Madison:About twenty-five minutes. Should get there in time to set up for lots of hungry cowboys.
Something hot flickers in my chest. I tell myself it's not jealousy.
Jake:Try not to let them fight over your buns.
Madison:My buns are very popular. Can't help it if people find them irresistible.
Jake:I'm aware.
Madison:Oh really? And which of my buns do you find most irresistible?
I shouldn't engage. This is flirting. Blatant, obvious flirting. Nothing good can come from encouraging it.
Jake:The brown butter cinnamon ones. Obviously.
Madison:Obviously. And here I thought you might have developed an appreciation for some of my other buns.
Jake:I appreciate all your buns equally.
Madison:How diplomatic of you.
Jake:I spent years in Silicon Valley. Diplomacy was part of the job.
Madison:Is that what they're calling it now?
I laugh out loud.
Jake:Get back on the road. You're distracting me. Talk later.
I put my phone face-down on my desk and make myself focus on work. It lasts about forty-five minutes before I'm checking for new messages.
Nothing yet.
I get through the rest of the boundary dispute. Start on a property listing. Review the quarterly sales numbers.
My phone buzzes.
Madison:Made it to Heart River. Arena is huge. Setting up now between a BBQ guy and someone selling deep-fried everything.
Jake:Sounds like stiff competition.
Madison:Please. My buns have no competition.
Jake:Confident.
Madison:You've tasted them. Tell me I'm wrong.
Jake:You're not wrong. Good luck.
Madison:Thanks.
Twenty minutes later, a photo comes through. Madison standing in front of her food truck, the serving window openbehind her, a tray of fresh buns displayed on the counter. She’s smiling at the camera like she just conquered the world.
Madison:Ta-da! Ready for business.
Jake:Looks good. The truck, I mean.
Madison:Just the truck?
