Just A Little Taste

by Farrah Rochon

  Chapter Three

  Trey had just passed his dad’s old tool shed when he caught sight of a cardboard box in his rearview mirror. The Bluebird didn’t have an address, so he’d used the house’s address. The deliveryman had set it on the back kitchen steps.

  He stomped on the break, threw the truck in reverse, and backed up to the house. Once he got to the Bluebird, Trey didn’t even bother going inside. He set the package on the wooden picnic table he’d set up underneath a shady pecan tree, and using the miniature box cutter on his key ring, sliced into the box.

  “Yes,” Trey said, lifting the chrome pipes from their cushioned packaging.

  A Flowmaster American Thunder Header dual rear exhaust system. The missing component to the ’69 Chevy Camaro he’d rescued from a junkyard near Beaumont. It currently resided in Decker’s auto body shop, where he’d started working at sixteen. Decker had been dead for a few years, but his son, Corey was back in Gauthier and had been happy to give Trey the keys to the place where he’d first learned to fix cars.

  If he closed his eyes, he could hear the rumble this car would make, feel the power pulse through him as he tore up the deserted roads he used to race as a kid.

  But not today.

  “Dammit.”

  He carefully set the pipes back inside the box and cursed this being a grown-up shit to hell. Sometimes, being a grown-up sucked.

  Trey carried the box inside and placed it on the floor of the Bluebird’s lone closet where it would have to sit until he had time to get back to working on the Camaro. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he unplugged his laptop and brought it outside with him to the picnic table. He straddled the wooden bench and pulled up the estimate he’d spent most of the night working on for Kiera’s food truck.

  She’d already secured a good portion of the equipment he would need to renovate the truck, but she didn’t have any of the materials for the walls, heating system, or insulation. For a truck that size, those supplies would run her a pretty penny.

  Trey had yet to list his labor cost. He wasn’t sure if there would be any labor cost. What if Kiera took one look at the estimate and decided she couldn’t afford to do the renovation? He couldn’t let that happen, not after seeing how important this food truck was to her.

  Hell, she’d hired him. If that didn’t attest to how much this meant to her, Trey didn’t know what did.

  He decided last night that, no matter what it took, Kiera’s Kickin’ Kajun food truck would be up and running by the start of the shrimp festival. He would make this happen for her.

  He tried her cell twice, but both times it went to voicemail. He pulled the business card she’d given him from his wallet, grinning at the mocha-skinned caricature wearing a blue polka dot apron and white chef’s hat. The cartoon had big, brown eyes and held a rolling pin with Catering by Kiera scrolled across it. Trey dialed the business’s landline.

  “Catering by Kiera,” a woman answered. Whoever she was, she wasn’t Kiera. Her voice was too high-pitched.

  “Hello,” he said. “Can I speak to Kiera Coleman, please?”

  “Give me a sec. I’ll see if she’s free.”

  Trey sipped his beer while he waited.

  A minute later, he heard, “This is Kiera.”

  Now this smooth, ridiculously sexy voice belonged to his Kiera. She’d had that rich, sultry voice even as an innocent high schooler.

  “Hey, Slim.”

  “Would you please stop calling me that? It’s not professional.”

  “I’ll try, but I can’t make any promises. I’m so used to calling you Slim, I sometimes forget what your real name is.”

  She sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”

  Her question triggered a carnal ache deep within his belly. It quickly spread lower, and Trey had to fight the urge to tell her exactly what he wanted her to do with him.

  Instead, he said, “I’ve got that estimate for you. I can swing by your kitchen and quickly talk you through it. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  “No,” she said. “Don’t come here. You’ll just distract me.”

  A grin tugged at his lips. “I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a good thing to me. I like the thought of being a distraction.”

  “Trey,” she said in a warning tone.

  He drew in a deep breath and released it with a groan.

  “Yes, I know. I’m not being professional,” he said. “But be realistic, Slim. You have to know it isn’t easy for me to think of you in a strictly professional way.”

  The brief pause over the phone line made Trey think that maybe she was going to say that she couldn’t either.

  His spirits were crushed when she said, “Then you’ll need to try harder. If you don’t think you can handle it, there’s still time for me to find someone else to work on the truck.”

  “No, don’t fire me,” Trey said. “I’ve got some great ideas for your truck. Why don’t I meet you at the food truck later? I promise no funny business, just business business.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Roland.”

  “Oh, using my first name,” Trey said in a pained voice. “That’s the lowest blow in the history of low blows.”

  She laughed. “I’ll see you in a few hours. And, Trey, thanks for getting the estimate done so quickly. I really appreciate it.”

  “My pleasure, Slim. I’ll see you later.”

  He ended the call, shaking his head and wondering just how long it would take him to wipe the stupid grin from his face. Kiera had always been able to wrangle a smile from him. The darker his mood, the harder she would try to drag him out of it.

  When he thought of some of the things she would do to brighten his mood…

  Trey closed his eyes tight and sucked in a deep breath.

  Damn, but he missed that. He’d missed her.

  He had to be the luckiest bastard in the world to be given the chance he’d been given with Kiera. He just had to convince her that he was worth another chance.

