Tacos for Two, page 6
Or, more likely the case, she wouldn’t recognize it if he did. If only Grady had a way to be the eyes inside the truck during the lessons too, instead of just the ears. She could screw this whole arrangement up—quickly.
But the grin on Jude’s face didn’t lend to the idea that he might view their lessons as pointless. In fact, he looked downright jubilant as he sprinkled the beef mixture over a soft corn tortilla, rolled it up, and took a giant bite.
“You’ve got to taste this.” Joy lit his eyes as he turned the taco around to the unbitten end and held it up to her mouth, palm cupped underneath to catch any drips.
Rory hesitated, then leaned in and took a bite. Exactly like Grady’s. Exactly like Aunt Sophia’s.
He’d done it.
She chewed slowly and their eyes locked, the scent of onions and cumin mixing with a spicy hint of expensive cologne. For a minute, he didn’t look like Jude of the Worthington Family Law Firm. He didn’t look like the haughty man she’d seen in tailored suits featured in the local newspaper and on social media pages, or even like the entitled jerk who treated staff like paupers and demanded others’ time for his own gain.
He simply looked like the guy next door who had accomplished a goal and was hoping for a gold star.
From her.
Grady’s warning about starting a fire echoed in her ears, and she quickly took a step back. “Good—good job.” She averted her gaze, clearing her throat in an attempt to hide the stutter.
“Oh, man.” Grady’s high-pitched, surprised tone grated in her ear. “Are you—”
She clicked off the earbud volume with a stealthy swipe of her finger and turned what she hoped was a neutral smile to Jude, keeping her gaze on his chin and away from his chocolate-brown eyes. “I think it’s safe to call it a day.”
Five
She’d been wrong. There was nothing safe about Jude. Certainly not the way his proximity in the food truck for lesson number two tugged at her stomach. Or the way his laugh echoed in her ears and made her want to earn it again. Or the way her skin sizzled like fajita meat every time he reached around her for an item on the counter.
This wasn’t going to work. She felt like a traitor. And a liar.
Rory rubbed her hands, tainted with grease, down the front of her apron, then smoothed back loose strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. She’d worn a different hat today than the last time they’d worked together, a burgundy one that read “Kiss the Cook” in white stitching, which Grady and Nicole had gotten her as a gag gift last Christmas. It’d come in handy for her rotation of required hats during her shifts in the truck and usually made her laugh at the irony.
Now, however, standing this close to Jude in front of the refrigerator, it felt like her head was on fire. Why in the world had she grabbed this cap? She stepped back, away from Jude and his cologne, and hoped he didn’t notice the heat in her cheeks.
He slapped a green oven mitt on the counter and grinned. “Now we wait.”
“Now we wait.” She repeated the confirmation, subtly adjusting the volume in her earbuds. Grady had coached her through the lesson earlier, as he had the other day, but had recently excused himself. Bathroom break? Ice cream truck? With Grady, there was no telling. But she had never been this alone with Jude before and desperately wished she’d invited Hannah back over for another origami session.
Rory scooted as far away as possible, ticking off their accomplishments on her fingers to give her something to focus on. “We’ve gone over cooking in bulk, how to use the deep fryer, and now we’re warming the taco shells.”
Checklist: Avoid close contact. Business only. Prevent emotional connection. StrongerMan99 would be waiting in her DMs that evening, and she had no intention of betraying him because of some rogue chemical reaction she kept experiencing.
“It’s been a productive lesson. Oh, and don’t forget the cheese trick.” Jude casually crossed his arms over his chest, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he worked out or was naturally in shape.
That wasn’t following the checklist.
She nodded briskly. “Right. Layer the cheese in first so it melts on the shell and holds it together.” That was one tip she remembered hearing Aunt Sophia talk about frequently while cooking. She’d teasingly referred to the cheese as “shredded glue” sometimes, which had always made Grady gag and Rory laugh.
