. “What guy could resist this?”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “A gay one?”
“He’s not gay.” I dropped sideways into the driver’s seat, dejected. “This is serious, Ash. What if I’ve lost my ability to voodoo? All we have is toast to sell.” I covered my face with my hands. “What was I thinking?”
Ash touched my bare shoulder until I looked up. Her expression was serious, but her eyes were laughing. “Do I need to go beat up a guy for not ogling you? I’ll totally do it. Who is it?”
“All right. You can stop laughing at me.” I straightened my tiny hat and repositioned the fabric hanging under my chin. “Boys are dumb.”
“Yes, they are. Everyone knows it.”
“Shall we sell some toast to some dumb boys?”
“Let’s sell all the toast to all the dumb boys.” She winked.
I winked back. “Kid, I like your style.”
* * *
It took us a little time that first shift to get into the flow of how to make, sell and serve food from a food truck. At first, I sort of hung out the window, flapping my arms to get the attention of potential customers. Occasionally, someone would stop and place an order, I’d hand it to Ash, take the payment from the customer, and Ash would nudge me aside and hand the food out the window.
We didn’t attract a lot of customers that way, and on the rare occasion that we did, we got tangled up with each other in front of the window.
In one of my most inadvisable moves ever, I decided the solution was to switch places—let Ash try to sell the toast while I made it.
I may have mentioned that I wasn’t a very good cook. But it was only toast. Who couldn’t make toast?
Ash stuck a piece of paper to the clip above the counter. “Two grape on white, medium.”
“Got it!” I pulled out two slices of white bread, dropped them in the slots, then pushed down the lever.
The wires inside grew orange, and heat radiated from the slot openings. The orange was such an artificial color. Not like real fire at all. Real fire had more of a red tone to it that faded through orange and into yellow.
Yellow was not a good color on me. My skin tone really picked it up when I wore it against my skin and made me look sallow. I ducked down a little so I could check my reflection in the side of the toaster.
My costume was gorgeous. I had to hand it to myself, I did a fantastic job of duplicating it from I Dream of Jeannie. Barbara Eden was wonderful in that show, though her coloring was all wrong for being djinn.
She would have looked fantastic in yellow with her blond hair and pale skin.
“Kam!”
I glanced at Ash, alarmed by her tone of voice, then looked back at the toaster. Smoke billowed out the top. A second later, the lever activated, and two slices of charcoal popped up. “That’s not medium, is it.”
“All right. That’s it.” Ash swatted me with a dish towel. “You’re out. I’ll take care of this. You go outside and get us customers. You’re not just wasted staying inside the truck, you’re also hazardous.”
I hung my head in shame. “Fine.” Order pad and pencil in hand, I stepped out of the truck into the parking lot.
Within minutes, business picked up. First, one or two men, then several at a time. Word appeared to be spreading. Before long, we had a booming toast business. All I had to do was stand there and the men came to me. Was it ethical? Probably not. But we were in a pinch, and it wasn’t doing any harm for them to ogle me a little and hand over their money for toasted bread with a topping.
About two hours in, Truman showed up with his team. “Ma’am,” Truman said, his face set in fierce, professional granite. “I need to see your permit to do business. I’ll also need to inspect your truck.” He spoke loud enough to get the attention of the trucks on each side of me, as well as quite a few tie-clad customers.
I gave him a polite smile. “Can’t this wait until after the rush, Officer? I’m trying to serve these people their breakfast.” I considered fluttering my eyelashes but decided that might be over the top. Subtle wasn’t normally my forte. It was hard.
Truman hunched his shoulders. “Ma’am, now would be the time, not after you’ve poisoned people.”
“Hey!” I started to object, genuinely concerned that people would stop coming if they believed my food was dangerous.
Truman spun me around and marched me into the truck, closing the door behind him and leaving Joan and Bubba outside. “Girl, what on earth are you wearing?” All pretense of seriousness was gone, and he was snickering.
I twirled in the confined space, my coins tinkling softly. “It’s vintage Barbara Eden.”
“Well, it’s certainly getting the job done. You have a crowd out there.”
“One I’d kind of like to get back to. We’re not just undercover. We also need the money to live.”
“Understood.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a manila envelope. “Here you go. Those need to be displayed according to the directions in the envelope. If anybody comes by asking for your permits and inspections, you can just wave them to the wall.” He handed the package over. “I stuck a roll of tape in there, too, just in case you didn’t have any.”