  ***

  Kiera scanned the spreadsheet she’d printed from her computer, hoping she’d missed something. But she knew she hadn’t. They were barely in the black this month, due in no small part to a rapid hike in oyster prices after the harvest season had produced a smaller than normal yield. She’d tried to pad her prices enough to cover shifts in market prices, but she hadn’t been able to do much about the oyster issue. And, of course, eight of the ten large events she’d catered this month had her chargrilled oysters on the menu.

  “It’s a good thing shrimp are cheaper than usual,” she muttered.

  She’d probably gone through fifty pounds of shrimp trying to perfect the recipe she’d settled on for the festival.

  It’ll be worth it, Kiera told herself for the umpteenth time.

  She didn’t even have to win the top prize—although she really, really wanted to win that $25,000. Just the exposure that being a finalist would bring to her business would be worth the massive amount of Shrimp Napoleon wraps she and Macy had consumed over the past two weeks.

  The familiar chime indicating that she had an incoming text message rang from her cellphone. Kiera grabbed the phone from her purse.

  The most recent message was from Mychal: Still waiting on that call.

  Kiera grimaced. She had promised to return his call from this morning. That was before she’d accidently dumped an entire container of cayenne pepper in her seafood gumbo and had to make an emergency run to the grocery store.

  Her phone chimed again with another text from Mychal: If you don’t call back, I will think something is wrong.

  Kiera quickly called him.

  “It’s about damn time, Sunshine,” Mychal answered. “I was about to swing by the house and grab Naomi so we could drive out to Louisiana to rescue you.”

  “You leave that lovely wife of yours where she is,” Kiera said. “She’s in no condition for a six-hour road trip.”

  “She’s in no condition for a six minute road t
rip. She told me if I ever put her in the position of being eight months pregnant in August again I will lose a certain…ah…appendage.”

  “Ouch.” Kiera laughed. “I’m going to have to come out there to see her once the baby is born.”

  “You need to come out here now so I can give you a first-hand demonstration of how to run a food truck,” Mychal said. “It’s a lot different than a regular kitchen.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she said, although Kiera knew there was no way she would make it to Austin anytime soon.

  “Speaking of the truck, how is it going?” Mychal asked. “You talk to Trey Watson yet?”

  “I did,” Kiera said. “I was impressed. I’m meeting with him today to go over the estimate.”

  “I told you this guy was awesome, didn’t I? Once he gets started, he’s like a machine. I swear every time I checked in on the progress he had something else that I thought would take a week to finish done in a day. It’s as if he has magic elves working with him or something.”

  “He’s going to need some magic to get this truck done in time, but after seeing his work first-hand, I think he’s the one. Thanks again for recommending him.”

  She’d debated telling Mychal about her past with Trey, but that was back when she was trying to come up with an excuse not to hire him. After seeing what he’d been able to do to the inside of a fifty-year-old school bus, she didn’t want anyone but Trey working on her food truck.

  “Happy I could help,” Mychal said. “Just make sure you keep that truck east of the Texas state line. I’m still bitter about you always besting me in class. I don’t want you moving into my territory and stealing away all my customers.”

  Kiera laughed as she disconnected the call and slipped the phone in her pocket. She sat at her desk for a few minutes, staring at the Disney Princesses wall calendar tacked to her wall. There were twenty-nine days before the Louisiana Shrimp Festival, only five more before the recipes for the cook-off were due to the committee.

  She knew hiring Trey for this job would be like walking into the lion’s den, but there was too much riding on this for her to back down now. She needed to suck it up, and just keep her head about her when she was around him.

  Yeah, because that was sooo easy to do.

  She ran both hands down her face. “Lord, just don’t let me fall too hard again.”

  She pushed away from her desk, grabbed her shoulder bag from the wall peg where she hung it every morning and hit the light switch on her way out of the office.

  “Macy, I’m going over to meet with the guy who’s renovating the truck. I should be back in about an hour or so. Remember to make sure the cap is screwed tight on all the spices before you use them. I’m speaking from experience here.”

  “Will do,” Macy called, not bothering to lift her head as she methodically filled halved egg whites with deviled egg mixture.

  Kiera climbed into her Mazda CX-5 and headed in the direction of Trey’s house, or bus, or whatever he called where he lived. She had to admit that it was a rather cool set-up, and square-footage-wise, probably not all that much smaller than her condo.

  She was able to bypass some of the afternoon traffic that was a byproduct of the rapid growth spurt Maplesville had undergone in the last few years, but it still took her nearly twenty minutes to reach the edge of town where Trey lived.

  Kiera tried not to allow being back here to affect her, but nostalgia won out as the memories the old sites summoned sent a wave of longing crashing through her. How many times had she and Trey parked behind that old abandoned Phillips 66 filling station to do things that could have gotten them arrested for public indecency if anyone had happened upon them? They had taken so many crazy risks.

  And it hadn’t always been Trey’s idea.

  On numerous occasions she had been the one to talk Trey into some of their more deliciously sinful escapades. Skinny-dipping in Ponderosa Pond, the countless quickies in the lot behind Decker’s garage, the blowjob on the Ferris wheel at the St. Mary’s Catholic Church fair—all her idea.