A knot of memories tightened in Rory’s throat and she coughed, willing Grady to hurry back so she could wrap up the lesson. She felt vulnerable, exposed, standing there in the kitchen in front of one of the state’s most eligible bachelors, waiting on tacos to cook and hiding from a tidal wave of emotion—and guilt. Hiding the truth about her cooking ability felt a lot less justifiable today during lesson number two, and a lot shadier. At this point, she just wanted to get it all over with—for multiple reasons.
“I really appreciate you doing these lessons for me.” Jude stepped closer to her, his eyes catching hers. She fought to free herself from his open gaze, but her eyes refused to obey her brain. “I know it’s been inconvenient, at best.”
“Not at all.” She inched backward, raising her chin slightly as if projecting confidence could make her feel it. “Service provided for money rendered, and all that.”
She mentally face-palmed herself as Jude’s expression faltered. What was wrong with her? There was a fine line between maintaining a professional demeanor and being a distant jerk. She was dangerously close to the latter. She tried to smile. “I meant, it’s helping me out of a jam too. You know. Financially.”
Now she literally covered her face with her hand. Revealing their financial situation was as unprofessional as she could get—and embarrassing. Jude was the definition of wealthy. What if he thought she was hinting for more money?
He nodded tightly. “Right. I’m glad to help.” He shuffled one foot against the cheese-sprinkled floor.
There. The floor. That was her out. “I better clean up.” She quickly opened the supply closet and grabbed the broom. But before she could start sweeping, Jude reached to take it from her. “Let me.”
His hand reaching for the handle brushed against hers, and she dropped the broom like it was on fire. It clattered to the floor, narrowly missing his shoulder, and knocked an open spice container off the counter. Now a dusting of garlic powder coated the floor along with the cheese. They were one lettuce incident away from having an entire salad.
Rory squeezed her eyes closed, waiting one heartbeat, then three, then nine. She opened them. Jude was sweeping, casting a slightly concerned, slightly amused glance her way. “You okay?”
She stepped backward, away from the mess. Away from him. She didn’t want to guess what he was thinking. Her own thoughts seemed to link elbows and spin in a confusing dance of attraction, embarrassment, and guilt. She’d led him on. She’d lied. She’d made a fool of herself.
All those unfortunate facts jumbled together and spun on top of each other until she couldn’t find a safe place for her gaze to land or a rhythm for her heart to beat to.
“Rory.” The broom stilled. Jude’s steady gaze held hers, his gentle tone more unnerving than if he had yelled or teased. He seemed . . . concerned. Genuinely concerned. About her.
With every ounce of dignity she could muster, she politely thanked him. Pointed out where he’d missed a spot. And then hightailed it down the ramp outside.
No mush allowed.
Jude was accustomed to the best of the best when it came to first-class traveling, tailored clothes, and five-star restaurants. He’d eaten fresh lobster straight from a boat in Maine, homemade lasagna on a flagstone patio in Italy, and hot baguettes on the balcony of a Parisian bakery.
But right now, he’d trade it all for a single box of Oreos.
“Dude. Why are you so stressed?” Cody crunched another tortilla chip as he dodged Jude’s frantic transition of the tortillas from the stove top to the granite island. “They’re just tacos, right?”
“Of course not.” Jude donned a striped mitt and pulled out the taco shells he’d been keeping warm in the oven. “Right now, they’re tickets.” Golden, crispy tickets to freedom. He set the cookie sheet on the stove with a clatter. His mind raced. He still needed to grate the cheese. And slice up a few jalapeños. What else had Rory taught him that he’d forgotten?
Ah, Rory. Their second lesson the other day had been interesting, to say the least. He’d learned a lot, but something had been off. It was almost as if Rory had been a totally different person. Their formerly easygoing kitchen camaraderie from the first lesson had been replaced by stoic professionalism and a withdrawn, overly polite demeanor on her part. Had he somehow offended her?
He truly didn’t have time to figure it out and honestly—with that crazy spark that repeatedly flickered between them—it was for the better. He had a natural chemistry with Rory that he couldn’t afford. Not while he was in the middle of changing careers and getting to know ColorMeTurquoise. He refused to be the guy who entertained two women at once. Those tricks were more Warner’s style.
