Ten minutes later, I’m being glared at by Moskins as he adjusts his hair net and rubber gloves. The photographer is still setting up, getting ready to snap some photos, so I gesture toward my lips and trace a smile in the air for him to remember he can’t scowl in the pictures.
It only makes him scowl harder.
I snort. “It’s policy,” I tell him.
When Vinnie passed him a hair net, Moskins stared at it for a solid minute before my favorite eighty-year-old said, “It’s for your head,” before walking off to help someone else.
I point to my head. “I have one too.”
“But you have hair,” he grumbles.
My eyes go to his head, which very much has brown hair on it. It’s shorter on the sides and longer on the top, but it’s still hair. “So do you. And nobody likes getting hair in their food,Tommy.”
The name makes his shoulders stiffen. Then he grumbles under his breath something unintelligible about looking ridiculous. I don’t pay much attention to his complaint. Mostly because it’s not true. A tiny hairnet and rubber gloves don’t make him any less attractive, like I wish they did. He’s still hot.
Not that I’d ever say that out loud.
“All right,” the photographer says. “I’m ready whenever you guys are. I got the list of shots to get, and then I’ll get out of the way so you can go about your day.”
Janel got a list of photos we can take of Moskins approved by his team, so they know we’re not going to make him randomly strip down for the cameras. While I’m sure Thomas Moskins serving the homeless in his underwear would garner a lot of attention, it’s not the kind we want.
Plus, Vinnie is strict about proper clothing in the kitchen. If he doesn’t allow anyone without a hairnet to serve, I can’t imagine he’d let someone without pants in his kitchen.
Bev, on the other hand…
She’d totally be okay with that.
“What’s that smile for?” Moskins asks, making me realize I have a very detailed mental image of him in his underwear in my head. Tight briefs on thick thighs and all.
I wave the pleasant image away. Far, far away. “Nothing. Let’s start! We’ll get a few shots of you alone, then you with some workers. Everyone here has agreed to be photographed and signed consent forms to be posted.”
“What about you?” he questions as they open the doors to the kitchen for people to start forming a line at the end.
I rock on my heels. “What about me?”
“You’re supposed to be doing this with me.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I quip, gesturing around us.
His eyes narrow. “Are you just going to watch or make yourself useful?”
Bev steps in, winding her arm around mine. “Winnie always makes herself useful when she’s here. Her presence alone makes everybody lighter.”
I beam at her compliment. “I try.” When I turn back to Moskins, I can’t help but see an odd bit of…softness to his face when he looks between Beverly and me. “After you get some solo pictures, I’ll hop in and help serve. Then you can go help Vinnie move whatever he needs in the back. They get bulk shipmentsevery Saturday morning, so it’s probably heavy items that he’ll struggle with. It’s good if you can help him out with that.”
Bev nods along. “His back isn’t what it used to be.”
I smile sadly at her. “We’ll help,” I promise. “I don’t want him throwing it out again. He was cranky sitting at home for a week to recover last time.”
She groans. “I swear I was two seconds from suffocating that man. The only thing that stopped me was the realization that I wouldn’t survive in prison. And orange is not my color. It would wash me right out.”
I’m not sure all prisons have orange jumpsuits, but that’s beside the point.
The snort that comes out of me is big and embarrassing, making my cheeks warm when I see Moskins’s raised brows at the sound.
I direct my focus to the photographer as people make their way down the line, getting soup from one volunteer, rolls from Moskins, and vegetables from a third person. I nod at him to start taking pictures, making sure I’m out of frame.
Despite agreeing to do this, I still don’t want to be in any photos. It would fuel a fire I’m trying to put out. I’m sure his team would agree.
