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“I need another bulgogi taco,”Mia says. “I told you those would sell out.” She turns back to cash out the customer, and a new ticket prints.
The screech of the printer is louder than it was in the kitchen, and it makes my heart race harder as a new surge of adrenaline rushes through my system. Five tickets. Fuck. I finish the fried rice I’m working on, plate it into our carbon conscious containers and slide it down to Mia before starting three burgers at the same time and getting the stuff for an order of sliders.
Sweat drips down my spine, but I ignore it and the heat from the stove. One thing about the tight quarters? It gets hot as shit.
The burgers are ready to flip by the time I put the brisket on to warm it up. I switch gears with practiced ease. I haven’t been on the line for a few years, but I worked it for a long time. That multitasking and focus is something you never unlearn. Sure, I might be getting my ass kicked a little bit, but people are smiling and enjoying the food. We’ve had a few people come back for more, and Mia keeps telling me we’re making bank.
I haven’t had time to breathe to check in on how we’re doing, but I trust Mia to know when things are going good.
“You got this, Chef,” Mia tells me as she dumps a batch of fries into the fryer—the simple job she took up when she realized I was struggling. “It’s only a six-minute wait. You’re good.”
Exhaling in relief, I finish the burgers, adding the balsamic, spinach, and blue cheese to the bun before sliding those to Mia. She enters an order but pauses to close those boxes and hand them out, giving me about sixty seconds before the next ticket shoots through.
We work like that for another hour until things start to slow. There’s a break between orders, and I wipe my face with a wet rag and toss it into the dirty pile, sucking in deep breaths.
“Fuck, man.”
“You’re killing it,” Mia says. “Look.” She gestures out of our order window.
I meander over, and she scoots out of the way, busying herself with restocking while I take in everyone scattered around the private beach. Picnic tables, high-top tables, lounge chairs, people standing around, and nearly everyone has a Trucktation container in their hands. A lady’s eyes widen as she takes a first bite, and a smile breaks across her face. A guy nods and glances at his slider. A couple trades fries.
All good signs.
Dylan is surrounded by people, and Quinn is pressed against his side, soaking it all in. Brady glares at a few groupies who try to make their way over. They hesitate, and he shakes his head at them. Shoulders sagging, the groupies head for a different fighter.
Our parents are standing with them, enjoying their orders. I hadn’t even noticed them come over, but I was so busy, I couldn’t look away from what I was doing.
Quinn glances over, as if sensing my attention. Her gaze catches mine, and a blinding smile breaks across her face. She gives me two thumbs up.Way to go, Chef, she mouths.
And, fuck, if that doesn’t make my chest swell with pride.
None of this would have been possible without her.
“Why don’t you take a break?” Mia suggests. “I’ll let everyone know we’re closed for twenty.”
“Thanks, Mia.” I pat her on the shoulder and head over to Quinn. A few people stop me on the way to compliment the food. I thank them and show my appreciation, but my focus is really on the omega I can’t wait to get my arms around.
She pulls away from Dylan and saunters over to meet me. I stop a few inches away from her, watching her tip her head back and gaze up at me through her eyelashes.
“Hey, pretty girl,” I tell her.
“Hey,” she breathes. “The food was delicious and, oh my gosh, this guy wouldn’t shut up about the tacos. You did it!”
I shake my head. “No, you did.” I yank her toward me, and our mouths crash together. Her tongue strokes against mine, and she releases the tiniest of moans, softening in my hold. “You believed in me,” I tell her as we break apart. “I never would have done this, if not for you.”
“You just needed a little push.” She smiles up at me. “It’s really amazing, Austin. You should be proud of yourself.”
“Thanks, Quinn.” I kiss her again until she’s struggling to breathe, then rest my forehead against hers. “Have I told you I love you lately?”
She laughs. “Mmm, I can’t remember.”
“Liar,” I whisper.
“I love you too.”
“What, no group hug this time?” Dylan asks.
Quinn rolls her eyes at him. “Clingy much?”
