She play-attacks him with a fried fish fillet on a stick.
He leaps back. “Stop waving it around like that. It’s gonna fall off.”
“That’s what your girlfriend said.”
He grabs a handful of fries and throws them at her.
She shrieks and dodges, bangs her hip into the customer window, and makes anerpnoise as the bus sways.
“Good gracious, they’re all hooligans, aren’t they?” Mrs. Camille says.
She’s using a British accent that I’ve never heard her use in real life.
“If you two make this thing roll over, you’re building me a new one,” I tell Hudson and Daphne as I flip a burger at the grill. While we’ve mostly been handing out free fish all afternoon—itwastechnically already paid for—a few people have asked for burgers.
Expected it might happen since thisistechnically a burger bus, so I swung by the market to get extra supplies after the chief let me out of jail and I reclaimed my bus.
And honestly?
It’s a relief.
The burger bus hasn’t exactly had a strong start to its existence.
Likely due to the woman sitting at my chef’s table with the guy who had me sent to jail this morning.
“I’m simply amazed that it doesn’t fall off,” the Brit in the back of my bus says as he lifts his own fish on a stick in the air.
Mrs. Camille sniffs. “Undoubtedly unnatural ingredients that someone who clearly cares about his body as much as you do shouldn’t consume.”
“Time’s up,” Simon’s security guy says to her. “Next person.”
Simon? I’d toss him off the top of my bus, and yes, fine, I admit it’s partially because Jake made me watchIn theWeedsso much that I’d dislike Simon under even the best of circumstances. I haveIn the Weedstrauma.
But his security guy? The guy he callsPinky?
He might be old enough to be my dad and looks kinda scary with that scar through his eyebrow, but I’ll kiss him in gratitude if he can get Mrs. Camille off my bus.
“Surely you can make an exception for a fellow thespian,” she says to Pinky.
“No,” Pinky says.
“Afraid he’s the boss,” Simon tells her. “But it’s been lovely chatting, Lucinda.”
She smiles at him. “Wemustdo it again sometime. Maybe over a spot of tea?”
“Lovely,” Simon says again.
Pinky hustles Mrs. Camille off the bus over her objections that there isn’t actually anyone else in line, which makes me love him a little bit more.
“Make sure he gets whatever he wants,” I murmur to Daph.
“Already slipped him a twenty to get him to make her leave,” she whispers back.
I fucking love this woman.
When I told her I wanted to buy an old bus and convert it to a food truck so that I could launch a more successful restaurant than the restaurant Jake essentially stole from me, she took my idea and went wild. No smaller buses for us. She insisted on a full-size, seventy-capacity school bus that we could put a chef’s table into for a premier food truck experience.
Fine by me.
