James Q’s reply was short and to thepoint, but at least the conversation officially ended when he typed out aterse,Not likely.
I stared at those two words for along time, waiting for them to trample my hopes and dreams, and force me togive up. Those words eventually would. I knew they would.
I was weak these days. Maybe I hadalways been weak. I had never thought of myself as a pathetic person growingup… but the decisions I’d made in and after culinary school… the way I’d beentaught to feel about myself and my inability to find my confidence again wasdisheartening.
I spent a year traveling around Europetrying to “find myself” again, and I came home dejected, whimpering and tenpounds heavier. If Dad hadn’t needed me, I’d probably still be hopping from jobto job trying to find the girl I’d been before. Before I became the girl thattraded in her bright future for an illusion because it had promised instantgratification.
A dirty look from a hamster couldsend me into a tailspin of self-hate and tears these days. My self-confidencewas fragile.
Until James Q. His words lit a firethat had been dormant for way too long. I glanced at my knives wrapped up likea Christmas present on my desk, feeling something stir inside me, feeling myold ambitions come to life with the ferocity that sent me to culinary school inthe first place.
I could cook. I couldreallycook. I had proved it by being atthe top of my class in culinary school and as I worked my way through Europelast year, hopping from one great kitchen to the next. I proved it with everydish I made. I proved it with the hours I poured into perfecting my craft. Iproved it by not giving up. By not letting other forces make me give up.
And Foodie wasn’t just going to servegreasy tacos andfrenchfries. I was going torevolutionize the whole damn late night dining scene in this city.
Watchout world, or at least Durham, I’m coming for you.
ChapterFour
I spent the entire next day cooking inmy truck’s tiny kitchen. I got up with the sun and made myself presentable,knowing I would have to interact with other humans. Humans that weren’t relatedto me or obligated to love me because they were my best friend.
I started the day by transferring equipmentout of my dad’s house to the truck. Even though Vann had great security andsurveillance gear guarding the bike shop inside and out, I had been nervousabout moving my expensive pans and knives to the truck, but I needed to testrecipes and the workspace. I realized somewhere in the middle of the night thatI wouldn’t be able to execute all the dishes from my repertoire in the limitedspace of the truck’s kitchen. That significantly narrowed my recipe playlist.
After I left the equipment in thetruck, I headed to the supermarket and spent the next couple of hours riflingthrough mediocre meats, and overpriced and under-ripened vegetables.
Belatedly, I realized I should havedone more research on where to buy fresh ingredients. But I’d been crazy busysince I got back to town. First with Dad’s treatment, and then learning what itwould take to get him healthy. Followed by opening the business and everythingthat entailed putting a food truck together. The cooking part was almost anafterthought.
Still, I should have found a goodfarmer’s market by this point.
Even though Durham was my hometown,I hadn’t been back since shortly after graduation over two years ago. I’d attendedculinary school in Charlotte. For the last year, I’d polished my skills byjumping from job to job in cities all over Europe. Working in Durham was goingto be a completely new experience.
Finding my place here would bedifficult, but not impossible. Every decent sized city had hidden treasuretroves that grew the freshest produce and butchered the best meats. It would taketime to hunt them down.
But currently, I didn’t have the timeor patience to search for greatness. Today and this weekend, I would work withwhat I could find at the supermarket. And pray it would be good enough.
By the time I got back to the truckwith my grocery finds, it was after lunch, and the summer sun burned hotterthan Hades. I had to crank the AC in my old Taurus on the way to the truck tofeel anything but sweltering.
I parked my car behind Cycle Life, soI didn’t take up any more of Vann’s parking lot and got to work unloading thegroceries. My stomach dipped at how much everything cost, not just because my fundswere severely limited, but because I wasn’t going to make any immediate profiton what I cooked today. This was a test run. I needed to nail down my openingdishes and decide on a cuisine aesthetic for Foodie.
Hopefully, Vann was hungry. At leastI would be paying him back for lunch from yesterday.
His shop was surprisingly busy for alate Thursday afternoon. If I were honest, I didn’t understand how he stayed inbusiness. How many people needed bike parts on a regular basis? But Vann madeit work.
He’d skipped college and wentstraight to owning his business. Well, not straight there. He’d worked at abicycle shop all through high school. The store was ancient and a pillar of mychildhood neighborhood. Vann had gotten the job to make extra money, but fallenin love with the sport once he started. He continued to work at the shop for afew years after high school.
When Vann started talking aboutopening his own business, doing the same thing except in a trendier, more hipster-clutteredpart of town, dad offered him the same deal as me. Vann took dad’s startupcash, filled in the blanks with a business loan and voila, Cycle Life was born.
Things had been rocky for Vann atfirst, so he ended up taking a few night classes in business management. Theclasses had helped, plus he’d managed to grab some real estate in a downtownhot spot. He’d been slowly growing his name and reach ever since.
I knew he stressed about money allthe time, but he was still successful. He just had the kind of personality thatcouldn’t relax. His apartment was trendy and close to his shop, and he’d boughtan almost new car last year with cash. So maybe he wasn’t rolling in cash, buthe worked hard. And he was bound and determined to make his business work.
Basically, he was my role model ineverything, but especially for owning a small business. I hoped for just asmall slice of the success he’d managed to grab.
I smiled at Foodie, balancing my grocerybags precariously in one hand and unlocking the door with the other. I nudgedthe drop-step down with the toe of my flip flop and propped it open to let thebreeze in.
She—because obviously, my gorgeoustruck was a girl—looked so pretty in the sunlight, all clean lines and smoothsurface. I wanted to take a thousand pictures of her and post them online, butI refused to be one of those annoying new parents.
That thought stretched my grin evenwider. “Hey, baby,” I cooed to her as I swung my bags ahead of me and squeezedmy way through the narrow door.