“Thank you so much for getting these for us.”
He looked in our kitchen. “Promise me you won’t poison anyone. I’d hate to be responsible if you killed a customer. It’s my name all over these permits. Normally I put people through a very long inspection before they get their permits.”
I put my hand on my heart. “I won’t forget t
hat you did this, Truman. I promise not to disappoint you.”
He grinned. “It’s just toast.”
I smiled back. “Exactly.”
When I went out again, the crowd had thinned. Even five food trucks and my cleavage couldn’t stop business hours from happening. Eventually, the cubicles in those buildings needed to be filled.
We cleaned up the prep area and counted out the cash.
“Wow.” Ash took the wad of bills from me and counted herself to double-check. “This is double what we started with before we went shopping.”
“How much inventory have we got?” I tried to do a count over her head, but failed.
Ash read off a slip of paper in her hand. “We’re out of white and sourdough, half a loaf of oat left, and most of a whole wheat. We’re also out of strawberry jam, smooth peanut butter and nearly out of the crunchy.”
“If we ran to the store, we could probably do some serious lunchtime damage.”
“Nobody eats toast for lunch. Not unless they’re sick.”
I gave her a sneaky smile. “Can you make grilled cheese?”
“Well, yeah.”
“We’ll write it on the menu as toasted cheese and we won’t have to rebrand. Still toast.”
She eyed our currently unused grill. “Do we know how to turn that thing on?”
I shrugged. “No. But I’m sure we can figure it out or find someone who does.” I smiled. I knew exactly whom to ask. Because I was determined to win over that burrito dude if it killed me.
Or him.
Chapter Eight
After we shopped to replace the inventory we’d used up, plus a large quantity of cheese, Ash stayed behind in the truck, happily arranging our purchases while I set out in regular street clothes to do some investigating and maybe a little mingling.
None of the other trucks had left. It seemed they, too, were gearing up for the lunch crowd. I hated to interrupt them in their prep work, but I needed answers.
Across the street, an elderly man in an old army jacket and mismatched shoes limped past the café and disappeared down the alleyway.
I frowned. Was there something going on down there, or was it a shortcut to some underground farmers’ market that sold magical talismans and monkeys? I leaned against a tree and watched another man, equally ragged, follow the first.
“You sure are nosy.”
This time I didn’t jump. I turned slowly to look at the burrito guy. Direct eye contact was a mistake, though. My stomach went all squirmy. “What’s wrong with nosy? You can’t learn anything if you’re not paying attention.”
He pressed his back against his truck, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, looking like an ad for Levi’s 501 jeans. Except for the scowl. Cover models might go for the smolder, but they were rarely told to scowl. It wasn’t appealing. Or, at least, it shouldn’t have been.
I should know. Back in ’86, I worked for a photographer for a few days. I held his spare cameras while he told the models how to stand and how to feel. The men worshipped him as much as the women did.
When he decided he wanted to take my pictures for a perfume ad, I took off. A girl on the run didn’t allow her pictures to go in a national ad campaign. Having my face on a billboard would’ve been a great way to get caught.
Of course, I got caught anyway, eventually, but boy, I’d loved the ’80s. So rad.
“What are you up to, lady? Why are you here?” On second thought, even the scowl was kind of hot. Mostly in that fun, spanky way some guys had. I’d have bet money he would be the one in control in the bedroom. Absolute. Control.
My stomach twisted again, and my cheeks felt hot. A lot of things felt hot. Was it weird that I wanted to close the gap between us and lick his ear? Or maybe bite it a little to see if he really was a spanky kind of a guy? How much pushing would it take to find out?
“Are you even listening to me?” He’d taken a step closer to me when I wasn’t paying attention.
A breeze kicked up, and that spicy aftershave blew past my nostrils. “I’m listening.” I gave him a slow smile. “Blah, blah, why am I here. Right?”
His scowl deepened. “And?”
“And? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize there’d be a test. Can I take a makeup exam?”
His expression lightened. “Are you for real?” He shook his head. “Seriously. Let me give you some advice.”
“Okay. Fire away.” I spotted a bottle cap on the ground, picked it up and shoved it in my pocket for Ash. “You seem to have something big you want to share.” I nearly choked on the double entendre, and I had to mentally fight the twelve-year-old in me to keep from snickering.
“Look, you’re obviously new at this whole food truck thing. Find yourself a quieter venue. Someplace where you can learn at your own pace and stay out of trouble.”
