Page 4 of Tacos & Toboggans
He pointed at me with a grin that did magical things to my lady parts. The lady parts that I once again had to remind myself to ignore. “I looked for the truck today, but someone named Indigo said it was in the shop. I was crushed until she told me you were hosting Taco Tuesday here, and the daily special was called The Spanish Rooster. I could only hope it was the same thing I’d been dreaming about for the last month.”
I bounced up on my toes with a grin. What? Okay, so it made me happy that people loved my tacos, and besides, the name is enough to make anyone smile. “Indigo works at the bakery,” I explained. “But she’s married to the man who helps me with the food truck.”
“I ran into her in the hospital parking lot,” he explained. “I’ll admit that the name of the daily special intrigued me.”
“After your glowing review, people returned the next week looking for the rice tacos. It seemed they needed a name, so we did a little social media contest. Some names were hilarious, but I was happy with the winner. We’re also offering them in softshell now. Just in case that interests you.”
His eyes lit up, and he nodded. “Can I have one of each?”
“This is a diner. You can have one of anything and everything your heart desires. We also have the best pie in town. Just sayin’.”
“That’s good to hear because I haven’t met a pie I didn’t like. First, hit me with The Spanish Rooster, hard and soft, and a bowl of that beautiful guac. I’ll decide on the pie after I stuff my face with the rooster.”
“You got it,” I said as I accepted the menu from his hand. “Anything to drink?”
There was no way not to notice how he looked me up and down before answering. It left tendrils of heat across my cheeks that I prayed he didn’t notice. “Black coffee would be great.”
“Coming right up,” I said before spinning on my heel and practically running to the computer to put in his order. There was something too sexy about this stranger, and most of me was glad he was just passing through. The little part of me that wished he was sticking around knew I wasn’t his type, even if he looked at me like he was a starving man and I was his lunch.
It was just after one in the afternoon when my shift ended, but I still couldn’t get the man who had stopped in for dinner the night before out of my head. He’d gotten called away shortly after finishing his tacos and had thrown some bills on the table and taken off before I could even ask him his name. Another missed opportunity, and the chances I’d get anotheranytime soon were slim. Especially if he was only in town once a month and I didn’t work every day. Then again, the food truck would be fixed by tomorrow, so if he showed up again for Taco Tuesday next week, we’d be there for him. I glanced at my watch and grimaced. Our days on the food truck were numbered. With only three weeks left in the season, we were counting down to our final days until spring.
With a spring in my step, I pushed that all aside. I had other things to think about today, such as officially filing the paperwork for my business, Little Bird on the Moon. As a children’s book writer, I didn’t need an LLC to continue doing what I do, but it made better business sense to have one. Call it a preemptive strike for when I make it big. The internal snort of laughter I gave myself was loud at the thought. As though anything I’d done in the last decade had ever worked out how I’d planned it.
“If it isn’t Jaelyn Riba,” a voice said, and I turned to see Mayor Orlando ‘Jack’ Tottle walking toward me.
“Hi, Mayor Tottle. How are you doing?”
“Finer than peach fuzz,” he responded as he stopped before me. “Are you here finishing the paperwork on your grandmother’s estate?”
The reminder sent a skitter of fear through me, but I pushed it away. The last thing I wanted to do was think about that situation while trying to start a new chapter of my life. “Not today,” I answered. “I was registering my new business with the city.”
“New business? Are you breaking free of the diner and opening your own food truck? I don’t know if this town’s big enough for the both of you,” he said in his best Wheeler Oakman impersonation. It sounded a lot like John Wayne for some reason.
I gasped, clutching my heart in shock. “How could you even ask such a thing? Never!”
We broke into a fit of giggles because we both knew that going up against The Nightingale Diner would be futile.
“It’s more like a small business,” I explained. “An extremely small one with one employee. Me.”
“We like small businesses in Bells Pass. They keep us running year-round.”
“Not untrue, but this one is different. It’s more kitschy than necessary.”
“Kitschy has its place. What is it?”
“I write and illustrate personalized children’s books.”
“How wonderful!” he exclaimed with a clap. “In my opinion, literature is never kitschy.”
“I’m not sure you can call this literature, Mayor Tottle. They’re books for children that teach them about different traditions around the world.”
He held up his finger with authority. “Which is the definition of literature. The age of the reader doesn’t matter. Early readers are successful in life because of it.”
“True,” I said with a smile. “I was an early reader, which is why I enjoy writing for kids so much. I want to open the first bookstore in Bells Pass someday. Someday, far, far in the future. Well, I don’t want to keep you. I’m sure you have lots of important business to take care of.”
“Oh, you know,” he said, giving me the so-so hand. “Maybe, but nothing is more important than congratulating someone on a life milestone. It was nice chatting with you.”
“Thank you,” I said, shaking the hand he extended. “I’ll see you at the diner soon.”
