by Frost, Sosie
“I really need a second pair of hands,” I said.
He waved over the throng of churchgoers. “You can use anyone else’s but mine.”
“No one else can help! And all these people are hungry!”
“Then you better get to work.”
Tidus had a bad habit of getting his kicks from the misery of others. Of course, he’d sow discontent at the church picnic. He claimed he’d attended just to instill the usual amount of chaos while keeping an eye on a truck that had backfired its way to the church, but I knew the truth.
He’d wanted to watch me work—either to see me fail or…
Because he couldn’t stand to be away from me.
Either way, I had him by the balls.
“What’s wrong, bad boy?” I asked. “You too tough to cook with me?”
“Call me when dinner is ready,” he winked. “You know just what I like to eat.”
“And if you ever want a taste again, you’ll get in this truck,” I said.
“What do you think I’ll do in there?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never been in a kitchen before?”
“Does a bar count?”
“My barbeque sauces are mostly whiskey. You’ll do fine.”
The line had grown to thirty hungry members of the congregation, people who’d spent their last bit of patience during the encore hymnal in the non-air-conditioned church. Tidus attempted to escape, but the impatient parishioners clustered tight, trapping him against my window.
“You forget, little girl,” Tidus snorted. “I’m already working on your truck. How much free labor do you want?”
He made a break for it. I grabbed his arm before he could get away.
“Wait,” I said. “I’ll make you a deal!”
Tidus smirked. “I’m still broke from our last deal.”
But this one would work in his favor.
“If you do as I say in the kitchen…” I’d regret this later. “I’ll do anything you say at the garage.”
That intrigued him. His smile grew. Despite the crowd of faithful churchgoers, his stare might have stripped me then and there.
“I consider my apartment part of the garage,” he warned.
So did I. “Fine by me.”
“I wouldn’t make that promise if I were you.”
“I’m desperate.”
He grinned. “You don’t know what you’re offering.”
No need to lie. “That’s what makes it interesting.”
“And exciting?”
Did we really need to talk about this on the church grounds?
“Yes,” I said.
Tidus hummed. “You’re in over your head.”
And heels. “Will you help me?”
“You’re gonna get in trouble, little girl.”
“Couldn’t be worse than the trouble I’m in now.”
“We’ll see.” He offered his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
The day finally came when I bartered my body for some barbeque.
At least I’d get some prime meat out of the deal.
I shook his hand. “Get your ass in the kitchen.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Tidus didn’t make it one step into the truck before smacking his head on the ceiling. He swore, staggering deeper into the truck. That only made it worse. He gripped the counter and nicked his pinky on a knife only to jerk his arm away and burn his elbow on the side of the metal fryer.
“Mother fucker!”
The word echoed across the congregation.
Fantastic.
“I knew the engine was a deathtrap!” Tidus narrowly avoided knocking over a simmering pan as he scrunched his muscular body into the cabin. “But this is a nightmare.”
I didn’t have time to babysit him, not when he nearly bled into my collard greens. “First-aid kit is over the sink. You’ll learn what not to touch.”
Tidus ducked low to run his hand under the water, stopping to splash his face and the rest of my truck. “What about the heat?”
I had a good reason for tying my hair back with a scarf. Short-sleeves were always a risk in a kitchen, and no chef in his right mind would operate a fryer in flip-flops. The truck approached a toasty one-hundred degrees, but a girl did what she had to do.
“You won’t have time to sweat when we start working,” I said.
Tidus panted. “Jesus Christ. You’ll kill me before I can take my half of the bargain.”
“Do a good job, and you’ll get the whole bargain.”
“I’ll get a hole, all right.”
I pointed to the stack of paper plates under the order window. “Start prepping for me. Each plate needs a cup and a plastic sleeve of cutlery.”
“Wait…where?”
“I’m making a brisket, pulled pork, and a combo platter with fries.”