All dirty jokes and urges aside, I straightened and stepped toward him. “You think I’ll get into trouble?”
He paused, his expression thoughtful. “There’s been trouble around here lately. It’s not...safe.” He shook his head. “Forget it. Just stay with your truck, okay? Don’t go wandering around.” He turned on his heel and huffed off without another word.
I watched him, enjoying the view, until I realized I’d meant to ask him for help getting our grill working. Ah, well. Too late. There had to be another way to get his attention. I didn’t plan to be here long, so I’d have to win him over a little faster than this.
The most fascinating thing about him was that I hadn’t detected any kind of Hidden under the human face. His arms were bare and didn’t have any jewels, so he wasn’t a djinn. Honestly, he could be anything. My not spotting it didn’t mean there wasn’t another face under the one I wanted to...well, get to know better.
I’d simply have to get a closer look.
* * *
I decided to wait on the alley investigation until after dark. It made more sense, since the food truck folks were out during the day. I could question a few of them, and later no one would see me poking around and looking suspicious.
And the best place to start would be with the person who’d been the nicest.
I knocked on Sandra’s side door and waited. Sounds of movement came from the truck, then the door opened.
“Oh, hi!” Sandra gave me a welcoming grin. “I’m just finishing up my prep work. Do you need something?” She didn’t appear to be irritated by the interruption, but she made it clear she was busy.
“Well, I didn’t mean to bother you. I just came by to chat. Can I help?”
She blinked a few times, as if she didn’t understand. “Don’t you have your own prep to do? Surely you’re not selling toast for lunch.”
“Toasted cheese sandwiches and bags of chips. Ash has it under control. I was going to find someone to help us figure out how to light the grill, but she figured it out. If you’d rather I go...”
“Don’t be silly.” She opened the door wider. “Come in. I could certainly use the help.”
I climbed in behind her. Her layout was different from mine. I didn’t have an oven like she did, and she had a full-size refrigerator. Everything was shiny and silver, and small bins lined the counter, all filled with vegetables chopped in exactly the same shapes and sizes. The opposite counter contained baskets of muffins, a tray of miniquiches prepped for the oven and a huge silver pot of ooey-gooey macaroni and cheese.
My stomach gurgled.
“What can I do?” I stepped into the kitchen portion but kept my hands to my sides. It was all so clean, I was afraid to touch anything.
“How would you feel about peeling some hardboiled eggs for me?”
“Sure!” I squeezed past her to the back of the truck where she had bowls set up—one for the naked eggs and one for the shells. I picked up an egg and cracked it again
st the counter. “I haven’t done this in a long time.” The shell peeled off and broke, leaving me determined to get the next one in a single piece.
Sandra set to work measuring flour and other dry goods into a bowl. “So how did your first breakfast shift go? Looked like you had a decent line.”
“It went well. We sold a crap-ton of toast. Of course, we won’t make much in the long run. I didn’t think about that part. You can’t charge a lot for a piece of bread with a spoonful of jam on it. I may have to get more creative with the toppings so I can charge more.”
She nodded. “You’ll figure it out. There’s a learning curve.”
We chatted for a bit about business, the brownie recipe she was using and a little bit about her husband. Sandra had been a widow for a few years.
“It took me a while to readjust to my new reality without him.” She poured the batter into a baking pan. “But then I decided, feeding people was what always made me happy. I sold the house, bought this truck and never looked back.”
I cracked another egg and picked it open. “You don’t live in here, do you?”
She laughed. “Gosh, no. I bought a small townhouse. It’s enough to keep all my things in without being too much to take care of. Where do you live? What brought you here?”
I’d known eventually someone would ask where Ash and I had come from. In my experience, lies that were close to or mixed with the truth were always the most believable. “My sister and I just came to town recently. We’ve been on a trip to see the country—kind of like backpacking across Europe, only staying here in the United States. And driving. Then again, maybe it’s nothing like backpacking across Europe.”
“You’ve been driving a food truck across the country?” She stopped chopping walnuts and gave me a doubtful look.
“No. Two days ago our truck broke down. We traded it in for a food truck until we can pay for repairs.”
She chuckled. “That is the weirdest trade I’ve ever heard of.”
“It made sense at the time.”
“I bet it did.” She smiled and went back to chopping. “It also explains the toast. You’ve got no business plan, no experience and no time to learn anything complicated. Toast is genius when you look at it that way.”