He gasped and shook his head backand forth in wide-eyed disbelief. “That store is my life.” He looked aroundpointedly at the shiny inside of my desperate business venture. “Besides,you’re one to talk.”
“Hey, I’m not a workaholic yet! Giveme at least three more days before you start flinging accusations.”
His mouth twitched with a smile he wouldn’tlet loose. “Fine, you can be my apprentice for the afternoon. I’ll show you howall the best workaholics take lunch breaks.”
“Really?”
He jerked his chin toward theparking lot, “You’re a chef. You can’t exactly starve yourself.”
“I run a food truck.” I grabbed theedge of the stainless steel counter and squeezed. “I’mgoingto run a food truck,” I amended. “I’m basically a fry cook.Hardly worthy of the chef title. And I can starve. I can very easily starve.”
His usually intense gray eyes softened,followed by a patient sigh that was so out of character for him, my insides wentsquishy with sisterly affection. “They’re going to love you, Vere. And yourtruck. And your awesome food. This is a brilliant idea.”
“And if they don’t? If I fail?”
“You won’t,” he promised. “Besides,I’ll send all my customers to you. Guaranteed business.”
I snorted, a smile finally breakingfree on my face after acknowledgingLilouacross theway. “Your crunchy granola loving crowd is hardly my ideal clientele, Vann.Besides, opposite business hours, remember? That’s why this whole thing works.”
His mouth tilted into a rare smile.“Hey, even crunchy, granola-loving, tree huggers drink too much on occasion. Weeven stay out late once in a while. Sometimes past midnight.”
My eyes bulged in mock surprise.“No, Vann! Past midnight? I can’t even imagine. That’s just… so crazy. You’rereally living life on the edge.”
His smile disappeared, and his voiceflattened, back to the super serious big brother I knew and loved. “I’mrethinking my offer to buy you lunch.”
“You’re buying?” I grabbed my pursefrom the wire shelf overhead and followed him out the door. Pausing to lock thedoor behind me, I added, “You should have led with that.”
“Wait!” Molly stopped me with my keystill in the deadbolt. “I need to store my paints.”
She’d already packed away the brightreds and taken care of her paint pallet, but her brushes still glistened withcrimson. I eyed them skeptically.
She let out a longsuffering sigh. “Ipromise not to stain your pristine sanctuary. Seriously, Vera!” She gestured atthe sign she just painted for me—for free—then waved around her expensivebrushes in exasperation.
“No dripping,” I sternly warned her.
She rolled her eyes but noddedcompliantly. “I promise to leave it as shiny and new as I found it.”
I unlocked the door again, and pulledit open for her. She pushed past me without waiting for me to drop the outerstep so her climb into the truck was awkward and wide. She didn’t seem tonotice.
“Yeesh,” Vann mumbled. “And Ithought I was anal.”
I turned to give him the evil eye.“I guess she could have washed her brushes off in your store.”
He cringed, seeing my point.
My brother was as meticulous and OCDas they came. We were products of our environment. And by that I meant, raisedby a single father that hardly remembered to run the dishwasher let alone cleanthings like bathrooms or clothes or really anything. Vann and I had emergedfrom our childhood home desperate for order and good hygiene. We were theopposite of everything Dad had been.
But not out of spite.
We loved our dad fiercely. He’dsacrificed everything for us and then managed to raise us to be decent, successfulgrownups. Or at least that was how he’d raised Vann. I was still finding my sealegs on the functioning adult ship. But I hoped to make him proud soon.
Really soon, since I didn’t havemuch time.
The sound of an engine interruptedour quiet afternoon, growling through the plaza. Most of downtown was a busymix of one-way streets and constant traffic, but the center strip, with itsborder of brick industrial buildings turned into trendy lofts and high-endbusinesses, was the busiest part.
Three separate plazas, one rightnext to the other, boasted restaurants, bars, clubs, lofts and businessessuccessful enough to pay the exorbitant rent. This section of town was all millennialsclubbing until ungodly hours and high rollers throwing their money around forextravagant dinners and designer clothes.
I was neither cool enough to havereal estate here nor rich enough for the rent. But Vann’s custom bicycle shopfit in perfectly and after begging, pleading and selling my soul to the citycouncil, I’d been given temporary and reluctant approval to operate on the sameproperty.
