Sugar and Spice by Kat Baxter
Excerpt from Let’s Taco ‘Bout Love
Alex
The Starlight Bay food truck festival is well under way. It’s the first time the city has hosted one of these, but they’ve set us up at the same location as the weekly farmer’s market. Which is basically in the parking lot of the Episcopal church. I’ve got my refurbed Airstream trailer that I normally keep in the public library parking lot. Today my boldly painted Guac-N-Roll trailer is on one end of the lot, sandwiched between Starlight Pi’s booth and a place that serves a strange fusion of lobster rolls and egg rolls. I haven’t had the nerve to try them yet. I wave to Oliver over at the pizza booth. His restaurant is downtown and I swear he makes the best pizza in the entire state.
Thankfully it’s unseasonably warm for early May and I’m pretty sure that’s what’s driving the crowds. People are clearly coming from neighboring towns because I don’t recognize many faces milling about.
Unlike a regular day when I have a full menu for customers to choose from, today I have small plates with a sampling of my best-selling tacos. That means I’m not standing over the hot grill cooking tacos to order. I’m not sweating and I’m not trapped inside my trailer, which means I might get to actually speak to some customers.
One in particular, hopefully, if she shows up. She’s a regular. And the longest exchange we’ve had so far is just a smile and a couple of hellos. That golden hair, her pale, pale green eyes, and her banging curves…there’s just something about her.
She gets tacos, eats them on a bench outside the library, then disappears inside for hours. She’s always alone which for whatever reason feels wrong to me. A woman that pretty, with that much intelligence and sparkle in her eyes should have lots of friends. But if she’s single, I’m not going to complain. In fact, my fingers are crossed that she is.
I want to know her name. I want to get close enough to know how she smells. God, that sounds creepy, but I’m not creepy. I’ve got three sisters. They would gang up on me and kick my ass if I creeped on a woman. And even though I served two tours in Afghanistan, I know enough to be terrified of my sisters.
Two said sisters—my oldest, Connie and my youngest, Isabel—are with me today, helping out at the festival, and they’re currently bickering, going back and forth between Spanish and English. I don’t pay attention to what they’re discussing because it’s always the same. Disagreeing about some reality TV show, a book they’re reading or who is our mom’s favorite. That would be me, because I’m the only boy.
I walk further away from my food truck, moving closer to the folding tables and chairs that have been set up for people to gather—family style. Since I’m representing my business, I probably should have dressed more professionally, but I’m always dressed for summer. At least when I’m working. It gets too hot in my taco truck to wear anything but t-shirts and cargo shorts. At least my shirt is emblazoned with my cartoon pepper logo.
I watch the people come and go from the truck, grabbing the pre-made paper bowls with their taco samplers. And then I see her. She’s waiting in line so I’ve only got a view of her from behind, but I know that hair. I know the curve of her waist and that plump, juicy ass because I stare at it as she walks into the library several days a week.
Okay, yep, I still sound like a creeper.
But she’s so damn pretty and I’m inexplicably drawn to her. I duck into the truck and grab a couple of beers from the fridge, then wait for her to grab her food, before moving to intercept her.
“Hey, I was hoping you’d come today,” I say. I make my smile as friendly as possible. I’m a big dude and I’m covered in tatts, mostly a product from my time as a Marine. I can be a badass when I need to be, but like that old saying goes, I’m a lover, not a fighter.
She pauses and looks at me, those mossy green eyes wide. “Me?”
Her gaze darts to either side, like she’s checking to see if there’s someone else behind her I might be talking to.
“Yeah, you. I’ve seen you at my truck.”
She bites down on her lip, glancing at the paper boat and then back me. “I might need an intervention.”
I laugh and step closer to her. “Will you sit with me for a bit? I have beer or I can grab you something else.”
“Beer would be great.”
We walk together to one of the tables put up around the festival.
“I’m Alex, by the way.”
“Laurel.” Her voice is soft and there’s a definite accent, a twangy accent we don’t get much up here in Massachusetts.
We sit and I push one of the beers in front of her and grab some napkins. She just stares at me.
“Go ahead and eat.” I nod to her plate.
A look of relief washes over her and she takes a bit of one of the tacos. Her eyes roll up and she moans.
And I am fucking glad I’m sitting down so no one can see that I’m now rock hard.
I love a woman who’s not afraid to eat. Food is a big deal in my culture, and I hate the salad police. Besides most salads have a ton of calories added once you get all the dressing poured on top.