Tidus swore again, dropping the plates over the floor of the truck. “Stop. Is that one plate or five?”
“Three.” I didn’t have time to waste. I reached under him, grabbing the plates and stacking them in the order I preferred. “Like that. Exactly like that, got me?”
I nearly tripped over him as I raced to the warming oven to fetch the pork. Tidus immediately spilled barbeque sauce all over his jeans. He reached for the napkins, coating most of my paper supplies with a sticky layer of sauce.
There went ten bucks, gone.
I loaded the pork onto the plate and pointed to the stove. “Stir the mac and cheese.”
He reached for a spoon, knocking a knife off the table and imbedding it in the non-stick pad inches from his foot.
“Uh…” He grunted. “Tell me you have Workers’ Comp insurance or something.”
“If you wanna keep your fingers…” I kicked him out of my path and dumped the pork onto the appropriate plates. “You better be careful.”
He smirked. “Better start praying for my safety then…I think you like my fingers more than me.”
I wasn’t flirting while working. “That’s why the good Lord saw fit to give you ten. Next order.”
He wasn’t so cocky outside of his garage, face-to-face with the townsfolk he usually avoided. Tidus ripped, spilled, stained, and burned most of my products and ruined twenty bucks of good food.
But it was worth it to earn his admiration as the money poured in and the food went out.
This was what I lived for. Cooking. Serving my food. Earning a living doing what I loved. And it was all excellent practice for what would undoubtedly be a brutal barbeque circuit.
Ten cities. Twenty events. All beginning with the biggest, baddest, hardest competition of them all.
The Ironfield Backyard Beef Brisket Brawl-B-Que.
Without the chance to race across the country—and with my truck still at the mercy of Tidus’s bill and the benevolence of his tow-truck—I had only a few chances to practice for the big day. Fortunately, I had more than enough customers to keep me busy.
“Whoa.” A familiar face peeked over the window. Spencer’s blue eyes widened as he watched Tidus attempt to cut a sandwich bun with a spatula. “I had no idea this truck actually worked!”
Tidus frowned. “Have some faith in me, kid. Fixing the truck is nothing. I’m good enough that I could mod your bike to go thirty-five in a school zone.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
“Will you do it for me?”
“Not a chance in hell.” Tidus threatened Spencer with the spatula. “It’s your fault I’m in this damned truck. What the hell were you doing—pulling all the plugs in the kitchen?”
“It was real funny.”
“Don’t do pranks in church. You’ll go to hell.”
Spencer made a face. “Uncle V won’t let that happen.”
“Yeah, right. He’s got the direct line up above. You really want to try your luck?”
“You said men like us make our own luck,” Spencer said.
“No. I said men like us only have bad luck.” He nodded behind Spencer. “Case
in point…you ran away from Aunt Cassi again, didn’t you?”
“Spencer Townsend!”
Even the hungriest parishioners ducked out of line as Cassi Payne marched across the church grounds, hellbent on collecting the child. Spencer attempted to scramble into the truck through the order window, but Cassi’s fiancé was quicker than the kid. Remington grabbed Spencer by the hoodie and hauled him back to the family. Two little blonde girls, one no older than four and the other a toddler going on thirty, cheered and dove at the boy.
Spencer whined as Remington’s nieces hugged him. “Aunt Cassi, this is embarrassing.”
“I’ll say.” Cassi giggled at Tidus, probably the only person in the world who could so brazenly tease the man. “Oh, Tidus. What in the world have you gotten yourself into?”
Tidus grumbled. “I’m asking myself the same question.”
“Honey, I need your secret.” Cassi’s smile grew. “I have never once seen my brother holding a spatula.”
Remington snickered. “A paddle, sure.”
Tidus threatened him with the kitchen utensil. “You promised we’d never talk about that.”
Rem laughed. “You don’t want to know what this man can do with a flogger, a bowl of cherries, and a box of con—”
Cassi elbowed him in the gut.
