I’d taken the opposite approach. Denied basic meals and balanced food groups, food became fascinating to me. I dreamed of the day I could eat something that tasted good. I became obsessed with food that didn’t taste cheap or convenient.
Good food became a goal that sprouted wings and grew talons during my junior high Home Ec class. My goal grew to be a living, breathing monster when I got to high school and found a teacher that had once been a chef at a European bistro before she’d met the love of her life and moved here to start their family.
She’d settled in her husband’s hometown and turned to inspiring the next generation of chefs when she should have opened her own kitchen and made a name for herself. She’d always laughed when I told her that, insisting that love, marriage and raising a family was the greatest thing she could ever do.
Moral of the story? Kids ruined everything.
Just ask my dad.
All that to say, Vann wasn’t intimidated by Killian Quinn in the least. He didn’t read Food and Wine obsessively or troll online food blogs every single day. He didn’t have to compare himself to the greatness across the plaza or wish that his life had gone in a similar direction as Quinn’s, instead of the fiery train wreck mine had become.
From across the busy street, I watched Killian Quinn staring back. I didn’t have to be close to know it was him. I’d cyberstalked him enough times that I could recognize his dark, wild shock of hair and the signature beard that stood out in an industry filled with cleanly shaven men.
He continued staring at us while we stared back. Vann didn’t move to say hi to him, and I felt frozen in place, waiting to shatter from the presence of someone so prolific and talented.
I couldn’t be certain, but I could have sworn his eyes narrowed at the freshly painted Foodie declaring my business to the world. I could have sworn his gaze moved over my paint-splattered white t-shirt and black and white apron tied around my waist. I could have sworn I felt his gaze on me, assessing, calculating, taking in my black bandana, assessing my face, arms, body before looking at the food truck behind me again.
I could have sworn Killian Quinn absorbed every one of my weaknesses and insecurities, including the fragile faith I put in the truck behind me. He had weighed my worth and my talent, or lack thereof, then disregarded me as anything but a fleeting annoyance.
His body jerked as if awoken from a trance and he turned his attention to his bike, pushing it to park on the side of Lilou and storing his helmet in a side compartment. His motorcycle jacket stretched over broad shoulders as he stretched his arms wide and then across his chest as if working out kinks.
I stayed transfixed, watching this hero of mine as he fiddled around for another minute, then pulled keys from his pocket and let himself in the side door of Lilou. The door slammed shut behind him, and there was no more Killian Quinn.
Letting out a slow breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding back, I shivered despite the heat of the day.
“You’re really that intimidated by him?” Vann asked, surprise and some amusement lacing his tone.
“He’s a big deal,” I told him.
Vann shook his head and turned to offer Molly a hand as she jumped down from the RV. “If you say so.”
“If I say what?” Molly asked.
“Not you. Me. We just got our first glimpse of him,” I explained, turning to Molly with ABORT MISSION written all over my face.
Molly was momentarily perplexed. “Him? Oh, him! And I missed it! Why didn’t you call me out here?”
Vann made a choked sound, clearly disapproving our interest. “I really don’t get what the big deal is. So he’s a good cook. So are you, Vere. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of.”
Molly nodded enthusiastically, patting me on the shoulder. “Vann’s right. You’re the best. Killian Quinn’s got nothing on you, babe.”
“If that’s what you think then why are you so interested in him?” Vann asked Molly curiously.
“Uh, are you serious?” She laughed. “Because he’s smokin’ hot! Didn’t you just see him? He could make burnt oatmeal, and I would pretend to be amazed.”
“More likely you’ll be the one to make him burned oatmeal,” I laughed.
“If he’s as good as you say he is, my cooking might be a deal breaker, huh?”
“You’re cooking is a deal breaker for every guy,” Vann muttered.
Molly punched him in the kidneys, causing him to jerk forward and grunt. Vann reached up and grabbed a fistful of Molly’s hair, yanking it backward. The two of them were like a Three Stooges routine.
“Stand up for me, Vera!” Molly demanded.
“I can’t,” I told her honestly. “Vann’s right. Your cooking is so bad it’s almost a deal breaker for me.”
“I hate you both,” she pouted. “And just for that, I get to pick the restaurant.”
I tried to protest. Molly’s taste ranged from Junior Whoppers with cheese to filet mignon-cooked well done. Ick. “But—”
“Am I buying your lunch too?” Vann squinted at her.
She squinted back. “Are you offering?”
He shrugged and decided, “I’ll put it on the business card and call it a client lunch.”
Molly and I grinned at each other. “Make it someplace nice, Molls.” She started to point across the plaza but I cut her off before she got ahead of herself. “Except Lilou. They’re not open for lunch. And we don’t have a genie, so there’s no way we’re getting in before the next solar eclipse anyway.”
Her face fell, disappointed, but it was a universal truth. Until something better popped up or a zombie apocalypse occurred, there was no way we were eating at Lilou without doing our time on the reservation list.
“Vincenzo’s it is!” Molly decided.
“I’m going to have to fight a carb coma for the rest of the day,” my ultra-healthy brother complained.
Molly pinched his waist, looking for pudge that wasn’t there. “And it’s going to feel so good.”
I laughed, despite my fresh onslaught of nerves and pending failure. We walked across the plaza past Lilou, on our way to the next block of buildings and cobblestone square. I couldn’t help but stare at the darkened windows as we passed, taking in the rustic white washed brick and vibrant green ivy snaking around the windows. I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was in there and my pulse quickened with insecurities.
Until this moment, opening Foodie had felt like the craziest thing I’d ever done.
But I realized that wasn’t true. Now I was forced to acknowledge that Killian Quinn resided less than a football field away from me and I realized that this was the craziest thing I’d ever done. And the stupidest.
It wasn’t the truck that was foolish. It was opening a pseudo fast food restaurant across the plaza from one of America’s rising chefs.
I let out a breath and forced myself to get over it. It was sink or swim time, and besides that, I’d already hit rock bottom.
A nervous breath escaped me as I thought, how bad can it really be?
Maybe I’d even learn a thing or two from my illustrious competition…
Famous last words.
Chapter Three