I take a swallow of my beer and lean across the table. “Okay, I gotta ask. Crunchy or soft? Do you have a preference?”
After she swallows and takes a sip of beer, she wipes her mouth. “Ah. You’re doing market research,” she says. “That’s why you wanted to talk to me.”
She nods, like she’s proud of herself for solving some big mystery. It’s almost like she can’t imagine that I’d want to talk to her simply because she’s pretty.
I nearly correct her, but there’s shyness in her gaze … just a little bit of skittishness that tells me I’ll get farther letting her assume she’s right than I would telling her the truth.
“Sure,” I say with a nod, not setting her straight, but not lying outright either.
“Figuring out what drives repeat business is also a good idea.” She dabs at her lips with a napkin, suddenly very businesslike. “But I should warn you, I may not be the best person to survey.”
“Why is that?”
She leans towards me. “Can I tell you my dirty little secret?”
Ah, fuck me.
I want all of this woman’s secrets. Dirty and otherwise. I nod before I say something that will make her run away. Like, please marry me and have all my children. So instead, I just nod and say a little prayer to the patron saint of premature ejaculations (okay, I don’ t think there is one, but I want to cover my bases) that whatever comes out of her mouth doesn’t make me come in my pants. I’m in uncharted territory with this woman. I am that drawn to her.
“I’ve never met a taco I didn’t like.” Her eyes sparkle as she admits this. “In my opinion, they’re the world's most perfect food. And yours,” her pretty eyes lift to mine, “Are absolutely delicious.”
“Thank you, muñeca. Tell me where your pretty accent comes from?”
“Texas.” She finishes up her plate and it’s both erotic and enticing to watch her lick her fingers clean. “I’m from a small town just outside of Austin.”
“Then you know your tacos.”
“Yes, I sure do.”
“How did you end up here in Starlight Bay?”
“I’m getting my master’s in business administration.”
“Which explains your knowledge of market research.”
“Exactly.” She grins. “But like I said, I love all tacos too much to be any help on a focus group.”
“Are you single, Laurel from Texas?”
She smiles broadly and one dimple pops in her left cheek. “I am, Alex from Massachusetts.”
I can hear my sisters’ voices getting louder, their Spanish getting faster. It’s an old argument about something that happened at Tia Maria’s Christmas party. I glance over at them and wince when I see Connie wielding the sour cream squeeze bottle like a weapon.
“I should probably get back to my truck and make sure my sisters aren’t setting anything on fire. Especially each other.” I nod to the truck.
Laurel laughs. “I know all about sisters, I’ve got two of them.”
“I’ve got three.” I roll my eyes playfully. The truth is, I love my sisters even though they are pains in my ass.
I am just about to beg for her number when I see her stiffen and her eyes widen at the sight of something behind me.
“You okay?” I put my hand on her elbow and hold her steady.
She exhales slowly. “Just my ex.” She swallows visibly.
I fucking hate that haunted look in her eyes. I hate the dread I see there.
“Did he hurt you?” I ask automatically, my voice sounding rougher than normal.
Her gaze darts to mine. “God no. Nothing like that.” Her eyes skitters away—in his direction—and then back to mine as she releases a torrent of words. “It’s just that he dumped me for this gorgeous model type. And it’s super awkward. And I haven’t seen him since—”
“Is he coming this way?”
“I think so.”
I pull her flush to my body. “I’m going to kiss you.”
She frowns for an instant, looking startled. But then nods with resolve, her hands going to my waist. I swallow a groan from the feel of her hands on my body.
I cup her face and press my mouth to hers. It’s better than I could have imagined. She tastes of beer and spice and her full curves pressed to my body feel nothing short of perfect. I tilt my head and deepen the kiss because I can’t help myself.
I slide my tongue across her bottom lip, and she releases a tiny mewl and then her tongue touches mine. She feels perfect in my arms, the perfect height, everything. And her kiss is not helping with my already existing erection problem. I’m sure she can feel my hard pipe pressed to her soft belly.
A throat clears from beside us and I take my time ending the kiss. I don’t know this ex, I don’t know why he’s her ex, but I know I didn’t like the look of apprehension on her face at seeing him. I kiss her forehead and pull her into a side embrace before I turn to see the man in question.
