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“Love you, Cole. Now call him.”
“Still coming down next weekend?” I inquired.
“What? Not show up and get to drool over boy wonder? Fat fucking chance of that.”
“Love you,” I whispered. “And I promise, I’m good. Really good, actually.”
“Call him!”
“I will,” I said.
“K bye.”
I hung up and stared at my cold coffee and my dripping-wet Wall Street Journal. I could make decoupage from the paper it was so wet. I made a mental note to call the guy who delivered my paper as soon as I called Chad.
Walking across the rec room, I felt a calmness that I hadn’t expected after news like I’d just received. I glanced out my windows at what had been a storm outside and saw it giving way to beautifully sunny skies.
I searched for Chad in my contacts and then placed the call.
Alan wouldn’t show up here, would he?
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN: Chad
Another sunny summer day greeted me when I arrived early at the public beach. The change of weather was refreshing after several days of thunderclouds and rain. I was excited about being part of the ever-growing food truck scene near the most popular area of Virginia Beach. The decision to purchase the truck, and the creation of my business, was turning out to be a good one. No other food trucks were doing fresh fruit, savory grains, or vegan bowls, so we were an instant hit.
I enjoyed the peace of the early morning when it was just the vendors scurrying around, setting out their signs, and prepping the various picnic tables and seating areas around our rigs. All of us knew with today’s weather, and it being a Saturday, we’d be swamped with hungry tourists and locals alike.
Cole and I had another good laugh that morning at how we’d gone about admitting we loved one another. He’d claimed that Marla gave him a ton of crap about admitting he was falling in love, but not actually saying it, and that was why he’d called immediately after hanging up with her, falling all over himself as he tried to say the definitive words.
A few days later, and after many, many, texts, calls, and in-person I love you’s, saying those three magical words was now part of our daily routine. Several times a day. I forgot how much I loved being part of that connection. The feeling of belonging to someone, having someone who cared enough to remind me I mattered to them, was unlike any feeling I knew.
Like this morning, I generally arrived early to get the truck set up for that day’s business, having shopped the previous evening for any food items needed for the following day. The quiet time gave me an opportunity to assess my backstock or to practice new menu items I’d been thinking of adding to our growing list. The morning flew by and before I knew it, Bodie arrived. He and Rat usually carpooled, but today he was alone, setting off an internal alarm.
Bodie recognized the concern written on my face before I asked the question, shrugging his shoulders like it wasn’t his fault. “He texted me thirty minutes ago. Said he’d be on time,” Bodie said.
“He was awake? Out of bed?” I asked.
“Far as I know,” he replied.
The line was already ten people long. I glanced at my watch, something I’d begun wearing again after opening my business. Rat was an hour late, and I needed help cooking. Bodie was his usual flirty self with the men or women—didn’t matter which—as he handled the window and cash register. His personality and looks were good for business, and apparently, for his sex life as he met and served our customers.
“There’s more dick and pussy on this beach than I can find time to fuck,” he’d bragged.
“But you still manage, right?” I’d quipped.
Where was Rat? One benefit of employing Rat was his Filipino heritage. He’d picked up great kitchen skills and fantastic recipes from his Filipino mother. His father was Japanese and also a terrific cook who shared his experience with his son, so his skills were second to none. So what was the problem? He didn’t like getting up early, and he didn’t like having to have a job. But once you had him held captive, he was an awesome employee. It was the getting him there part that caused issues.
“Two acai bowls and a granola-yogurt bowl. No strawberries,” Bodie yelled, attaching the order slip to the twine hanging from the ceiling of the truck.
I repeated the order back to him while he handed his phone to some hot dude who had been hanging around a lot lately. I assumed to exchange digits. This was the attractive guy’s third acai bowl this week.
Bodie turned to me, grinning. “Mick wants to know if you’ll do a three-way with us, C,” he hollered, the overhead exhaust fans hopefully dulling his voice from the outside of the food truck.
I didn’t need to respond. Bodie knew me well enough to know better. I glared at him and then watched as he delivered the bad news. His future fuck buddy, Mick, shrugged his shoulders and handed Bodie’s phone back to him.
“Maybe next time, Mick,” Bodie said, bumping fists with Mick and then looking past him for the next victim in line.
Meanwhile, in the trenches, the back doors opened and Rat appeared, looking at me to see how angry I was. I raised a hand to wave and greeted him.