  Kiera’s cheeks flamed so hot she had to glance in the rearview mirror to make sure they weren’t on fire.

  Mason had spent so much energy sheltering her from boys like Trey, but it had only made him more intriguing and had made Kiera that much more susceptible to his sweet talk.

  And, good Lord, could Trey talk a sweet game when he put his mind to it.

  That’s why she had to be overly cautious around him now, because after less than an hour in his presence yesterday, Kiera had felt way too many of those same feelings that had pulled her in all those years ago.

  She turned onto the dirt and gravel road leading to his bus, and a few minutes later pulled in behind his pick-up truck. She walked over to the Bluebird and gave the door two sharp raps.

  “Trey, it’s Kiera.”

  The door opened…and Kiera received the shock of her life.

  ***

  “Kiera!” Trey stepped in front of his thirteen-year-old daughter, Rachel, who’d answered the door while he was in the bathroom, despite the fact that he’d told her just minutes ago not to answer the door for any reason. “What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at the food truck?”

  “I finished up earlier than I expected.” She motioned to the bus. “I would ask if I have the wrong house, but there’s pretty much zero chance of that.”

  Trey gripped Rachel’s shoulders and steered her toward the back of the bus. “Go help your brother with the dishes.”

  He turned back to a wide-eyed Kiera.

  “Her brother? Trey Watson is the father of two?”

  He passed another glance at the kids before stepping outside and joining Kiera. He walked several yards from the Bluebird before finally speaking.

  “Twins,” Trey said. “Rachel and Roland Jr.”

  Kiera’s mouth opened, but no words came out. She shook her head, glanced toward the bus, then back at him. “What can I say? I’m speechless.” But she quickly asked, “I’m assuming they have a mother somewhere?”

  Apparently, she wasn’t all that speechless.

  “Her name is Angie,” Trey said. “She and her husband moved to Baton Rouge last month. That’s one of the added bonuses of working on your truck for the next few weeks. I’ll be close to my kids.”

  “So, you and Angie? You were married?”

  He nodded. “She and I have been divorced for about…I guess it’s going on three years now. We were married for a little over ten.” He could practically see her mentally counting back the years.

  Yes, he’d married Angie not even a year after he and Kiera broke up. It was a reckless decision on his part the same night of his break up with Kiera that was the catalyst to his marriage to Angie. A decision that had resulted in the two kids currently cleaning up the dishes they’d dirtied preparing dinner.

  “So, your twins. They’re what? Ten? Eleven?”

  “Their thirteen.”

  Her chest expanded with the breath she sucked in.

  If their situations were reversed Trey didn’t know what he would be thinking right now, probably that he was a no-good bastard. It was pretty much the truth.

  Kiera folded her arms over her chest and took a couple of steps back. Her throat worked as she swallowed several times. When she finally spoke the words came out hoarse. “Are they the reason you left?”

  “No,” Trey said. “I didn’t meet Angie until after—”

  She held her hand up. “That’s all I need to know.”

  “Kiera—”

  “No, really,” she said. “That’s really all I want to know.”

  “Come on, Slim. You just found out I have two kids and you don’t want to know anything else? Do you know how hard it’s been for me not to ask about your past, like whether or not you and Mychal Dickerson were an item?”

  “That’s none of your business,” she said.

  “I know it isn’t; doesn’t mean I still don’t want to know.” He closed the d
istance between them and lowered his head so that he could look her in the eyes. “That’s why I think you’re not being totally honest when you say you don’t want to know anything else about my past.”

  She looked over at the picnic table, then at the Bluebird, anywhere but at him. Finally, she returned her gaze to his.

  “I’d be lying if I said I never thought about you in all these years. You were my first…my first everything. How could I not think about you every now and then?”

  “You never tried to contact me.”

  “You were the one who left.”

  “Slim—”

  “A part of me wanted to know where you were living,” she continued. “How you were doing, whether or not you were in jail.”

  A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Believe it or not, I managed to stay out of jail. Haven’t gotten so much as a speeding ticket since that drag race.”

  Her brows arched. “If you want to give half the people in Maplesville a heart attack, lay that one on them.”

  “I doubt anyone would believe me.”

  “Probably not,” she said with a soft laugh. She looked over at him, a combination of wonder and amusement in her eyes. “Of all the scenarios that played around in my head, happily married with two kids was never one of them.”

  “I never said I was happy.” The admission slipped out before he could stop it.

  Their gazes locked for a long moment. He watched as she opened her mouth then closed it, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. Trey took a couple of steps forward, putting him just a few, tiny inches away from her. Her lips glistened, inviting him to taste them.

  Trey leaned toward her, and she pulled back.

  “And that’s none of my business,” Kiera finally said, turning away. Then she looked back at him. “Unless you want to share?”

  Dammit. Trey ran a hand down his face and released a heavy breath. This wasn’t the conversation he thought he would be having with Kiera just twenty-four hours after they’d reconnected. He knew his marriage would eventually come up, but already?