Cody took another chip from the open bag on the counter. “So how’s this going to work again? You’re going to feed your family tonight and be like, by the way, I’m abandoning the law firm to go into the food industry, so please don’t cut me out of the will?”
More or less. “I should have made flash cards.”
“Honesty is the best policy.”
Jude shot him a look. “You must not remember my dad.”
“Oh, I remember. I still get hives from the look he gave me that night after high school graduation when we ordered too many tequila—” Cody sobered at Jude’s raised eyebrows. “We were kids. I’m fine, really. Totally over it.”
“We’ve all grown up since then.” Thank goodness. Now, he had a proper head on his shoulders, one born of lessons learned and mistakes hard-earned. If anything, his relationship with his brother had taught him a lot of “what not to-dos,” and so had a good bit of postcollege time spent in church.
He finally knew what he wanted in life—and that didn’t include taking the bar.
He snagged a chip from the bag beside Cody. “Unfortunately, Dad is going to see this new business plan as a major step backward for me professionally.”
“Is he right, though?”
Jude narrowed his eyes. “Et tu, Brute?”
“First of all, I haven’t read Shakespeare since college, so whatever.” Cody shrugged. “And secondly, I mean, are you sure you don’t want to think this over one more time? You’re taking a major risk in the long term. You’ve got a good recipe and a lot of energy, and you took a few cooking classes from that Salsa Street girl. But what else?”
“Her name is Rory.” The retort automatically flowed from his lips, and he pointedly kept his gaze away from Cody’s, willing him not to jump on the accident. But his friend’s eyes lasered into his profile with precision.
“My bad, bro.” Cody held up both hands in defense, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “I didn’t realize you two were on a first-name basis already.”
Jude shrugged. “She helped me out. That deserves some respect, is all I’m saying.” His heart pounded, and he took a deep breath to slow the erratic pace. “Rory’s nice, that’s all.” Was he trying to convince Cody or himself? He grabbed another chip.
“She’s so nice you’re going to steal her business away?” Cody crunched loudly.
“Of course not.”
“But you’re planning to open a competition food truck.” He waved his chip back and forth, as if trying to connect dots Jude couldn’t see.
“I’m just making tacos. Salsa Street offers a variety of Mexican cuisine and Tex-Mex. It’s totally different.” Jude dismissed the concern. Salsa Street served tacos, sure, but also tostadas, quesadillas, Mexican pizzas, taco salads, chimichangas, burritos . . . He wouldn’t be a threat to them at all.
If anything, it’d be the other way around.
“So back to my question, before you got all riled up.” Cody dug into the chip bag. “What else are you bringing to the food truck table of success here?”
Jude had asked himself the same question that morning while shaving, so he was ready. He ticked off the points on his fingers. “I have my start-up money. A hungry community. And a big festival to get me immediate customers and publicity.”
“You have to get customers to try your food for that to matter.” Cody pointed with his chip. “And it has to be good.”
“It will be.” Jude pulled a few tomatoes from the fridge drawer. It would be. Right? He also grabbed the block of cheese he’d picked up that morning from the corner grocery store. “Don’t forget, I’ve been watching Food Network for years. I’m looking into taking some YouTube classes too.”
“Learning how to cook online. What a time to be alive.” Cody rolled his eyes. “What about tonight? How are you going to share these fun facts with Pops?”
“Don’t worry. I have a decoy topic ready.”
He thought about the conversation with Rory in the food truck during their first lesson—how his family was quirky. Hollis wouldn’t take that as a compliment. He wanted prestige. Power. Quirky, to him, would be considered weak and vulnerable. And now there was the matter of the missing donation check, which wasn’t exactly giving their family a good reputation in political circles. For whatever reason, Hollis might not be a big fan of Whit—but he’d never approve of the mayor and the entire town council thinking poorly of the family name.
Grandmother would not only roll over in her grave, she’d come right up out of it.
