Page 39 of Banter & Blushes #1

TIFFANY

I flip the sign to closed and shut the window on the food truck.

“Genesis, did you update our hours on socials?”

“Huh?”

Genesis and I met in college. I was studying culinary arts, and she was a self-proclaimed sixth-year senior, having changed her major more times than I can remember. She is both the best and worst thing that happened to my business.

When she ignores me for well over a minute, I turn off the radio. Genesis sings a few more lines of Kenny Chesney before turning around.

“Did you update the hours for the week on our social accounts?”

Her eyes grow big as quarters. I palm my face. “Genesis! You had one job.”

“I’m sorry.” She throws her hands in the air. “You gave me so many different times, I couldn’t keep up.”

“I wrote them down.” I point to the large note written in permanent marker on the refrigerator. “And I texted them to you.”

She winces. I sigh and reach for my phone. It takes me all of two minutes to post this week’s hours. Then I open the door to a family outside browsing the menu.

“They never close this early,” I hear one of them say.

I shake my head and approach them. “Hi, we’re working different hours this week.

” I point to the sign opposite the menu.

Yet another place Genesis could’ve noticed the times.

“Sorry for any inconvenience. The hours are now posted on our social media too. I can get you some coconut crisps for your trouble.”

“Thank you. That would be great. My mom was wanting to try them.”

An older lady smiles.

“Meet me at the window.” I smile and hurry inside, then raise the window. I hand the man three wrapped packages of coconut crisps, my popular concoction of coconut cookies with a crispy bite.

“Thank you. How much?”

“On the house.” I push back his hand holding up a twenty.

My stomach pins against the countertop as the truck jerks forward. The family stares in shock as I bounce back against the wall and the window slams shut.

“Genesis!”

“One on the dot, boss. That’s what time you said we were leaving.”

I secure the window latch and make my way to the front of the truck. She smirks from behind the wheel.

“Now you’re remembering numbers?” I plop down in the passenger seat and buckle up.

“It’s easy to remember one number, especially when the one number is one.”

“Maybe the free cookies will make up for our lack of customer service.”

Genesis says nothing as she fumbles with the radio.

“Slow down, we’re going to miss the turn.”

She laughs. “Oh yeah, I forget it’s this way.”

Her family owns tons of property around here, and she’s lived at the beach her entire life. But I keep that to myself. Best not harass the person driving my life savings—and my life.

Genesis turns on two wheels, tires squealing. I grab the “oh crap” bar near my window and hold my breath. Temporary gates appear with signs designating filming locations.

She slows when we come to the main gate, and an important-looking guy walks to her window. I lean over to talk as soon as she rolls it down. “Hi, Tiffany Rivers with The Sandbar. We’re here for catering.”

“Perfect. Once we open this gate, you can go to the left. There will be a spot for catering and craft services.”

I yell, “Thank you,” as he unlocks the gate.

Genesis drives at an acceptable speed and finds the “Craft Services” sign. “We’re not doing crafts, are we?”

I laugh. “No. That was how the snack-foods service was listed in my contract. I assume it’s showbiz lingo.”

She shrugs. “Who is this video for?”

“Colt Stallion.”

“Never heard of him.” She scrunches her nose as she parks the truck.

“Neither have I. He’s a new country singer recording his first music video.”

“Cool.” Genesis pops a piece of gum in her mouth and hops out .

I go through the back, straightening whatever fell when she abruptly jerked us into drive. Then I open the back door and pause before stepping out.

“What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Genesis lifts her sunglasses and leans closer to me.

I’m frozen in the back of the truck, wondering if I really see what—or whom—I think I see.

Across the parking lot is a tent set up with a trailer beside it. People enter and exit with clothing and makeup brushes. One person in particular is in a plain white T-shirt and worn jeans. Same as he used to dress.

If that is, in fact, him.

Genesis follows my eyes to the guy sitting in a lawn chair under the tent. “Oh, he is nice looking. A little too fresh off the farm for my taste, but I get how you would like that.”

He stands and reaches inside the trailer.

I turn and open the truck window. Then I busy myself gathering snacks to set across the counter for people to grab.

Genesis joins me, whistling the Kenny Chesney song playing earlier.

We work side by side in silence, except for her off-key tune.

She stops when a guitar starts strumming nearby.

It’s followed by a voice that causes me to drop the open bag of tortilla chips I’m holding.

“Whoa. Let me get that.” Genesis grabs the broom before I can move.

Midway through cleaning the mess, she stares at me. “Something is clearly wrong with you, Tiff. You hardly ever make a mess, much less leave it there.” She pushes the broom aside. “What’s wrong?”

I suck in a deep breath and listen a little longer to make sure I’m not crazy. The guy hits a note with such a twang that it couldn’t be anyone else. I blink at Genesis. “That guy is my ex-boyfriend.”