He gave me one more searing look before he hopped down from my truck and ambled back across the street to Lilou.
I stared at his back in complete wonder as he walked away. I didn’t think my fake review would bring out that kind of reaction from him. I wasn’t even sure what to do with that reaction!
Well, I wasn’t sure until my phone pinged with a notification. What I should have done was shake off Killian’s skin and scent and get to work on dinner service. Instead, I stupidly checked my phone thinking it might be him.
I swiped my phone open and instantly regretted it. The notification wasn’t from Killian.
It was from Derrek.
He’d messaged my personal account on Facebook. The one I’d been reluctant to create just because I was terrified of something like this happening.
The message, from the familiar profile picture of Derrek Hanover, simply said, “Where did you go?”
That was it. That was all he said, but it was enough to have me contemplating running off to Europe again. All I wanted to do was run away. All I wanted to do was deactivate my account and set my computer on fire. My smartphone too, while I was at it. I wanted to curl into a ball on the floor and cry for the rest of the night. Maybe the rest of the week.
But most of all I wanted to go back to before the message, to when I was lusting after Killian Quinn and considering that maybe life wasn’t full of lemons and sour moments. That maybe there was something good out there too.
Only my heart knew better. My hope was wiser than that. Because if I’d learned anything in twenty-six years, it was that if something bad could happen, it would happen.
And Derrek Hanover was the bad thing that just kept happening to me.
So maybe his message was a good reminder. It made me wake up where Killian was concerned anyway. It made me realize that I didn’t want a relationship or to ever be put in a position where I had to trust another man ever again.
I had moved on from Derrek. I had opened a business and learned to manage my life. The only reason for Derrek to be anywhere in my life these days was as a cautionary tale of failed love. And nothing else.
But that’s all Killian would be too. A bullet dodged. An awkward circumstance avoided. I friend that would always stay a friend.
Chapter Thirteen
The next weekend I stood at the pickup window, listening to a customer list off everything he hated about my buttermilk fried chicken and jalapeno waffles. It was Friday night, and so far, things had not gone smoothly at all.
They hadn’t gone well Thursday night either. I contemplated giving up this dish altogether and abandoning profit for the weekend. But I was too stubborn to admit defeat. Plus, I couldn’t afford to give up.
I could agree with the guy that my fried chicken was nothing like his grandmother’s. I’d used a tempura fry on chicken tenderloins. Because they were easier to eat than a hunky breast or thigh. And to be honest, because they were super cheap this week.
My waffles were also nonconventional. I’d grabbed my dad’s ancient waffle iron that hadn’t been used since my mom was alive and made the batter with diced jalapenos and sriracha. I’d been going for a savory/spicy/sweet kind of mashup.
I’d been optimistic in my test run. My waffle had been fluffy. Maybe a little too spicy, but it looked pretty. My chicken had been crispy. And the maple syrup tied everything together.
Unfortunately, made in mass quantities, I wasn’t nearly as proud. I’d made the executive decision to ban all future chicken and waffle ideas until the end of time. Forever and ever, amen.
I just had to get through the weekend first. And then the cleanup process. The interior of my truck was coated in maple syrup, thanks to Molly’s offering to fill up the to-go ramekins. And waffle batter had dried in big, bulbous clumps all over the counter, the floor and me.
And this wasn’t the first customer to complain. My entire night had been one upset customer after another.
Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. But there had been enough complaints to send me into a tailspin of existential crisis. What was I even doing with my life???
I still had at least two hours left. Jesus, take the wheel.
“Sir,” I tried gently at first. Gently didn’t work. “Sir!” He paused in his tirade. “Would you like your money back?”
He snorted. “Obviously.”
I picked the remnants of my dignity off the ground and accepted the ten dollar bill from Molly. “I apologize again for the waffles being so hot.” I offered him a genuinely sincere smile when I handed his money back to him. “The menu is different every weekend, though. I hope you give us another shot soon.”
He snarled a terse, “Not a chance in hell.” Luckily for me, it was easy to pretend he’d said, “I’d like that as well,” instead.
What separated humans from animals? The incredible ability to plant our feet in denial. Beautiful, blissful denial.
“Is it a full moon?” Molly asked, stretching her neck out the window. “People are cranky tonight.”
I looked back at my fryer and batter-covered station. It hadn’t just been the complaining customers that made the night difficult. I had been overly ambitious trying to fry chicken fresh and make hot waffles for every order. I’d been bouncing around the narrow space all night like a pinball. “Lesson learned, Durham. No more chicken and waffles for you.”
“How about one more?”
I spun around, surprised to see Killian at the window. His gaze moved over me, quick, assessing, amused.
I brushed my hand down my front, realizing how disheveled I must have looked. My white chef’s jacket was covered in grease and syrup and sriracha. I had been fighting my bandana for hours, pulling clumps of batter out of wayward hair that wouldn’t stay tucked away.
He had worked tonight too. But in a white t-shirt that hugged his tattooed arms and low slung black pants, he looked tired, but not like he’d spent hours in the kitchen slaving away.
More like he’d had a grueling day shooting Armani underwear ads.
“No.” I hadn’t meant to sound so serious, but he was pissing me off already, and he’d just got here. I didn’t have the energy to listen to him pick apart my dish. I already knew it wasn’t a keeper.
He laughed, but it was unsure and nervous. “Excuse me?”
I shook my head and tried one more time to muster up manners. “No, you can’t have one.”
Killian stepped closer to the order window, peering inside. “Hey, Molly,” he said as an afterthought.
“Hi.” She stood up, taking a step back from the window. Killian made her nervous.
He made me nervous too. But he also pissed me off. Usually, the anger canceled out the nerves.
His attentive gaze found mine again. “Rough night?”
I resisted the urge to kick the stove. “Chicken and waffles,” I sighed. “I should have known better.”
I could have sworn his lips twitched, but it was hard to tell since they were hidden behind that beard. “Let me try.”
“No.”
“Can I come back there?”