Molly didn’t respond, and I realizedshe’d turned her attention to a customer. We had little time to talk afterthat. It was late enough that restaurants were starting to close and the barcrowd had begun hopping to different destinations around the plaza.
The night picked up and was evenbusier than Friday. I busted my ass to make orders as perfectly as humanlypossible. There were a few complaints, but usually about the kind of food Iserved, not the quality.
I couldn’t make someone enjoy strawberry-jalapenojam. But it was enough that they tried it. Right?
Or at least that was how I consoledmyself.
Vann stopped by again, and I realizedhe planned on eating all his meals here. For free. Which I supposed was hisright. My dad had planned to swing by too, but halfway through the night, hesent a text saying he was too tired. I promised to bring him home somethinggood.
Around ten, a familiar face poppedinto the window. The tall, lanky guy from last night—the one that complimentedmy dish in a backward way. I heard him order two grilled cheese meals and apulled pork.
Not thinking anything of it, I gotto work on his order, taking extra care to get everything right. He obviouslyworked at a restaurant around here, and I had a sneaking suspicion it wasLilou. I told myself I wasn’t trying to impress him. But ifhe hailed from that good of a kitchen, he would obviously have highexpectations. And he would naturally be critical of all food he paid for.
I would try to meet his standards ata professional level.
“Do you want me to bag these up foryou?” I asked him at the pick-up window.
He stepped forward so that we wereface to face. “It’s okay. I’m going to eat this one.” He reached for thegrilled cheese. “I can handle the other two without a sack.”
Unease unfurled in my gut, warningme to snatch his order back. I’d even refund him out of sheer, unfilteredparanoia. “You’re fromLilou?”
He nodded around a big bite ofsandwich.
“And they don’t feed you there?”
He chuckled with a mouth full offood and shook his head. “Sure. But I’m on break. And I wanted somethingdifferent.”
“Don’t tell your boss what you had,”I warned him, wagging a finger back and forth between us. “Pretty sure this isgrounds for termination.”
He gave me a funny look. “What doyou mean?”
I ducked my head as if I was sharinga secret with him. “I’m the enemy. And you’re currently fraternizing with me.”
His gaze narrowed and thatthoughtful look didn’t leave his face. “What makes you think that?”
I glanced over at the two peoplewaiting for me to make their food. I needed to wrap this up, but I couldn’thelp saying, “Because he stopped over here the other day to tell me that. I’man eyesore. And an abomination to the food industry as a whole.”
“He said that?”
I shrugged. “More or less.”
His lips quirked up in a smirk. “I’mnot surprised. I once heard him call Marco Tempest, the head chef at Bleu, amicrowave-loving fraud.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Why?”
“I’m not sure,” the kid laughed too.“Something about carrots.” He shifted his food to his left hand and stretchedout his right to shake mine. “I’m Wyatt Shaw by the way.”
“Vera.” But apparently, he’d alreadybeen briefed.
“VeraDelane.”He grinned at me. When I lifted one eyebrow in confusion, he shrugged and took anotherbite of the grilled cheese. “What? I did my research.”
“Checking out the competition?”
“Something like that.”
“Let me guess—this was a homeworkassignment from your boss? He wants you all to familiarize yourself with the rivalfood truck. Steal my secret recipes and smuggle them back to your kitchen?”
He tossed his now empty basket inthe nearby trashcan and reached for the other two plates he’d set down on theledge near the napkin dispenser. “You have no idea how close you are to thetruth.” He lifted the baskets in a kind of wave and started walking backward,scurrying away to his kitchen of the damned. “Thanks for these,” he called out.“Don’t hate me.”
