Good Wood (3 page)

Three years later…

I HAD NEVER sworn as much in my entire life as when trying to drive in Austin. One thing definitely hadn’t changed since I’d move out west; nobody here knows how to drive. My white knuckles gripped the steering wheel as I maneuvered my behemoth truck through the psychotic morning traffic. After another Lexus tried to mate with the ass end of my vehicle, I cut over three lanes and made for the exit. Driving in Texas was a lot like riding a bike. You might be rusty at first, but if you're cautious for too long-you’re gonna bleed.

After leaving the interstate, the homicidal nature of my commute abated enough for me to sip my coffee and glance at my surroundings. Though I’d been back for a couple of months, I still struggled to wrap my brain around my new reality. Divorces are never pretty and mine was no different. At least I got out of it with no kids, and short of a house we were trying to unload, no debt. I was left with the ragged remnants of who I’d been before I’d given up my freedom, identity, and last name for someone who wasn’t fucking worth it. Add to that having to sell my half of a restaurant that I had poured my heart into and you had a case of world class suck.

A clean break had been the right move. Distance would help eliminate a great many lingering problems. Leaving the restaurant and Seattle behind was a necessity when leaving Draven. Our co-ownership would have meant dealing with him every day. Life is too short to spend it around a control freak like him. I needed “a cleanse”, to purge myself from him and my former life and rediscover me. The only solace I had was knowing the restaurant was in the good hands of my former sous chef Elaine. She would make me proud.

I came away from my mangled marriage with three suitcases, my old hope chest, and enough cash to buy an eight year old food truck; and, of course, hard earned wisdom- the kind that leaves permanent scars.

The familiar terrain put me at ease; helping to calm my frayed nerves. It’s funny how moving away alters your perception of home. I’d never appreciated how green my hometown was until now and I’m not just talking about the hippies at Whole Foods. Austin was a lush oasis in the barren dust hole of Texas. I’d forgotten how beautiful the rolling landscape of trees and diverse architecture was. It’s a funky and fun city, colorful just like me. I was a product of this town and it felt good to say it. But my return wasn’t without its drawbacks. The prodigal daughter had come home to the loving embrace of the “I-told-you-so” clan. I had some serious fence to mend with the family, but for better or worse, I was home.

My GPS told me to hang a left. Though it seemed counter intuitive, one never argues with Siri. I drove past the fourth small business with the words “Lone Star” in the title and I snorted. That’s Texas, y’all. Nobody could ever accuse us of lacking in the state pride department.

I turned off my playlist and flipped on the radio hoping to hear a weather report. As I neared my destination, the telltale signs of prosperity increased. There were more sprinklers spraying greener lawns and the properties became increasingly impressive with each passing block. Entering a historic pocket of town, I knew Siri was on track. My brothers were working on a large preservation project, and I was dutifully camping outside their jobsite today to feed the crew. If my menu went over well, they’d let me and my staff stay, which was great because construction workers eat more at lunch than most people eat all day. I needed to work as much as possible, at least for a while, since I had to build up a savings again. This time around, I was my own boss which was scary. But I was going to make the food truck work.

Siri politely informed me that I had arrived at my destination. Based on the ancient building-which appeared to have once been a hotel, she was right. Copious dumpsters, scaffolds, and port-o-potties served as further evidence, and when I spotted my brother Mac’s truck any lingering doubt vanished.

As I parked, the weatherman stated it would be a scorcher and I wiggled my eyebrows with excitement. I’d missed the warm weather and eternal sunshine. Even though the food truck would feel like Hades in a couple of hours, the heat was sure to draw tons of workers over for some ice cream and cold drinks. I made a mental note to thank my brothers for the tip. They could both be huge pains in the ass, but this time they’d done me a solid. Success in my business could be summed up in two simple phrases: ‘know your customer’ and ‘location, location, location’.
Where
I parked had everything to do with my bottom line.

I was about to switch off the truck when the dulcet tones of Matthew McConaughey greeted me through the speakers, explaining why I need to change energy companies. His delicious drawl immediately brightened my day.