Jude began grating the cheese over a plate. “It seems the firm has been getting some negative chatter lately, so I’m going to sell this to Dad tonight as a PR opportunity.”
Cody raised his eyebrows. “How so?”
Jude framed his hands to signify reading a newspaper. “Local lawyer competes in community food festival; feeds tacos and goodwill.”
“I’m glad you’re not pursuing a career in media with that train wreck of a headline.” Cody didn’t look impressed as he brushed crumbs off his shirt. “And you’re out of salsa.”
“Which is precisely why I hid a jar from you in the back of the fridge.” Jude slapped his hand with an oven mitt as Cody reached for the refrigerator handle. “But you have to go. My dad and brother will be here any minute.”
“Yikes. Cue foreboding music.” Cody held up both hands in defense. “And hey—for the record, it smells good in here.”
“Thanks.” He ushered his friend toward the front door.
“For what? Eating all your chips and lending moral support?” Cody grinned as he stepped over the threshold onto the woven welcome mat.
“Something like that.” Jude started to shut the door.
Cody leaned in, talking fast. “I’ll take any leftovers you don’t—”
He shut the door. The meal had to be perfect. If that didn’t help break his father in gently, nothing would. It was a lot of pressure to put on a taco, but he trusted Maria’s recipe.
He wiped his hands on his apron and started back to the kitchen. Hopefully the PR plan worked—or he’d be stuck with a ton of tacos and a major loan as constant reminders of his failure.
Not to mention that Warner would ensure he’d never live that down.
“Tastes like chicken,” Warner joked around a second bite of a taco. A bit of juice dribbled onto his chin, and he dabbed at it. “What’s the big deal?”
“Well, for starters, if this cow tastes like chicken, I’ve stumbled on something revolutionary.” Jude refrained from rolling his eyes as he took a sip of water. “That’s a beef soft taco.”
“Now what do they call these? Street tacos?” Hollis stared at his food with as much intimidation—and disdain—as he did when peering at a witness on the stand.
“‘Street’ is in reference to the size, not where I picked it up from.” Jude sighed. “Focus on the taste. How are they?” Dealing with these two was like herding cats. He drummed his fingers on the table. He hadn’t shared his plan yet. He’d been waiting to let the tacos speak for themselves first.
Unfortunately, they only seemed to be whispering.
Warner wiped his hands on one of the cloth napkins Jude had scrounged up from deep in a kitchen drawer. “Like I said. Chicken.”
His family was the worst.
Hollis plucked a chip from the towering stack on his plate. “I don’t know why you bothered to cook instead of ordering out. Do you not have a maid anymore?”
“Housekeeper, Dad. And yes, she comes once a week, but that doesn’t mean she cooks too.”
“Mine always does both.” Hollis shrugged.
Yes, Maria always did everything—cooking, cleaning, and oh yeah, helping raise Jude and influencing him to have an actual beating heart rather than the pulsing bank vault that thumped inside his dad’s and brother’s chests.
He started to push away from the table, then took a deep breath. He’d already told ColorMeTurquoise tonight was the first step in accomplishing his goal. He couldn’t log on later that evening and admit failure. He cleared his throat in a feeble attempt to dissolve the tension. “I was thinking that—”
“That you were going to take the bar early?”
Jude ignored Warner’s verbal jab and kept his gaze on his father. “I’ve been hearing some negative chatter about the firm lately, and I had an idea.”
“What kind of chatter?” Hollis wiped his face with his napkin and glanced around. For more tacos? That could be a good sign.
Jude stood up and grabbed the baking sheet from the counter, where the remaining hard-shell tacos rested. “We’re apparently not giving the community a good impression lately. Our reputation is being hit.” He scooped a taco onto Hollis’s plate.
“Reputation as what?” Hollis snorted. “Winners?”
“Reputation in general. People around town see us coming and run, so to speak.”
“That’s good.” Hollis provided a brisk nod before taking a big bite. “I’ve always told you boys that intimidation is a plus,” he mumbled. “We need that in court.”
