Perfect Pairing (4 page)

They continued taking orders and sending them down the griddle. She tried not to think about the dwindling supplies or the order coming down the line from a beautiful blond banker, but the tension tightening her shoulders suggested she wasn't quite succeeding.

“What can I get for you?” Sully called out for an order. Hal could almost never hear the answers over the music, the hum of the motor, and the sizzle of the grill. Maybe Quinn would come and go quietly
without Hal ever realizing she was there. And if she didn't, if she chose to interrupt right now, Hal would not feel guilty about putting her in her place—not that she felt guilty last time. The woman had been pushy, presumptuous, and rude.

And entitled.

Hal couldn't stand entitlement.

Any harshness in her dismissal was warranted.

No, she didn't regret slamming the door at all. She snatched the next ticket with a little extra gusto but faltered as she read, “One
Hippy Dippy
and one
Heard of Buffalo?
for her tall, nerdy friend.”

Of course she wanted another of their healthiest sandwich. She wouldn't want to try anything new. At least tall, nerdy friend wanted something with a little more heat. Was tall, nerdy friend a man or a woman?

Didn't matter.

She pulled out the rye bread and coated it lightly with olive oil, then had to go over to the cooling bin to get arugula. They hadn't had a very health conscious crowd so far. On her way back she scanned the last of the running crockpots to see how much chicken wing dip she had left.

“Can you cover it?” Sully asked as if she had eyes in the back of her head.

“Looks like tall, nerdy friend gets the last one.”

“Are you kidding me? Our last one of the day goes to the pencil-pushing boyfriend?”

So, a man friend. Well, she'd certainly read that one wrong. “Yeah, first come, first served.”

She scooped out all of the dip onto the toasted bread, then scraped the crockpot empty only to come up a little light. She slapped another piece of bread on the top and slid it across the griddle. “It's shy, Sully. Don't charge her.”

“So what you're saying is, I need to go back out there and tell the woman who wrote me off as riffraff last time that I couldn't get her order right, so it's on me?”

“Yeah, when you put things that way . . .” Hal sighed. “Give 'em here.”

Sully flipped both sandwiches off the griddle and into cardboard shells before handing them over.

“Line up the next few while I handle this.”

Instead of waiting for a reply, she hopped out of the truck. This wasn't going to be fun. Quinn would surely see their failure to properly fill her order as further sign of her superiority. Or maybe she'd think they did it just to piss her off. Either way, the exchange wouldn't be pretty, but as much as she hated to admit it, she'd gotten herself in this mess. She needed to make things right.

“Order up, one
Heard of Buffalo?
and one
Hippy Dippy
.”

Quinn jumped at the sound of Hal's voice, once again so surprisingly close. She hadn't been prepared to talk with her yet. She'd spent all morning going through various scenarios, from being ignored to being thrown out. She'd thought about just getting her food and leaving just to prove she could follow rules, but then again, maybe it would be better to show she could wait patiently for Hal to finish all her work before approaching and offering her most sane-sounding apology. Now all of her careful contingency planning was wiped out by another unexpected personal appearance.

“I waited in line,” she said brusquely. Not a brilliant opening, but it's what came out.

Hal smiled faintly, her brown eyes wary but not unfriendly. “She can be taught.”

Quinn smiled through gritted teeth, “I guess I deserved that, but I didn't expect a personal delivery.”

“You didn't earn one. Your, uh, boyfriend here ordered a
Heard Of Buffalo?
, and it's our last one for the day, which is why it's a little light on the filling.” She extended the sandwich to him, then fished seven dollars out of the front pocket of her chef's jacket. “It's also free.”

Ian took the sandwich but tried to refuse the refund. “This looks great to me.”

“No, really, we don't skimp on our customers.” Hal offered the money again, and this time Quinn took it.

“Thank you. That's admirable, but the change is mine. After the amazing sandwich you made me on Tuesday, I wanted to share your work with my
little brother
.”

Hal's eyes widened, and she turned back to scan Ian's features one more time before her smile returned. “Now that you mention it, you two do have the same chin. He got all the height, though.”

“You're one to talk about height,” Quinn said, standing up straighter to emphasize the two or three inches she had on her. “You seem much taller in the truck.”

“It's all in the swagger. Which reminds me, I need to get back to it.” Her social demeanor faded back into her more neutral business expression. “I'm sorry for not being able to fill your order to the standards we've set for ourselves at Cheesy Does It.”

Quinn glanced behind her and the long non-line of customers. “Are you going to give a personal apology to all the people still waiting in vain?”

“If I could, I would. But that would only prolong their wait.” A muscle twitched in Hal's jaw. “We have magnetic ‘sold out' signs to cover up items on the big menu.”

“That's going to turn a lot of people away hungry and angry.”

“Thank you for that brilliant business observation.”

“If you'd prepared adequately you—”

“Prepared adequately?” Hal snapped. “Are you joking? You know nothing about how I prepared.”

“No need to get angry. I was merely noting that if you'd brought more ingredients—”

“You were merely butting into my business again, and I don't need it. There's a limited amount of space in the truck. We prep things at home to save room and only carry as much as past experience suggests we'll need.”

