“You found it. Best the city has to offer, right here,” I say, holding my arms out wide.
“We’ll take an assortment of your creations. Dealer’s choice.” She rests a hand on her husband’s arm to calm him down, and I watch it work in real time. Like salve on a burn, he chills the fuck out under her touch.
“But if you’re looking for some new scenery, maybe something a little cozier—” Aurora turns around, facing the front of the store where the sounds of the street can be heard all the way back here, then spinning to look at me again. “—a little more peaceful, we are currently hiring for a new restaurant opening soon back home. Word on the street is they’re looking for a talented chef.”
“You don’t say?”
“Had to mention it,” she says, holding her hands up. “It’s nothing fancy, but you can’t blame me for trying. Just some food for thought.”
“Well, let me get you some food for your stomach then.”
I whip her up four of my most popular sandwiches, including, of course, the Chicken Love Supreme. While I work, I try to picture the offer she tossed out there. Is there some alternate universe where I wasn’t born into a family of criminals, and found myself nestled in a sleepy mountain town, flipping burgers?
Sliding the wrapped packages across the counter, I give her a wink. “Let me know what you think of my meat.”
“Ew,” her husband says.
Wyatt distracts himself by kissing the top of the baby’s head, holding her hands and helping her dance in the carrier, kicking her little legs as her mom grabs the sandwiches and brings them over to the short, narrow counter along the side wall, where people can pause for thirty seconds, standing to scarf down their food, before they continue on their way through the city.
Aurora never used to take the time to stop and scarf. She probably inhaled on her commute, like most of the other New Yorkers. But today, I smile, watching her open up the Chicken Love Supreme and take a huge bite right here in the bodega.
Her eyes roll back in her head, mouth full, some of that white sauce dripping from the corner of her lips as she covers her mouth with one hand to speak.
“Oh my God,” she moans.
It’s sinful.
“You have to try this,” she says around her mouthful, shoving the culinary masterpiece in her husband’s face.
Begrudgingly, trying to pretend I’m not watching him put his lips around my footlong, he leans forward so none of it drips on their daughter as he takes a bite. Against his will—I’m sure of it—he groans when the flavors collide on his palate.
“Fuck, that is good,” he admits, chewing for a long time before he swallows.
“The secret’s all in the meat,” I say it like I’m letting them in on something special, leaning forward to join their little family moment. “The meat, and my love sauce.” I wink at the man, and he looks like he’s going to gag.
“Is that what you’re calling it?” Rory asks me, lips turned up at one side, amused.
“Oh yeah,” I tell her. “My love sauce has the creamy factor. Salty and creamy, it makes all the difference.”
“Please stop talking,” Wyatt says, retching.
“Otherwise it’s just dry meat,” I shudder. “It’s just wrong. There is something so not right about it, you know what I mean? It’s gotta be juicy, salty, and creamy, that’s the trifecta where the magic happens when it hits your mouth.”
Wyatt stares at me, eyes bleak, face slack. “There is something wrong about every single thing that comes out of your mouth, bodega man.” He looks haunted.
Can’t the guy take a joke?
Already halfway done with the sandwich while Wyatt’s wasted his chance to enjoy it fresh, Rory grins at me, dropping a bill in my tip jar.
“This has been an absolute delight. Good to see you again, Wilder. Thanks for the sandwiches. And remember, Smoky Heights, S-M-O-K-Y?—”
Her husband tugs on her arm, pulling her out of my corner, up toward the register so they can pay and get on with their visit and get back home.
I don’t blame him. If I had a woman that fine, I’d hog her to myself too.
Though, if you’re asking, I like ’em a little thicker. More meat on the bones. More to play with. I like to havefunwith my woman.
Not that it’s been a priority for me, with two nearly full-time jobs in the service industry. But I can dream.
