I’ve literally never been so nervous in my life. Not even when I moved across the Atlantic to start culinary school in Paris. That feeling of anticipation and excitement is thrilling. What I feel this morning as I sit in my food truck waiting for Zac to load the last crate of ingredients into the back is pure unadulterated terror.
Today is the first time I take the food truck out in public for real life paying customers. In the last few weeks, one of the Whalers players kindly offered to hire me for his kid’s birthday party so I could do a trial run. I needed to check how long it would take me to make each sandwich with the pressure of people waiting and also how Zac and I would work around each other in the tight galley kitchen. There would be plenty of room if it was just me, but Zac is a big guy, so he takes up a ridiculous amount of space. After a few near misses with knives and hot pans, we got into a groove and were soon taking orders and preparing food like we’d been doing it for years. The sandwiches I chose to serve after the tasting were all good sellers, but the Notorious P.I.G. was the most popular by far, so I made a mental note to invest in that large freezer so I could bulk order and make the pulled pork.
After the success of the party, I was hired by two more players and an athletic coach to cater their parties as well, so even before I’d taken the truck on the road, I’ve had plenty of exposure around Seattle. The Whalers have been amazing at posting on their social media, so I’ve now got close to thirty thousand followers, and my website is getting hits and email inquiries every day.
And that’s what brings me to today: my first official gig that has nothing to do with the Whalers. I managed to secure a pitch at an outdoor Tarantino movie marathon thanks to a cancellation. According to Beth, this event happens a few times a year and has a massive number of visitors, so I’ve been panicking all night that we’ll run out of bread in the first hour and have to close down. But Zac, being the ever-calming presence he is, ran the numbers with me and checked the order I put in at the artisan bakery and the cheese store to check I hadn’t under ordered. Everything is in place—what could possibly go wrong?
“It’ll be fine. It’ll be great,” I whisper to myself, gripping the steering wheel so tightly I feel like my knuckles will dislocate. I take a deep cleansing breath just as Zac hops into the seat next to me, looking smart and ridiculously handsome in his Gooey Gourmet polo shirt.
“Are you okay?” he asks as I continue to whisper affirmations to myself.
“Just quietly freaking out.” I laugh, glancing over at my best friend. Thank god he’s here. I think if he weren’t, I’d run back into the house and hide under my comforter until I came to my senses.
“You’ve got this, babe,” Zac says in his deep comforting voice, reaching over to gently loosen my death grip on the steering wheel. “All the prep is done; we know everything in the truck works like clockwork, we’ve got enough bread and cheese to sink a battleship, and most importantly, you’re an amazing chef. You’ve totally got this. Now start this jalopy and let’s hit the road before we miss the beginning of Pulp Fiction.”
“Thanks, Zac,” I sigh, my voice thick with emotion. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“Yes, you could!” He nudges me with his broad shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go before we get all emotional and I say something awkward.”
That makes me laugh out loud as I start the engine and head out of Matt’s driveway. Zac doesn’t like overly gushy emotional moments, so he usually makes an inappropriate joke and laughs it off. But I know what’s in his heart, so I let him carry on, glossing over the moment by telling me about his hot Grindr hook up the night before.
We arrive at the park where the huge outdoor movie screen is set up, and we’re directed to our pitch, which is at the end of a long line of food trucks parked along a section of parking lot on one side of the field. Several couples and groups of people have already set up picnic blankets and lawn chairs, and toward the back, there are several people having tailgate parties. It’s a really chill vibe with music playing over the loudspeakers, and as we unpack the truck and set up the menu boards, several people approach us to ask about the sandwiches. Beth had the great idea of getting customers to tag and post on social media to get a discount on their order, so I make sure the sign with this offer and all our handles is prominently displayed.
Zac and I are so busy that we barely notice the field filling up with people and soon hungry customers are circling the food trucks waiting for the official six o’clock opening time. It gives me a little thrill when I see several people standing next to our social media sign, frantically typing into their cell phones and suddenly the sick, terrified feeling I’ve had all day begins to subside, replaced by the adrenaline rush I always get before a restaurant service.
“It’s a few minutes before six,” Zac says, gently placing his hand on my shoulder. “Everything’s ready. Shall we say a little prayer?”
I snort out a laugh, knowing full well that Zac only prays to the god of hot men and hockey. So instead of that, I rise up on my tiptoes and pull him into a fierce hug, squealing a little when he lifts me off my feet and carefully spins us in the cramped galley kitchen.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my nose stinging with grateful tears.
“You got it, babe,” Zac replies in a thick voice, lowering me carefully to the floor, turning away to try and hide the glossy sheen on his eyes. He coughs to clear his throat. “I’ll go and open the hatch. Let’s do this thing!”
I reach up and tighten my ponytail, and when the hatch lifts, I see a healthy line of people waiting for us to open. Before I have time to freak out, the first customer approaches and orders three Hey Pestos and a Notorious P.I.G. He flashes his cell phone at me to show he’s posted a selfie on Twitter by the discount sign, so as Zac starts preparing the order, I ring up his bill and he taps his Smart Watch against my card reader. Wow, I’ve taken my first dollars as an independent businesswoman! It’s almost impossible to hide the massive grin that spreads across my face as more and more people place their orders and show me their social media posts.
