“Go away.”
Despite our tense moment, I smiled as I walked to the truck. Vann didn’t abandon dad like I did when I moved away, but he still wouldn’t have made time for tacos before the diagnosis. Until six months ago, my dad had health complications with his bladder that were worrisome. But that was it. We worried. We hoped for the best. And then we huddled together when the prognosis became cancer instead of polyps and preventative care. Now that Dad was fighting stage four bladder cancer, we both felt the pressure of how little time we had left with him.
I missed the cool air from Vann’s shop as soon as I stepped back outside. God, this heat. I can’t wait for fall.
It was even worse inside Foodie. I quickly turned on the fans and opened the windows. The tiny air conditioning unit kicked on, grumbling under the strain of trying to work in these conditions and letting go of a smelly blast of cool air. I once again praised Vann for the convenience of my parking spot. I didn’t have to drive the truck around town or store it at a commissary and deal with paying rent. Vann’s shop couldn’t have been more perfect for my needs.
Giving up on cooling down, I tossed my hair into a low ponytail with a hair tie from around my wrist. Then pulled out a pen from my purse and got to work. I was halfway to a brilliant idea when a sound at the front door had me spinning around and letting out a startled squeak.
Killian Quinn glared at me from just outside. “You quit?”
A hundred horrible things rolled around in my mouth. I settled on a confused, “What?”
His green eyes glinted at me, and his fingers clenched the doorframe, knuckles turning white from the pressure. “You had one bad weekend, and you quit?”
A dangerous emotion started to bubble up in my throat. “I didn’t have a bad weekend. I had a great weekend.” My angry thoughts all tried to push out of my mouth at the same time, and I had to take a breath to make a coherent sentence. “And I didn’t quit. I’m just getting started.”
“You haven’t been here since Saturday.”
I swallowed despite my dry throat. He looked even better than I remembered him, which sucked since he was an awful human. His black t-shirt clung to his raised biceps, and his beard had been recently trimmed into cleaner lines. Basically, he was obnoxiously hot, and I hated him.
His accusation penetrated my heat-addled brain, and I narrowed my eyes belatedly. “I haven’t been here since Saturday because I’m only open Thursday through Saturday.”
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why are you only open three nights a week?” His patience was obviously wearing thin, but I didn’t understand why he’d bothered to walk all the way over here just to pester me.
So, I asked him. “I’m so confused. Why are you here?”
For the first time since I turned around, he glanced away. For a second, I thought I saw an emotion other than loathing in his intense expression. I even thought maybe his cheeks turned a little red, but it was hard to tell because of his beard. And it was so damn hot that it could have been because of that.
“I thought maybe my suggestions…” he started. Clearing his throat, he tried again.
Suddenly, I was so angry I was sure I could breathe fire if I needed to. “You thought your nasty little note drove me to quit my business?” I made a sound in the back of my throat that reminded me of Vann. “I’m not that insecure.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire. But I sounded convincing, and that was all that mattered.
His glare snapped back to mine, pinning me under the concentration of his irritation. “Nasty little note? You make it sound like I was jealous.”
I couldn’t stop the ridiculous words before they flew out of my mouth. “Maybe because you are.”
His eyes widened with incredulity, and I realized how stupid I sounded, how completely idiotic my accusations were. “You think I’m jealous of you?” he demanded. “That’s what this is about? I’m jealous of a food truck?”
“God, you’re a pompous asshole. Do you hear yourself?”
He laughed, but it was bitter and humorless. “You open up a food truck across from the greatest restaurant in this city and call me pompous? Unbelievable!” He moved his head in a slow shake that sent embarrassment spiraling through me. “That’s the last time I try to help a—” He held his hand up and took a step back. But then quickly stepped forward again, crowding the doorway. “You know what? I felt sorry for you. You show up here in this expensive… thing. You’re obviously spending money on marketing and logos, and then I tasted that… God, that food. It’s not that you don’t have potential. It’s just that it’s completely wasted on easy, fast food that I could find anywhere.”
“Out.” His eyes widened again, only this time it was from surprise. “Get out. I don’t have to listen to you insult me. Not everybody can be the great Killian Quinn. Not everyone has food critics wrapped around their fingers and a team of chefs at their disposal. I’m doing the best I can. This food truck is my life, and I’m not going to let you or anyone else push me around just because they feel threatened by a little competition.”
He glared at me, his gaze sweeping over my length, taking my measure, determining my worth. “You’re not my competition.”
My tone was knife sharp, unwavering when I told him, “And you’re not mine.”
I swallowed against a jagged bolt of dread when his bright eyes narrowed with challenge. “We’ll see.” He leaned toward me, and I accidentally inhaled him, spice and mint and something that was neither of those things, something that made my mouth go dry and my belly heat. “Good luck, Vera. You’re going to need it.”
I was too shocked that he remembered my name to get a good last word in. He didn’t wait around for one anyway. He left me staring at him, clinging to my courage and anger. I couldn’t let them go. I needed them, needed to wear them like armor.
I hated that I watched him cross the street and disappear inside Lilou. I hated that I stared at the door for another ten minutes waiting for him to come back and apologize.
I hated that he was this complete opposite of me, that he had everything that I’d ever wanted and would never get. I hated that I couldn’t want those things anymore.
I couldn’t let myself.
Because if I remembered what I used to want, the things I was forced to give up and let go of… I would crumble.
I would shatter.
Most of all, I hated that after how awful Killian Quinn was, his opinion meant everything to me.
Chapter Eight
“Don’t serve him!”
Molly glanced back at me like I’d grown a second head. “Vera?”
Wyatt stood at the window with an amused grin pulling up his too wide mouth. I’d noticed him step out the side door of Lilou and hoped he was just going for a smoke. Somehow, I knew better.