A few minutes later, they left, andI 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 roarthrough the plaza, but I was too busy making progress on my new life to care.
By the end of the night, I couldn’tstop smiling. I was utterly exhausted but in the very best way.
I did it. I moved on. I startedover. And I got to do something I loved more than anything else.
There was no better feeling in theentire world. And nobody was going to take that away from me.
Or distract me.
Or ruin it for me.
Chapter Six
Saturday night, I recruited Molly totake orders instead of Vann because I thought it was cruel to force him tovolunteer 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 Iblamed the weather. For early June, the heat was nearly unbearable. And lockedaway in the closed space of the food truck with the stove and fryer workinghard 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. “Theseconditions are unacceptable. I’m calling my union representative.”
I snorted a laugh, too weak from theheat to work up real humor. “You can’t quit! You’re fired.”
“You can’t fire me. I’ll see you incourt!”
I gave her my meanest glare. “Youcan burn in hell.”
She grinned at me, then immediatelystarted fanning her face with both hands. “I think I’m already there. How doyou work like this, Vere? I’m dying.”
“You know what they say? If youcan’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.” I winked at her to be obnoxious.
She patted the back of her fingersover her flushed cheeks and breathed out slowly—as if that would help cool herdown. “Seriously, this heat is an abomination. How are you going to cook in itnight after night?”
“It won’t always be this hot. Thereare other seasons.” She mumbledbratunderher breath. “But it’s just something you adjust to. I’ve cooked in some crazyconditions over the last year. Hot, cold, tiny, ancient, makeshift. You nameit. At this point, I’m pretty sure I could make you a five-course meal on a brokenBunsen burner.”
Molly propped her head in her handand tilted her face toward the small fan above her. “I have full faith in you,my friend.”
I adjusted the clip-on fan so thatit pointed directly at her head. Hey, what were friends for if not to save eachother from heat stroke?
She sighed in relief. Wisps of blackhair 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 lookuncomfortable. But that was so quintessentially Molly. Always unruffled.Forever cool, calm and collected.
Where my pale skin turned splotchyand red when I was hot or frustrated or angry or embarrassed or feeling anyemotion of any kind, Molly was all even-keeled and perfectly tanned skin. Herhair remainedunfrizzed, sleek and straight likeshe’d intended. I already felt the natural disaster mine had become in the fewhours we’d been here. Even hidden beneath a bandana, it exploded out the backlike live wires.
But usually, I could count on Mollyto be together where I was perpetually falling apart. She was the kind ofperson I wanted to grow up to be someday. Smart and talented and withoutbaggage. Responsible, driven, wholly comfortable with who she was. Except whenit came to her art, but other than that she was basically myadultinghero.
“So, hashe who shall not be namedbeen over to check out the competition?”Her eyes popped open, glittering with interest.
I made a sound in the back of mythroat. “He knows I’m not competition.”
“Apparently not,” shesingsongedevilly. “From what you told me the other day, itsounds like he’s shaking in his little chef booties afraid you’ll put him outof business.”
A self-deprecating laugh burst outof me. “Which is so ridiculous. He’s just not used to other people playing inhis sandbox. Killian Quinn might as well walk around with a giantDoes Not Play Well With Othersstickerplastered to his forehead. He’s an asshole. They’re all assholes.”
“Chefs?” she clarified.
“Men,” I muttered.
She hummed a sound of agreement butworry furrowed across her forehead, and I looked away before she turned thisconversation into a heart to heart.
