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Ava

A va and Hailey’s Crab Truck had an unofficial motto – 'The Best Crab Cakes in Seattle, Served With a Side of Sass.’

The motto was in the forefront of my mind as a pair of smirking guys approached, almost certainly students from one of the colleges in town. Sure enough, their oversized University of Washington Seattle hoodies confirmed my suspicion.

“Next!” I barked out, my voice carrying over the sizzle of the deep fryer behind me and through the din of Pike Place Market. The streets around us were bustling with the usual lunch crowd all lined up in front of their favorite food trucks and stalls of choice. My line was long as usual, dozens of people patiently waiting in their big coats and wool hats, little puffs of steam coming from their mouths as they braced against the autumn chill.

The instant the college guys approached, I could tell by the shit-eating grins on their faces what was about to come out of their mouths.

“What can I get for you boys?” I asked, already eager to get the exchange out of the way.

“We… we were wondering,” said the first, already snickering.

The other couldn’t wait any longer. His eyes wide, his smile huge, he shot out the words.

“Do you have cra—”

And that was all he’d get out.

“Do I have crabs ?” I asked, leaning forward on the sill of the order window. “Is that what you were going to ask? Do I have crabs?”

The smirks on their faces vanished, replaced by shock and embarrassment. It was already pretty damn clear that this exchange wasn’t going the way they’d envisioned.

“Like crabs?” I asked. “Both the crustacean and the STD, right?” I let out a mocking laugh. “Guys, that’s so funny, seriously. You know what’s crazy? Me and Hales here,” I stuck my thumb out over my shoulder toward Hailey Straus, my coworker, half-sister, and best friend, who let out a grunt from her station at the fryer, “have been in this business for a year now and if you can believe it, no one has ever made that joke before.”

The guys kept right on staring, regarding me with the same dumb expression.

“When you hear a joke that funny, that clever, you can’t help but wonder about the creative process, you know? Like, what kind of brilliant mind, or minds , in this case, were able to come up with something like that?” I snapped my fingers, as if getting it. “Let me guess… you two both happened to come down with a case of the crabs at the same time? I can picture it now; both of you washing up after a heated wrestling practice, both looking down and seeing that your junk had some tiny hitchhikers? That it?”

The boys said nothing but laughs sounded out in the line behind them.

“Look,” I said, raising my palms. “I get it, life happens. Pretty sure they can blast them out with UV light or something these days. Might be worth looking in to. In the meantime, can I offer you boys something delicious to eat?”

I nodded toward the big menu on the side of the truck, where there were two items, and two items only, listed.

“We’ve got the classic crab sandwich,” I said, directing my words to the rest of the crowd just as much as the stunned boys ahead of me. “That’s a succulent, crispy, four-ounce crab cake made from the finest Dungeness crab pulled straight from Elliot Bay behind me. The sauce and bread are made in-house, served with a side of homemade coleslaw, also fresh and in-house, and kettle chips. We’ve got the crab cake served bun less, for those of you doing the keto thing, but other than that… what’s the rule, Hales?”

“No substitutions!” she called out over her shoulder as she pulled a basket of freshly fried cakes up and out of the oil.

“No substitutions!” I repeated. “Or would you like our cream of crab soup? Thick and creamy and perfect for a classic Seattle day like today.” I nodded up toward the thick, gray clouds above, the tops of the downtown towers disappearing into their banks. “To wash it all down, we’ve got freshly squeezed lemonade and fresh-brewed iced tea.”

The spiel complete, I leaned forward and flashed the boys a smile that sent the message that, so long as they behaved themselves, their business was more than welcome.

“Uh, two sandwiches,” said the one on the left.

“Same for me,” said the other. “And an iced tea.”

“There!” I replied with a smile. “Now, isn’t it nicer for everyone when we don’t try out our comedy routines during the lunch hour?” I glanced over my shoulder. “Four sandos all day!”

“Heard!” Hailey shouted back.

Hailey, the sandwich-making machine that she was, wasted no time plating up four sandwiches and all the fixings, setting them on the counter next to me.

I handed the four plates over, the college boys swiping their cards and putting in a generous tip let me know they’d been properly chastened. The exchange complete, I waved them off. As they hurried away from the line, I watched as they took huge bites of their crab cake sandwiches, doing their best to juggle the pair of plates in each hand. Just as I’d anticipated, they stopped as they chewed, their eyes going wide as the flavor hit them.

They both turned, giving me a big thumbs-up. I responded with a cheeky salute and a smile, knowing that I’d likely secured another pair of regulars.

Once they were gone, a wealthy-looking woman approached; she was decked out in a Canada Goose jacket worn over Lululemon gear, an expensive handbag dangling from her wrist.

“Good afternoon,” she said. “Now, I know the sign says no substitutions, but—”

“No substitutions means no substitutions!” Hailey and I replied at the same time. It was something we’d had to make clear on more than one occasion.

The woman’s eyes flashed, and I got the sense right away that she was the type of person who wasn’t used to being told no, let alone in such a direct way.

She cleared her throat, running her fingertips through her hair nervously.

“Well then, one crab cake with no bun, please. And an iced tea. Oh! And a soup… I’ve heard such wonderful things about it.”

I grinned, eager to see how quickly she was able to play ball.

