Page 6 of Falling for Mr. Grump, the Big City Billionaire

As I turn back to my truck, I take a deep breath.

Okay, Skye. Get it together. Bessie needs you. Your customers need you. And somewhere out there, Mr. Disaster in designer shoes needs a serious lesson in small town etiquette.

But first things first. These tacos aren't going to make themselves, and I've got a business to run. Corporate Calamity might've dented my truck, but he hasn't dented my spirit.

Not by a long shot.

Old Mr. Jenkins peering at me from his usual bench, waiting for his order, chuckles. "Sounds like you've had quite the morning, dear."

I roll my eyes but can't help grinning. "You have no idea, Mr. J. No idea at all."

A few minutes later, I turn back to my customers, who are now five to six people more than when I opened up earlier.

"Order up!" I call out, sliding a plate of fish tacos across the counter. "Extra spicy, just the way you like 'em, Mr. Jenkins."

The old man's eyes light up. "You're an angel, Skye."

I wink at him. "Don't let my horns fool you."

As I turn back to the grill, I can't help but once again think about at the dent in Bessie's side.

Ugh. My blood pressure spikes just thinking about it.

"You okay, sweetie?" Mrs. Delmar asks from her usual spot. "You look like you're about to murder that bell pepper."

I blink, realizing I've been chopping veggies like I'm auditioning for a slasher film. "Oh, you know," I sigh, "thinking about my close encounter of the jerk kind this morning."

"Ooh, do tell," Lizzy pipes up from the end of the counter. She's always up for good gossip.

I roll my eyes. "Picture this: Mr. Fancy Pants comes stumbling out of a private jet like he owns the place. Next thing I know, he's doing a face-plant into my truck and acts like it's my fault!"

"No way!" Lizzy gasps.

"Way," I nod, flipping a fish burger with maybe a little too much force. "Left a suit-shaped dent in my mural and everything."

Mr. Jenkins leans in. "What'd you do?"

"What do you think?" I grin. "I gave him a piece of my mind. And perhaps an impromptu salsa shower."

The small crowd around my truck bursts into laughter. It feels good, lightens the weight on my chest a bit.

"That's our Skye," Mrs. Delmar chuckles. "Always spicing things up."

I bow dramatically. "I aim to please. And occasionally, to douse jerks in salsa."

As I hand out more orders, I keep chatting. It's like therapy, but with food.

"I mean, who does he think he is?" I rant while assembling a burrito. "Probably some big-city CEO who thinks he's too good for sand between his toes."

Lizzy nods sympathetically. "The nerve of some people."

"Right?" I agree. "I bet he even has someone iron his socks."

More laughter. I'm on a roll now.

"Oh! And get this," I say, leaning in conspiratorially. "He had the audacity to look good while being a total disaster. Like, who gave him the right?"

"Handsome devil, was he?" Mrs. Delmar asks, eyes twinkling.

---