Page 43 of Banter & Blushes #1

TIFFANY

F ew things are as peaceful as a morning on the beach. The sand, sun, and wind before everything gets crowded instantly calms me. Even when I have a long day of work ahead.

I may regret opening The Sandbar at our usual locations while also feeding people on the music video set. However, I don’t want to disappoint any customers or appear like we’re gone.

In a touristy place, when a restaurant closes for more than a week, people take notice. Especially when you’re a food truck that’s always on the move.

My griddle is hot for waffles, and the bacon sizzles in the oven. It’s time to open the window and prepare for orders.

I stick my head out to get a better view of the beach. There aren’t a lot of people out yet, but I hope to catch them on their way down for the day.

One person out of the ordinary catches my eye. A guy jogging on the shoreline. Is that Colt? I laugh at myself. It’s probably a mirage, thanks to yesterday’s surprise.

I stare at him a little longer until he raises his sunglasses and stares back. Oh shoot, I’m caught. I jerk my head inside the window, grazing the top of the opening. Ouch. I rub my head and open the freezer for something cold.

When someone speaks outside the truck, I turn with a bag of frozen fruit held to my head. It is Colt.

“What’s good for breakfast? ”

Without thinking, I give the most common answer to that question. “Bacon.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “What’s with the fruit?”

My eyes follow his finger pointing to my head. I remove the bag sweating on my hair. “I banged my head a minute ago.”

“Oh sorry.” He smiles. “Need some help?”

I glance around at the empty truck. Genesis said she’d either work on the set or help me with brunch, not both. I couldn’t complain since what I get from her family’s free parking and her help during lunch rushes is way more valuable than what I pay.

Before I can come up with an answer, Colt enters through the back door.

I put away the melting fruit bag and suck in a breath. Once the freezer door is shut, nothing stands between us except about a foot of empty space. I haven’t been this close to him since we parted ways after high school.

“What can I do?”

It takes me a second to process that he’s standing in my food truck in a tight-fitted T-shirt with beach-sweat hair. For some reason, I find that look very attractive.

The oven beeps, saving me from awkwardness. “Hang on.”

I retrieve the first batch of bacon and pull another pan ready to go in from the refrigerator. “Could you watch the window while I cook more bacon?”

“Sure.”

Although I may regret it later, I allow myself to suck in his manly scent as he shuffles behind me in the tight space.

It’s the perfect mixture of beach salt and aftershave.

I hold my breath for a few seconds to savor it before the bacon scent overpowers everything.

Not that I dislike the smell of bacon. Heck, I have bacon-scented candles in my house.

But it’s not every day I get to smell Colt.

I hear some people talking outside and turn around. It’s a small group debating the menu. Colt gives me a questioning look. I nod and smile to reassure him that it’s okay to help customers.

“Can I get something for y’all?” he asks.

My heart skips a beat at hearing him say “y’all.” Somehow his voice got even more Southern after leaving Alabama. Must be a side effect of the country music industry.

They want waffles with bacon. Colt reaches back and hands me a slip of paper detailing the order. His hand grazes mine like it did yesterday when I gave him some water.

I clear my throat and get to work on the order. There’s no time to get sentimental, even though it’s pretty cool that I’m following the path I wanted, and he somehow ended up on it.

Temporarily. I remind myself. When the music video is done, he will jet off to Nashville or somewhere else to sing.

“Hang on,” he says to the people outside, then turns to me. “They asked if you have mimosas.”

“No. Water, sweet tea, and orange and grape juices for the morning. ”

He relays the message, even though it’s on the menu. I hear a guy answer rather loudly, “Why name something The Sandbar if it’s not a bar?”

I roll my eyes. This question comes up from time to time, often from someone who doesn’t live in the area.

Colt talks with them while I cook the waffles and plate them beside some bacon. I push the plates on the counter for him to hand out.

“They will all take orange juice.”

“Got it.” I grab the jug from the refrigerator. “Can you pour it while I get their payment?”

“Sure.”

We shuffle around one another, coming dangerously close. His scent mixes well with bacon. I exhale and sigh. I’ve yet to find anything that doesn’t go with bacon, so it makes sense Colt would too.

“Cash okay?” The man’s voice jolts me back to reality.

“Yes, sir.” I take his money and deal out the change. “Thank you.”

Colt pushes the cups across the counter. Another guy grabs them.

“Thanks.” The first guy nods, and they scoot along the sand.

“You did good,” I say to Colt once they’re out of earshot.

“Yeah?”

I smile. “You’re naturally friendlier than Genesis.”

“Oh yeah, the girl working in here yesterday.”

“Yes. My friend and only employee.”

“Is that your way of saying you’re not paying me for today?” He twists his mouth in a playful way I find endearing.

“How about free food at the video set?”

He laughs. “All the food there is free.”

“Maybe for you. But somebody better be paying me.” I shake my head.

Colt leans closer to me, making my cheeks flush. “There’s no such thing as a free meal.”

“True,” I whisper.

His lips lift, showcasing his perfect smile. My stomach flips, and I blame it on smelling bacon for well over an hour without eating any.

Deep down, I know it’s not the bacon.

Colt is back, and despite how much has changed and how much time has passed, we’re now flirting. It’s silly of me to even consider starting something with a guy who travels for a living, especially one on the verge of fame. If it were any other guy, the warnings would keep me at bay.

But the same way some people swim in high tides, I choose to ignore the red flags flying when it comes to Colt Harrison.

Or should I say Colt Stallion.

More customers come and go, none of them seeming to recognize him. That’s a good thing, I’m sure, since he never was one for the limelight. He always joked around and sang for us, but never liked being up on stage .

When we’re closing up, I decide to ask him. “How is it getting to live out your dream?”

“You tell me, Chef.”

I blush. “I like it. Now your turn.”

“It has its ups and downs. Putting out my own music is more fun, but scary.”

“How so?” I think I know what he’ll say, but don’t want to put words in his mouth.

“When you do a concert, everyone stares at the lead singer. I don’t know if I’m ready for everyone to stare at me.”

“I’ve heard other singers say they look above the crowd and pretend they’re somewhere else when they’re performing. You need to find what makes you comfortable.”

He focuses on my face for a long while. So long that if we were closer, I’d swear he was going to kiss me. After what seems like forever, he speaks.

“I like that idea.”

As much as I want to be his reason for singing, it isn’t a wise choice for either of us. In an impulse move to keep things professional, I open the cash register and pull out some money. “Here.”

He lifts a hand. “I can’t take your money.”

“Why not? You worked several hours.”

I put the money back and open the back door before closing the window. My face and neck heat up. I can’t risk being alone and enclosed with Colt, or I might be tempted to kiss him. I exit, and he follows.

“Thanks again for your help,” I say awkwardly.

“Anytime I’m available.”

“See you later.” I lift a hand and hurry to the front of the truck.

Colt waves as I drive off. My entire body tenses when I see him in the mirror. He looks like an abandoned puppy, and I halfway wish I’d hugged him. In avoiding a potential kiss, I acted a little too standoffish.

Anytime I’m available. Wait, in what sense does he mean available?