“One bun less all day and a cup of soup!”

“Heard!”

The tray was at my side in seconds, and I pulled out an iced tea to go along with it.

“Enjoy!” I said, handing the meal over as the woman swiped her card.

She offered a pursed-lipped smile, and I turned my attention to the next customers in line, noticing that the line seemed to have doubled in the time it’d taken for me to explain our no substitutions rule.

This was what I lived for. I got into rush mode, taking one customer after the other, calling out orders to Hailey and passing plate after plate after bowl to the hungry people in line. Now and then, I’d take a second or two to look at the crowd around the truck, dozens and dozens of people all huddled up taking big bites out of their sandwiches, shaking their heads at one another as if they couldn’t believe the flavors.

Through it all, Hailey and I served up some of our patented sass to the customers. Not all of the people in line were rule-breakers and joke-makers—plenty were regulars who came just as much for the banter as they did the deliciousness that Hailey and I offered.

I loved the chaos, loved the business, loved the chit-chat with the customers.

It was the perfect day for working the truck. Outside was chilly and brisk, but inside it was nice and toasty, Hailey and I wearing our work T-shirts with the sleeves rolled up, which allowed Hailey to show off the patchwork tattoos that decorated her upper arms.

About halfway into the lunch rush, however, I spotted someone who didn’t look like he was from the area. A man, tall and broad shouldered, dressed in a black trench coat with a black sweater underneath, dark blue jeans and leather boots, approached the vicinity of the truck.

It was impossible not to note right away how damn handsome he was. His hair was dark blonde and close-cropped, his eyes steely and gray, eyebrows dark and thick, all set above a square jaw and sharp cheekbones. He was tall, too, towering over the rest of the customers. It was easy to tell that he was powerfully built, even with his sweater and coat. His composure was calm and focused, the chaos of Pike’s Market not bothering him in the slightest.

His eyes were on me, those steely grays locked onto mine. I should’ve been unnerved, and I was, a little. But there was also something about him that made my mouth water even more than our fantastic crab cakes.

“Yo, Av!”

“Huh?”

I shook my head, coming back into the moment.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“You gonna help these fine people in line?”

I turned my attention back to the line of customers who I’d totally forgotten about over the course of the few moments I’d been distracted by the man. The couple in front of me stood with confused expressions on their faces.

“Uh, sorry,” I said. “Just got distracted by the beautiful day, you know?”

The couple turned slowly and looked up at the gray sky, as if they were missing something. Then, as if on cue, a light mist started down from above.

“What can I get you?”

The couple ordered their meals, and I was soon back in the groove. As I handed their plates and tea over, I couldn’t help but glance in the direction of where the man had been standing. He was no longer where he had been, instead having taken cover under one of the many awnings used by customers from the various food trucks. He had a pen and small notebook in his hands, jotting something down.

I turned my attention back to the customers, trying my best to ignore the strange, impossibly handsome guy who’d been staring at me only a few moments ago. I served a few more patrons but found it hard to get back into my normal, jokey mode.

In the middle of taking another customer’s order, I looked up to see the man beelining toward me with a stern expression on his face. He weaved effortlessly through the crowd, cutting to the front of the line.

“What the hell, dude?” I asked. “Did you seriously just cut in front of all these people who’ve been waiting?”

The other customers were shocked, making noises of annoyance. The man didn’t pay them any mind, however, keeping his attention focused on me and me alone.

“Ava Jenson?” he asked. “I need to speak with you.”

His accent was strange—not American, that was for damn sure. It struck my ear as a combination of German and French, stern and sophisticated all at the same time. Also, it was impossible to ignore how sexy it was. His voice itself was deep and resonate, powerful and commanding, so much so that my pussy clenched at his words.

None of that mattered, however.

Looking him straight in the eye, I placed my hands on my hips. “There a reason you think you can just butt in front of all these people?”

The crowd let out “yeah’s!” and “what the hells?” I could sense they were more than happy that I was sticking up for them.

The man appeared surprised. Not in the sense of shocked or offended, but more like he was confused that I was standing up to him.

“It’s important that you and I speak,” he said, his composure quickly returning.

My curiosity was beginning to fade, replaced by anger and annoyance.

“Who the hell are you? The IRS?”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

“That makes two of us, bud.”

“I demand that we speak. Close your little truck for a few minutes and come with me.”

That right there tore it. Cutting the line and being a dick was one thing, but demanding I come with him was a whole other matter.

I narrowed my eyes. “Listen, buddy. I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here. And you know what? I really don’t care. What I do care about are all of these hungry people here waiting in line like normal, civilized humans. It’s cold, it’s rainy, and they’re nice enough to have chosen my establishment to patronize. Not to mention, no one demands that I do anything. Now, if you’d be so kind, get your ass out of here!”

I pointed off in another direction, applause sounding from the crowd.

The man wasn’t deterred, however. He was on a mission and having fifty or so people all wishing that I’d throw his ass in the deep fryer didn’t seem to bother him one bit.

He scowled, shaking his head.

“I came all of this way to speak to a lady, not some fish-patty-flipping brat. Your mother would be ashamed to hear the way you’re speaking.”

Without another word, he turned on his boots and headed off.

My mother?

Who the hell was this man? And why did I have a feeling he was going to turn my life upside down?