“Andfries.” He smiled victoriously. “Greek fries.”
Steppingover to the counter I started putting together his box. “What is yourfascination with Greek fries?”
Hepoked his head through the window so he could watch me. “I’m intrigued.”
“You’reobnoxious.” I jerked my head to the other side of the truck. “You can wait downthere.”
“You’renot going to make me come in and eat it in front of you?”
Snappingmy head up, I glared at him. “Sorry, friends and employees only. It’s offlimits to you.” I held back an evil laugh and asked, “Unless you’re looking fora job? I need someone part time to help with prep and orders. Interested?”
Hiseyes narrowed at the insult to everything he’d worked for and accomplished.“I’ll wait down here.”
“Goodidea.” The thrill of victory bubbled in my chest, but I also hated that hissmile disappeared. It was a silly thing to miss since I couldn’t stand thisman. But he was always so serious. I barely knew the guy, and I could tell thathis smiles were rare and hard-earned.
Focusingon perfecting his order, I threw myself into the very thing I loved, the thingthat had saved me—cooking. I heated his pita on the grill top then added thehouse tzatziki sauce, and pickled red onions, carrots and cucumbers. Next, Iplated the fries fresh from the fryer and topped them with generous portions ofall that I put on the slider. I scooped out a simmering meatball and set itvery carefully in the middle of the pita, careful not to rip the flatbread,finalizing everything with a sprinkle of feta cheese everywhere.
Myhands shook as I carried the box to the pickup window. I tried to convincemyself that I already had his worst, that he couldn’t say anything else to methat would be meaner than his note or make me feel less than. Still, my traitorof a heart soared with anticipation and hopeful optimism.
Hemight have been right about my grilled cheese and pulled pork, but I’d steppedup my game. He had to acknowledge that.
That’swhen I realized I wanted this. I wanted him to try my food again. It wasfoolish and masochistic. But Wyatt was right, Killian Quinn’s opinion mattered.
WhenI leaned out the window, he had his phone in his hand. The bright light lit uphis mouth and that beard, highlighting the contrast of his dark, trimmed facialhair to the red fullness of his lips.
“Order’sready.” My voice came out breathier than I intended, weak and afraid. I clearedmy throat and waited for him to acknowledge me.
Hetucked the phone into his pocket and traded cartons with me. Without sayinganything else, he grabbed a fork and napkin from the cutlery container I hadnext to the window and dug in.
Istepped back into the truck, unable to stop myself from obsessing over hisreaction. I convinced myself I would move just as soon as he took his firstbite. I couldn’t stand there all night watching him chew. That would be weird.
Right?
Yes.Obviously. Yes, that was weird.
Hedug in, wrapping his mouth around the pita and I stared at him, determined toread his expression instead of listening to his words. Only it gave nothingaway. He was as mysterious as always, and neither looked at me with approval orverbalized his thoughts.
Spinningaway from him, I decided I’d tortured myself enough. The desserts went into thecooler because I could not even begin to enjoy those with him outside, eating andjudging my food.
Judgingme.
“Whatare you doing?” I whisper yelled at Molly, making an expression that showed herjust how furious I was that she’d abandoned me.
“I,uh, had to text my friend,” she answered.
Iraised an eyebrow. “Your friend?”
Shenodded once, barely restraining her smile. “I meant my mom.”
“You’rea terrible person,” I told her.
Hergrin broke free, and she looked so ridiculously happy I wanted to punch her.She bounced on her toes and pointed toward the window mouthing, “He’s so hot!”
“Stop!”I mouthed back. I took a step towards her, keeping my voice low. “He’s theworst!”
“Delane!”
Iwhirled around at my barked name. It only took three steps until I reached thewindow. He stood there with my meatball completely dissected.
