“Inside,” Daphne repeats, pointing to the back of the bus while Jake keeps yelling about being blind as an older woman attacks his face with a paper tissue.
“Stop squirming and let me pour this water bottle in your eyes,” she barks at him.
“All right then,” I say. “I’ll be inside the bus. Chef’s table, you say? Fascinating. This is turning out to be my lucky day.”
This is even better than all right.
I do believe I’ve finally found a muse.
3
ALL BAD IDEAS START SOMEWHERE
Bea
My feet ache.My hair has melted to the back of my neck. My armpits smell like rotten oysters. We’re nearly cleaned out—probably because we gave away our entire inventory today, but still, it’s nice that people are finally trying my food truck—and freaking Simon Luckwood isstillsigning autographs from my chef’s table at the back of my bus.
This time for freaking Mrs. Camille.
Jake and Logan’s mother.
Fourth-grade teacher and president of the local theater association, which is a role my mom had until she died, which is extra irritating today.
The good news? Mrs. Camille isn’t trying to talk Daphne into playing a role in this year’s late summer production.
The bad news?
“Oh, you simplymustjoin us in the Athena’s Rest Players,” she’s saying to Simon. “You would be the best Willy Loman for us. I’m playing Linda, of course. You and I would have amazing chemistry on stage.”
“That’s a most kind offer,” Simon says.
“Oh, and you’ll love the murder mystery dinner we plan too. Here. I have a postcard about it. Save the date.”
I look at Daphne, and we simultaneously make gagging faces.
Naturally, Mrs. Camille and Simon are getting along fabulously.
While sitting at the chef’s table in my burger bus.
When one of her kids arrested me and the other has been a complete dick since breaking up with me.
It’s aggravating as hell on top of the fact that all afternoon, I’ve heard Simon’s British accent, and all afternoon, I haven’t been able to stop myself from looking at him.
His dark hair is hidden beneath his blue baseball cap, and the logo for the nearby minor league baseball team on the cap is obscured by the sunglasses that he put on top of the cap brim. His blue eyes are sparkly and seemingly happy, with laugh lines creasing the edges almost more than you’d expect for a guy in his mid- to late-thirties. His cheeks are covered with a light dusting of dark whiskers, and his nose is the kind that annoys me.
It’s just soperfect.
I don’t trust people with perfect noses.
But it’s the perpetual smile that has me truly irked.
The man hasn’t stopped being happy for a single minute.
Smiling that much is unnatural in any circumstance. If that’s not reason enough to not trust him, I don’t know what is.
I wipe a towel over my forehead and glance at Daphne. She and Hudson, who showed up to help too, are pulling the last of the fish and chips out of the fryers and bickering good-naturedly, like they always do.
The first time Daphne and I lived together, Hudson was fifteen and still at home, so they’re practically siblings too.