Zac and I barely have time to speak besides barking orders at each other, so when Pulp Fiction begins to play on the big screen, we have some time when business drops off to a trickle to take stock of what just happened.
“Oh my god, that was crazy.” Zac laughs, cracking open a bottle of water and chugging it down in four thirsty gulps. His shaggy hair is held back from his face with a bandana, which he takes off and uses to wipe his sweaty face.
“I know. I think we did a hundred covers already,” I reply, hardly daring to believe it. “Let’s use the quiet time to do a stock check and make sure we’re ready for the rush between the movies.”
Just as we begin to do inventory, I spot a group of impossibly huge guys and familiar looking women approach the truck, and I’m thrilled to see them.
“Hey Squirt, poison anyone yet?” Matt laughs, resting his tattooed forearms on the counter, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. His stupid comment earns him an elbow in the ribs from Mila. The Whalers had a game last night, so they have a few days before an away series to the east coast.
“Ignore him, Lana,” she says, scowling at my brother. “I’ve been following your Instagram on the drive over here, and it’s blowing up! Congratulations.”
This comment elicits nods of agreement and congratulations from Nate, Beth, Ford, Bugs, and Cam, who has baby Sawyer strapped to her front in one of those baby slings. Everyone comes forward to place their orders and despite suddenly being busy again, I can’t help the slight feeling of disappointment that Alex hasn’t come along. This wasn’t one of the shifts he agreed to cover at the truck, but I would have hoped he’d come to see me and wish me luck.
As if reading my disappointment, Zac leans over and quietly whispers, “Where’s Thor?”
I shrug as nonchalantly as I can and press the spatula down hard on the Sweet Cheezus I’m preparing, enjoying the loud sizzle and the smell of melting cheese. Sensing that I don’t really want to talk about it, Zac moves away to plate up Matt and Mila’s Croque Monsieurs, adding a small bag of organic potato chips and a homemade pickle spear to each paper tray.
Once all the Whalers are happily munching on their sandwiches, Zac and I close the hatch and join them on the group of picnic tables across from the truck. I’m conscious that I’m a sweaty mess, so I don’t sit down next to anyone, instead opting to perch on the low wall separating the parking lot from the grass.
“This is so great,” Ford mutters through a mouthful of pulled pork. “I haven’t eaten barbecue this good since I left Tennessee.”
“Well, there’s a huge compliment right there.” Nate laughs, wiping crumbs from the corners of his mouth, having just demolished three Hey Pestos. “Ford does nothing but bitch about the lack of good barbecue in Seattle.”
The others laugh in agreement as Ford launches into a story about the best barbecue joint in Memphis. I try to listen while I begin to process the deep feeling of disappointment in my stomach because Alex hasn’t come along. What the hell is that about? Would I have been as upset if Ford or Bugs hadn’t shown up?
And the answer to that question is no. I’m actually disappointed that Alex isn’t here and that feeling scares me more than I’d like to admit.
I realize that despite being a bit annoying and goofy, I like Alex Bergman. He looks like he could crush someone my size in one giant hand, but he’s got a very gentle soul and I find that oddly comforting. Etienne looked like he should be sensitive and kind, but a monster was lurking beneath his aristocratic good looks. I guess that old adage is true—you should never judge a book by its cover.
As I process this new and slightly alarming revelation that I miss Alex not being here, I’m jolted back to the moment by a loud cheer and catcalls of “About time, man!”
When I look up, I see an enormous figure striding across the parking lot toward us. Alex is wearing a Whalers hoodie and dark jeans that hug his thighs to perfection, his long blonde hair hidden beneath a black beanie. My heart stutters slightly, and I can’t help but press my fingers between my breasts to check I’m not suddenly going into cardiac arrest due to the stress of the day and the hotness of the Whalers goalie. As Alex draws closer and my heartbeat increases, I realize it’s his appearance that’s causing this reaction, and I’m completely thrown by it. My traitorous body reacts as soon as he gets within touching distance; my nipples harden beneath my polo shirt, and my skin breaks out into goosebumps.
“Sorry I’m late,” he apologizes. “I forgot to get gas.”
He looks around at his teammates and exchanges greetings and fist bumps, but soon his ice blue eyes are fixed on my darker ones, causing a chill to rocket up my spine and settle at the nape of my neck.
“Congratulations, Lana. Looks like you’re killing it.” Before I can respond, he sweeps me up into his warm embrace, literally lifting me a foot off the ground. The warmth of his body spreads through me, the hard planes of his chest and abs press against my soft curves, and for a second, I wonder what this would feel like without the layers of clothing between us.
“Put her down, you big goon,” I hear my brother bark from behind us, and Alex chuckles, lowering me down to the ground.
“Shut up, Matt.” My brother means well, but I’m not a teen anymore. “Hi, Alex. Thanks for coming,” I manage in a slightly strained voice, adjusting my polo shirt that’s ridden up at the front. I don’t miss Alex’s eyes flicking to catch a glimpse of my bare stomach as I do so.
“Looks like the movie’s about to end,” Zac comments, breaking up the sizzle of tension between Alex and me. “We’d better get set up for the intermission rush.”
With that, he breezes past me, taking my arm and whispering in my ear, “That hug looked more than friendly. I want all the deets when we’re done here.”
His comment makes me laugh and I shake my head, but despite this, I too want to get my bestie’s opinion on what the hell just happened with the sexy Whalers goalie.