Rem coughed and doubled over. “—Condiments.”
I danced around Tidus, diving for the hot sauce to finish an order. “Any secrets you want to tell me about you and Rem before you break my heart?”
“Don’t worry,” Tidus said. “Rem’s the only man for me.”
Cassi rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you tell her what you two were really doing with all those…objects.”
Rem had a trouble-maker smile, a careless laugh, and eyes that saw the world in Cassi. He wrapped an arm around her. “We pulled a little prank our senior year. Involved our English teacher, a couple failing grades, and the bag he took to the gym after school to coach the girls’ volleyball team.”
“Think that was the prank that got our asses tossed into summer school,” Tidus said. “Got kicked out of there too.”
Rem sighed. “We should probably try to get our diplomas at some point.”
“Think they lifted the restraining order yet?”
“After what we did to Principal Gillian’s truck?” Rem made a face. “Christ, I can still smell it.”
Spencer had enough. He reached inside the truck, stole a handful of fries from a passing platter, and whined when Tidus slapped his hand away from his mouth.
“Uncle Tidus, you said we’d play ball today,” Spencer said.
Tidus shrugged. “Sorry. Honey drafted me to work.”
“But my curveball sucks.”
Tidus didn’t disagree. “Once I finish here, we’ll practice it. If nothing else, I can teach you how to bean a batter.”
“Do you promise?”
“Yeah. I’ll get kicked out of here in a few minutes. Honey doesn’t tolerate any fun.”
Spencer’s expression darkened, but he pushed away from the truck and stormed off. Cassi made a face, but she pretended not to hear most of the words the boy grumbled.
“Thanks, Tidus,” she said. “Spencer doesn’t like hanging with the girls. Can only play princesses so much.”
I passed her and Rem a couple sandwiches and winked. “Family’s on the house.”
Rem shoved a twenty in my hand anyway. “And giving away food is how you end up without a house.”
Tidus held his arms out. “Where the hell is my tip?”
Rem shimmied his shoulders as Cassi hauled him away. “Gotta dance for it, Tidus.”
“In your dreams.”
“Still have the nightmares.”
The line hadn’t budged, and my stomach plummeted. I raced around Tidus, grabbing napkins and plates, and slapped his ass.
“Get to work,” I ordered.
“Easy.” He jumped away. “Not serving rump roast today.”
“Just checking to make sure you’re tender.”
“Wanna stick a knife in me? Wouldn’t be the first time.”
I poked at him with a plastic fork. “Start prepping! There’s hungry people waiting.”
Tidus groaned, sinking back against the counter. “Christ, Honey. This is insanity.”
No. This was work. Good, hard, back-breaking work.
But I had it under control.
I thought.
Just had to refill the warming tray with a new brisket, check on the ribs, give the mashed potatoes another hit of cream, cut up a new head of cabbage for coleslaw, add another log to the smoker…
Orders flew through the truck—dozens upon dozens of requests, demands, questions, and compliments. Expediting orders was its own trick, but I juggled each and every bill in my head with only minimal commands barked at a shell-shocked Tidus.
“This isn’t so bad.” I twisted around him to load the window with food. “I grew up in a restaurant—every Friday was crazier than this.”
“I bet you had a kitchen staffed with more than two people.”
Yes, but that was beyond the point. “It’s good to stay busy. You know what they say. Idle hands are the devil’s playthings.”
Tidus’s voice lowered. He crowded close to me as I scooped a gooey, bubbling helping of mac and cheese onto a plate. “I know exactly what to do with my hands.”
“If you flirt with me, I’ll keep you prisoner in this truck even longer.”
“You better have some strong ropes, maybe a pair of handcuffs.” Tidus winked. “I could loan you mine.”
“Hope you have a gag in your bag of tricks too.”
“Adventurous, huh?” His smile only grew. “I like a brave girl.”
“And I like a man who takes orders.” I pointed to the window. “Especially from paying customers.”
