“Sounds perfect. I love pupusas. And cupcakes.” She lifts a hand to shade her eyes, squinting in the afternoon sunshine. “For Goodness Cakes,” she says, reading the words on the side of the truck. “That’s so cute.” She scans over the rest of the outdoor seating area. “This is a nice setup.”
“I know. I helped finance it.”
Guy and Scarlett took our original concept of Restaurant Row, which was a whole block of upscale dining establishments, and shifted it into something better. Guy’s restaurant, Decadence, sits on the corner, open for dinner only, with an exclusive and extravagant menu he can charge out the ass for since he’s a celebrity chef and entrepreneur. During evening hours, patrons can also sit outside, where the elegance continues with fairy lights and strategically placed outdoor heaters. Lunch, however, is a much less pretentious event. There are food trucks, umbrellas offer shade, and a small grassy area sports a stack of giant outdoor games for adults and children alike.
“They circulate a variety of food trucks in the space for lunch, and the truck owners are given the opportunity to host a guest menu in the restaurant to showcase their culinary skills,” I explain to Piper.
“What a great idea.”
I nod. I did not agree originally, but I was happy to be proven wrong.
Movement in my peripheral vision grabs my notice. Someone clutching a giant box beelines in our direction. The figure, mostly obscured by the load, approaches at a near jog. With one hand, I grab Piper’s elbow to move her out of the way just in time, taking the brunt of the impact to my shoulder.
“Watch it,” I tell the box-carrying pinball.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” a feminine voice calls out from behind the swath of cardboard. “I’m running late, and I can’t see anything over this gosh darn—” She shifts the box to her side, and when our eyes meet, she blinks at me. “Hey. I know you.” She squints. “You’re that guy with the plane.”
She’s in her early twenties, with dark hair, flour-dusted jeans, and a black T-shirt that reads A Vulcan in the Streets, a Klingon in the Sheets.
“You don’t look familiar.” I know exactly who she is. I never forget a face.
My haughty dismissal does nothing to deflect her. “We met in Blue Falls, remember? You flew down there with Guy.”
“He flew with me,” I correct.
“Right.” She frowns. “I guess that was a couple years ago, and I’m not really one of the important people in that story.”
“Fred!” Scarlett jogs toward us from the direction of her truck, her red hair tied back under a hairnet and an apron covering her petite form. “I know you have a real job now, but I needed that flour ten minutes ago.” She comes to an abrupt halt a few feet away when her eyes lock with mine. “Oliver. What are you doing here?”
“Eating.”
Scarlett puts a hand on her cocked hip. I’m pretty sure she hates me. It might be because she overheard me tell Guy he should “stop fucking that cupcake woman.” I thought perhaps I had redeemed myself by lending my private jet so Guy could do a grand gesture that won her affections, but apparently not. Not that I care.
Fred shifts the box again. Scarlett looks between Piper and me, a groove deepening between her brows.
“I love the name of your food truck.” Piper’s warm voice cuts through the strained pause in conversation. “Please don’t let us hold you up from your work. We’ll be sure to come over to get some cupcakes in a little bit so we can meet properly.”
Scarlett’s brows lift, and she smiles at Piper. “Sounds great.” She grabs the box, Fred gives us an awkward wave, and they make their way back to the truck.
Piper’s inquisitive gaze meets mine, but before she can ask whatever question is stewing in her mind, it’s our turn to order lunch.
A few minutes later, we’ve retrieved our order from the window, and we make our way to a table under the shade of a silver maple tree next to an open grassy area. She sits across from me. Her hair flicks in the breeze, the sun shining on her face. She tucks the strand behind her ear, exposing the fragile shell. It makes me want to bite it.
Her eyes lift, meeting mine. She smiles.
My chest aches, and the truth hits me like a box of flour to the face. She said she likes me. It’s unfathomable, yet I want to believe it, which is terrifying and probably means that I like her too. She hasn’t quite realized I’m an absolute dick, for some ungodly reason. Once the truth comes out, she’ll run screaming for the hills.
I’ve never done this with anyone. I’ve never had lunch solely because I enjoyed being in someone’s company. She’s comforting, like sunshine and warmth and everything I’ve missed in my ruthless rise to the top. I want to see what she’s going to say or do next, because it’s always surprising.
This isn’t like me. I don’t do things for joy. Everything I do is for profit or gain. It’s oddly exhilarating, especially when everything else in my life has been so mind-numbingly dull.
“What was she talking about, with the plane?” Piper spreads a napkin in her lap and picks up her fork.
I take a drink of water and pull myself together. “I helped Guy Chapman get to Texas on short notice. He owns the restaurant over there.” I motion with my head before taking a bite of food. “Scarlett was parking here, preventing the owner of the parcel from selling to us. She was completely in the way of our deal. Then the idiot went and fell for her, despite my many protests. They hit a rough patch in which I was indirectly involved, so I made it up to him by letting him use my plane in a valiant effort to win her back. A success.” I lift my water bottle like I’m toasting the achievement and take a sip.
She eyes me, a small smile playing around her lips. “You’re quite the white knight.”
I almost choke on my food. “No. I’m a self-serving prick. I helped him because I didn’t want to lose my investment.”