“It looks like your current demand exceeds your experience.”

“Another genius note from the ‘no shit' category.” Frustration hung thick in Hal's voice. “So unless you can make some Buffalo chicken wing dip appear or summon another chef to cover Sully while she runs home to get some, you need to step off.” With that, Hal whirled around to go.

“Done.” Quinn called, stopping her.

“What?”

“I've summoned you a sous chef.” Quinn strode confidently past her to the back door of the truck, then looked over her shoulder. “Two of them, right Ian?”

Ian, who was in mid-bite of his sandwich, looked momentarily stunned at his inclusion into her tirade, but he knew better than to argue. “Yeah, sure.”

“Problem solved.” She grabbed the handle on the back of the truck and pulled herself onto the bumper, her plan still forming as she went. Surprise was the key to her opening even if it meant she wasn't quite sure what she planned to do once she got through the door. “This is higher than it looks. No wonder you seem so tall up here.”

Hal, who had frozen in confusion, disbelief, or anger, sprang into action when Quinn entered her truck. “You can't go in there!”

“Why not?” Quinn asked without stopping. “You need help. I'm interested in learning more about the business. Let's not be petty. The sooner you make peace with this, the sooner Sully can leave, the sooner she'll get back, and the sooner your customers get the food they came for.”

That seemed to stump Hal even if it fell short of her making her happy. She furrowed her brow and clenched her firsts, but instead of throwing her out, she turned to Sully.

Sully shook her head and shrugged at the same time as though still unsure what was happening and not wanting any part in the decision-making process.

Hal exhaled dramatically, then nodded from Sully to the back door. “Make it fast. Like break-every-speeding-law-in-the-city fast.”

“Yes, Chef.” Sully jumped out the door in one bounce and hit the ground running.

“You, little brother, come over here, and watch the cooktop. It's hot.” She didn't wait for Ian to reply. “Quinn, you take the orders. Write them down and clip them up here.”

Quinn glanced at the line of little magnets sticking to the stainless steel stove hood. “I can do that.”

“Can you take the money and give the change, too?”

She pointed to herself, “Banker, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Hal muttered. “I don't have any aprons for you.”

“I'm dressed down today.”

Hal's eyes traveled a slow path along her body, and Quinn fought the unusual urge to squirm under her gaze. When she pulled her focus back to her eyes, there was a deeper shade of pink behind her cheeks, and Quinn realized she wasn't the only one reacting to what she'd just seen.

Hal shook off whatever thoughts had momentarily distracted her. “Whatever you say. Just get to work.”

Quinn grinned. She'd thought this might be a gift from the food gods to get her foot back in the door, and now the chef had just revealed her capacity to feel something other than contempt for her. The upper hand was once again within her reach, and this time she wouldn't let it go. “Yes, Chef.”

Where the fuck was Sully? It took only ten minutes to get from Delaware Park to their house in Allentown. She specifically chose the place for its central location so she'd never have to be stuck in a truck with a banker for longer than she had to be. Sully'd left thirty minutes ago. They were losing customers every second, and Hal was losing her ability to stay pissed at Quinn. She didn't know which loss bothered her more.

“Like this, Hal? Er, Chef?” Ian asked, pulling Hal out of her pout.

She bent her head lower to see the edges of the sandwich on the griddle ooze Gouda. “Perfect.”

Ian scooped the grilled cheese onto a cardboard dish and passed it to Quinn at the window.

“Sloppy Firsts
sandwich,” she called before handing it to someone below. “Who's next?”

Hal watched her work more than she should under the guise of making sure she didn't mess anything up or get rude with a customer. The pace in the truck generally stayed pretty frenetic, and while
Quinn hadn't exactly impressed Hal with her ability to stay cool under pressure the last time they met, today she'd done much better. Actually she'd been great. She had a smile that, while obviously practiced, still made a person want to return it. She spoke clearly and confidently despite not knowing the business or the merchandise well. And she was damn efficient. Even with the added complexity of taking delayed orders for customers who wanted to wait for a
Heard Of Buffalo?
, she still moved people through as quickly as Sully did.

Quinn looked up to see Hal watching her. “Problem, Chef?”

“No, you're doing fine, but I guess it's easier when you don't have to run the grill too, like Sully does.”

It was a shitty thing to say, but Quinn threw her off balance, and she'd learned it was always better to hit before someone else had a chance to hit you.

“Is Ian keeping up on his end?”

The boy looked up hopefully, and Hal smiled. “He's coming along.”

“I'm trying,” Ian said.

He was trying, a bit too hard perhaps. He crouched down again, folding his lanky frame almost in half to put his eyes level with the sandwich on the griddle. He inspected the melting cheese the way a scientist might peek into a test tube, careful, measured, and not totally certain it wouldn't explode on him.

“That one's good,” Hal said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Trust your instincts.”

“I'm not sure I have any,” Ian said.

“He's got instincts, just not any confidence in them.” Quinn stuck another magnet to the stove hood.

“Maybe you drained the gene pool of confidence before he was born.”