Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Well, as long as she doesn’t give me a bunch of shit about it, I don’t care if she knows.”
“Okay.”
He rolled on top of me. “And now I don’t want to talk about my dad, my sister, or my feelings anymore.”
“Works for me,” I said, wrapping my legs around him. “But can I say something about my feelings?”
“Sure.”
“I feel safe with you too. I always have.”
“Good.” He lowered his lips to mine in the dark.
SIXTEEN
ari
My parents were at the diner in the morning when I arrived. As soon as I saw their car parked in its usual spot, I got excited to see them and hear about their trip. If it felt right, I thought I might casually broach the idea of a food truck and see how it went over.
I found my dad in the office and knocked on the open door. “Hey, Dad! Welcome back!”
He turned and rose to his feet with more difficulty than I’d have liked. “Angel! It’s so good to see you and be back home.”
I moved into his arms and gave him a bear hug. “Did you have fun?”
“Yes, but vacation is tiring.”
“Tiring! You were on a cruise! It was supposed to be about rest and relaxation.” I held him at arm’s length and studied his complexion. At least he had a little more color in his face from the sun.
“Well, there were excursions and activities and shows and all kinds of things to do on the ship.” He smiled, his eyes shining. “We got an email from that food writer. Mom answered his questions. Sounds like you really impressed him, angel.”
I laughed nervously. “I hope so. Hugo Martin is a big name. It will be great publicity for Moe’s.”
“I’m so proud of you.” He sank slowly into the chair again and winced, gripping his trapezius muscle on the left side.
“Dad, what’s wrong?” I dropped to one knee beside him.
“Nothing.” He rolled the shoulder. “Just a little joint pain. We old folks have to deal with it.”
“Should I get you some Ibuprofen or something?”
“No, no.” He smiled through the discomfort. “Don’t worry about me. I’m okay. It was that plane ride yesterday. Those seats are getting smaller, I swear. And they weren’t comfy to begin with.” He waved me out of his office. “Scoot. Go get ready for the first shift.”
I found my mom behind the counter, and after greeting her with a hug and complimenting her tan, I asked about Dad. “He doesn’t seem rested,” I said with concern. “And he said he’s having some joint pain?”
“His shoulder was bothering him a little this morning when he woke up.” She frowned. “And I don’t know why he wouldn’t be rested. Almost all he did was sleep on the ship.”
“He needs to go to the doctor,” I said emphatically. “As soon as possible.”
“I have tried, Ari. You know your dad.”
“I think we both have to try harder, Mom.”
“So everything was good around here?”
“Everything was fine. Business was good.” I fussed with the bottom of my apron. “Dad mentioned you heard from Hugo Martin.”
“Is that the fellow who emailed us asking questions about you for his blog?”
“Yes,” I said, quickly deciding against trying to explain to her what a food influencer was. “He came in while you were away and loved it. And he has a huge audience. It will be great for Moe’s.”
“That’s wonderful, honey.” She continued wiping down the coffee machine. “Although he mentioned a few dishes that didn’t sound like anything like what we usually serve at Moe’s. People might be confused about what kind of place it is.”
“They won’t,” I said. “Everything is good at Moe’s. But that reminds me. There’s something else I wanted to ask you about.”
“Oh?”
I took a breath. “What do you think about a Moe’s food truck?”
“A food truck? Like an ice cream truck?”
“Sort of, but it would have a little kitchen in it, and we’d serve Moe’s Diner food out of it. We could call it Moe’s on the Go.” I smiled brightly. “Isn’t that cute?”
“But why would anyone need Moe’s on the Go when they can just come to the diner?”
“Well, it would be more like catering.”
Immediately she shook her head. “Your father and I have stayed away from catering. It’s a tough business. And it distracts from the restaurant.”
“The menu would be a little different,” I said tentatively, scratching my thumbnail along a tiny chip in the marble counter.
“Different how?”
“Well, it would be kind of like my own thing. I could offer a more upscale menu than we serve here. Gourmet sliders, truffle fries. Things like that.”
“Truffle fries!” She looked up at me in dismay. “Do you know how expensive truffles are?”
I took a breath. “That was just one example.”
She was silent as she started cleaning again, appearing to concentrate hard on sanitization.
“Food trucks are fun, Mom,” I said. “It’s really the up-and-coming thing. I think people would love to have Moe’s cater their parties.”