He ignored the parishioners. “Screw them. I’m only here to score the recipe for your barbeque sauces.”
If it was a joke, it wasn’t funny. “Absolutely not. Those are under lock and key. Top secret.”
“I could torture it out of you.”
“I’ll never talk.”
Tidus snorted. “No. You never shut up. The trick is making you say what I want to hear.”
“Which is?”
“Yes, sir. No, sir. Harder. Faster.” He shrugged. “Take your pick.”
“Spare me your teasing, lover boy.”
“This isn’t teasing. This is a preview.”
Tidus attempted to pin me in the corner, but I slipped away before Butterpond’s congregation realized with the D really meant in USDA. If nothing else, the town’s minister would be grateful.
“Well, well, well.” Pastor Varius Payne stared into the truck in amazement. “Cassi told me it was true, but I didn’t believe her. Are you actually doing a hard day’s work, Tidus?”
Tidus’s brother had an otherworldly air about him. Though Varius’s eyes blazed a fierce, tornado green, and overwhelming calmness shrouded the man in absolute mystery. He left his minister robes back in the church and exchanged his Bible for a little girl snuggled in his arms. She was a bundle of attitude with the perfect ballerina bun on top of her head. Her pudgy ebony cheeks shared a wonderful smile.
She must’ve got it from her mother. An absolute knockout of a lady approached Varius. This was no minister’s wife. Maybe a minister’s mistress—if the rumors were true. Tidus had said the woman’s name was Glory, her daughter, Lulu, and together the little family had saved Butterpond struggling church.
“Bastard V.” The little girl crawled over the minister. “Hungry!”
Varius sighed. “Lulu, how about you call me Daddy? You don’t have to call me Pastor anymore.”
The little girl threw her arms around his neck and cuddled against him. “Bastard.”
Tidus winked at his brother. “I’ve been called worse.”
“Ever want to be called something better?” Varius asked.
“Well, I’m chef today.”
“Do I credit heaven or hell for this development?”
Tidus modeled his apron with a curl of his biceps. “What? Don’t think I can pull it off?”
“Never thought you’d put one on.” Varius had a gentle smile, but it still seemed like he rarely used it. Something about the woman at his side made the smirk a little easier. “Since when do you know how to barbeque?”
“Never been afraid to get my hands dirty.”
I batted him away from the squirt bottle filled with barbecue sauce. No way was he ready for that responsibility yet. I grabbed his wrist and turned both hands over.
“You better not have dirty hands,” I said.
“Only you know where they’ve been, Honey,” he said.
I flinched. “Let’s not flirt in front of a minister?”
It didn’t dissuade Tidus. “Oh, Pastor V has done far worse in this church.”
To his credit, Varius didn’t deny it. “The difference is, I’ve sought forgiveness. You should try it sometime.”
“Why would I do that?” Tidus laughed. “My sins are all I have.”
I pointed to the paper plates. “Don’t forget. You have a job too.”
Varius watched in amazement as his brother begrudgingly began to work. “Honey, I don’t know where you’ve been all of our lives, but you must be an angel sent from Heaven.”
Tidus snorted. “Sure. Complementary halo with every fender bender.”
He completed in order and handed it to the lady patiently waiting for her food, but every person in line spontaneously gagged and doubled over.
Not the greatest of advertisements for my fledgling business.
The coughing and retching yielded to alarmed shouts.
Butterpond Community Church wasn’t a congregation which often stampeded, what with the dementia, hip replacements, and concealed carries. But repulsed cries echoed over the church. Blue-haired ladies bolted across the yard, ripping the tennis balls off their walkers and abandoning their forty-pound purses like the doors had opened for a discounted Early Bird Special.
Varius surveyed the scene with a mounting frown. “Just once, once, I’d prayed we could get through a church event without a complete disaster.”
Glory took the baby from his arms. “Brace yourself, V. The Easter Play is just around the corner.”
“God help us.”
