Page 34 of Truck You

“I can do that,” Frank says. “You want all the fixins on that burger?”

“Um, just lettuce and mustard.”

“You got it. And what can I get you to drink?”

“Can I get a caramel milkshake?” It’s a little cool outside for a milkshake, but it sounds too good to pass up.

“Of course you can.” Frank scribbles my order on a little green notepad before he turns to Clara. “And for you, dear?”

“I’ll have the same, but make my shake strawberry,” Clara says. “And I have an order for Ash and Christian, but do you mind waiting about twenty minutes before you make it?”

“Anything for you.” Clara gives him Ash’s and Christian’s order while a young girl behind the counter makes our milkshakes, and an older man makes our food.

I pull some money out and hand it to Clara, but she shoves it back at me. “This is on me.”

“Thanks.” I put my money away. “Next time you’ll have to let me pay.”

Frank sets our shakes on the counter and tells us he’ll bring our food out to us once it’s ready if we want to wait outside. We take our shakes and sit at the covered picnic table.

I take a sip of mine and groan. “Oh my God. I don’t care that it’s too cold for milkshakes outside. This is so good.”

“Right?” Clara takes a long sip of hers until her nose crinkles. She presses her palm to her forehead. “Gah! Brain freeze.”

Once it seems to pass, we both laugh. “I really hate when that happens,” she says. “I always drink my shakes too fast.”

“Maybe if these shakes weren’t so good, it’d be easier not to.” I suggest.

“Maybe, but knowing me, I’d—”

“Oh, yoo-hoo. Clara, dear.” We both look up to see an older woman crossing the street and waving her hand in the air. She may be calling Clara’s name, but she’s looking at me.

“Oh great,” Clara mumbles. “Prepare yourself for Mrs. Engle. She does not know the meaning of mind your own business.”

“I’m so glad you’re here. I wanted to ask you about your cake entry for the competition next month.”

“I don’t have a cake entry for next month,” Clara says.

“Well, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I haven’t received your entry forms, and the deadline is coming up. I’d hate for you to miss it.”

“Mrs. Engle, I’m not submitting anything this year.”

“But!” Mrs. Engle presses her hand to her chest and gasps like Clara’s news physically hurts her. “I don’t understand. You always enter something for the Oktoberfest.”

Clara shrugs. “Maybe next year.”

Mrs. Engle looks like she’s going to object further, but then turns her gaze to me. “Well, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Of course. Where are my manners?” Clara struggles to hide her eye roll. “This is Sophia Becker. She’s new in town. And this is Mrs. Engle. She runs the hair salon right across the street.”

“I run theonlyhair salon in Beaver,” Mrs. Engle says with forced exaggeration as if it’s important for me to know her salon is the only one. “And what brings you to our lovely town?”

“Um, I … I race and work on cars. I took a job working for Liam Mutter to learn more.”

“Why on earth would a pretty girl like you want to do that?”

My hackles rise, and my need to defend myself is on high alert. “I don’t see what my looks have to do with anything.”

“But racing and cars is a man’s job. I don’t understand why—”

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