He’s about my height, but that’s where the similarities end. He’s pale. Pale hair, pale skin, pale eyes. Even though it’s a Saturday, and he’s at a fucking food festival, the dude is dressed like he’s going to a photo shoot for a magazine catering to rich white guys. I mean I guess women probably find him attractive, but he just looks so bland, like white toast.
“I thought that was you, Laurel,” the man says.
His tone is polite, but his smile is friendly. The familiar way he looks at her, the way his gaze lingers on her face, makes me hate him instantly.
“Hey, Mark.” She clears her throat. “This is Alex.”
I keep one hand on her hip, while I put my hand out to the man. “Alex, I’m Laurel’s boyfriend. And you are?” I say.
“You have a boyfriend?” he asks Laurel, not bothering to shake my hand. But then it’s like he realizes what he’s done and grips my hand in a surprisingly firm handshake. So I’ll give him some points for that.
A leggy brunette who looks vaguely familiar comes up to him and slips under his arm, cuddling against him.
“There you are, darling,” he says.
She looks up and him and smiles, then looks over to us. Her eyes widen. “Hi Laurel.”
“Gwen.”
“Great, now that we all know each other, if you’ll excuse us,” I say, tugging on Laurel’s waist to move us closer to my taco truck. I want to protect her from whoever these people are.
“Wait,” Mark says. “Did you get the invitation, Laurel? It would really mean a lot to us, to me, if you were there.”
“I did get it,” she says, in a tone so falsely bright, even I can tell it’s forced, even though we’ve barely spoken. “I just didn’t know if Alex was free. He’s so busy with his taco truck. That’s why I hadn’t RSVP’d.”
“To what, muñeca?”
Even though I aim the question at Laurel, it’s Gwen that answers, her smile falsely cheerful.
“Our wedding. It’s this Saturday at the boathouse. You’re both more than welcome to come.” Gwen’s smile turns hard. “You and Mark were friends for so long,” she shoots a look at her fiancé, “It would mean so much to him.” Gwen looks at Laurel as she says that last part.
“You should definitely come,” Mark says. He shoots his thumb over his shoulder. “That’s your taco truck?”
“Si,” I say because I’m a cheeky bastard.
“I have lots of business contacts that will be at the wedding. It could be a great networking opportunity for you,” Mark says.
Gwen frowns a little, but manages to force a smile.
I squeeze Laurel to me. “We’ll be there.”
Mark smiles and it seems genuine enough, but hell, I don’t know him. I barely know Laurel. I do know this though, I want to get to know her and if she needs a date to her ex’s wedding, I’m down for it, even if it means pretending to be her boyfriend at a wedding. I’ve done a lot of impulsive shit in my life. Most of the time it turns out fine. I’m hoping this is one of the times it turns out fucking fantastic.
The couple walks off with promises to catch up with us at the reception.
Laurel turns to me, eyes wide. “Ugh. I’m sorry that was so weird. Thanks for pretending. And for that kiss. Wow, that was almost as good as your tacos.”
I laugh because that’s just fucking hilarious.
“Yeah, so thanks again. Have a great life.”
I catch her rolling her eyes as she turns away, but I snag her elbow. “No, slow down there. I said we’d be at the wedding and we’ll be there.”
“Oh, no, that’s unnecessary. I appreciate you helping me save face, but I can’t ask you to pretend to be my boyfriend at my ex-boyfriend’s wedding.”
“You didn’t ask, I offered.” I grab her hand and give it a squeeze. “And unless you are morally opposed to holding my hand for an evening, then I’m not taking no for an answer.”
She gives me a shy smile. “I’m not morally opposed.”
“Excellent.” I squeeze her hand again. “Go out with me,” I say.
“Oh, yeah that’s a good idea. I mean if we’re going to do this, we definitely need to get our story straight. And Mark wasn’t just blowing smoke, he has some great business contacts. This will be a great opportunity for you.”
I don’t give a shit about networking opportunities, but if it’ll get her to spend some time with me, then that works for me.
“Can I see your phone?” I hold my hand out to her and she reaches into her back pocket and slips out her phone, placing it on my palm.
I send myself a text message from her phone, then hand it back to her.
“I’ll text you my address. Come to my house tonight and I’ll cook you dinner.”
She smiles. “Okay.”
I kiss her cheek, then jog back to my taco truck to make sure my sisters haven’t destroyed anything.
Was my offer an underhanded move to ensure I can spend more time with Laurel. Maybe?
If there’s one thing my years as a Marine taught me: when you see a tactical advantage, you take it.
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