“Whatever you say, Matthew, baby.” I let out a dreamy sigh in the empty cab as I inspected my lipstick in the left side mirror. I saw my crew, Dirty Sanchez and Stacy climbing out of Stacy’s muscle car. I guess it
technically
wasn’t hers-it was her stud-of-the-week’s overcompensation. Regardless, my petite cashier drove it like a NASCAR champion and managed to keep up with me, so I guess the name on the pink slip was irrelevant. I glanced at my cell phone. It was 8:30 a.m. We needed to haul some ass to be ready for the early birds before the lunch rush. At any rate, I
hoped
there’d be a lunch rush…

As I hopped out of the cab, Sanchez lumbered toward me with a shy smile. He was a monstrously huge -twenty-year-old Latino, but so soft spoken that I often had to demand he repeat himself. Still, after only six weeks on the job, he’d not only mastered my recipes, he’d actually improved on the wrap itself, which was the cornerstone of each of my concoctions. Only the two of us knew the recipe. I counted my blessings that I’d taken a chance on him, though my father had always cautioned me not to hire ex-cons.

“Ready to rock?” Sanchez murmured as Stacy appeared at his side. They were the ultimate odd couple. Dirty S. looked like he belonged in an action movie as someone’s beefy henchman and Stacy literally looked like a Barbie Doll. Her proportions truly defied gravity. I’d stolen her straight out of my neighborhood sports bar. I doubted that she’d discover cold fusion any day soon, but she had a head for numbers and could sweet talk any man who crossed her path. From the moment she opened her coy mouth and I’d heard her sugary sweet voice, I knew she was custom built for my front-of-the-house needs.

“My, oh my.” Stacy practically catcalled, as two bulging specimens of manhood stole lingering glances in our direction, “I’m gonna work that tip jar like a stripper pole today.”

Sanchez blinked rapidly and blushed a deep purple. He suddenly seemed intensely interested in the laces of his shoes. I found his crush on Stacy and her obliviousness to it darling, and I couldn't suppress a crooked smile.

“Here’s hoping.” I muttered, making my way around the truck as I raised the various awnings. By the time I’d finished, Sanchez was inside prepping. Stacy scrawled the menu of the day on both sides of the sandwich board as I joined Dirty S. in the kitchen. Halfway through prep, someone pounded on the side of the truck.

“What the f—” I started, hurling myself toward the door to bite off the head off the bastard jacking up my new paint job. I completely cracked up when I saw my brother, Mac, grinning up at me from behind a Marlboro Red. He waved and mumbled something to the other smokers he’d brought along with him. “Dammit, Mac! Mason will kick your ass if your screw up my candy apple red!”

“Pipe down, short shit.” Mac tossed an arm around my shoulder and steered me toward his companions. “I got some people I want you to meet. This is Graham, our foreman. Graham, this is my kid sister, Molly.”

Graham, a handsome, clef-chinned older gentleman, removed his safety hat and nodded. “Ma’am.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Graham. Keeping this asshole in line must be a full time job.” I elbowed my bearded brother in the side, dodging his attempt to ruffle my hair.

“You have no idea.” Graham replied, and the other guy-a skinny, tow head-chuckled.

“This is Charlie. He’s a plumber.” I was about to shake his hand when Mac dropped that bomb and I pulled back with a grimace.

“No offense, Charlie. But I know where those hands have been.” They all laughed heartily.

“So…Wrapgasmic, huh? Quite a name you picked there.” Mac cocked a disapproving eyebrow. Mac and Mason were fraternal twins, but short of Mac’s beard and their different tattoos, most people would’ve been hard pressed to tell them apart. Or so I’m told. I’d always been able to tell which one of them was screwing with me.

“Sex sells.” I beamed, enjoying the discomfort on his face. Though I was twenty six years old, my brothers still couldn’t take any sort of dirty talk from me. He rolled his eyes.

The three of them jabbered amongst themselves as some activity near the hotel entrance caught my eye. I glanced in that direction and saw Mac’s twin, Mason crossing the lawn heading in the direction of his truck. He was walking alongside a swaggering, excruciatingly hot guy. A familiar feeling clutched me, and I narrowed my eyes a bit. When the guy removed his hard hat, I realized why I recognized that bow-legged gate and the phenomenal ass attached to it.

“Oh my God. That’s Joe Jensen!” I turned wide eyes to Mac.

My brother avoided eye contact with me, and seemed to exhale his smoke forever. “Yep.”

“Well...the years have certainly been kind to
him
.” My greedy eyes devoured him like a bulimic inhaling a fudge brownie. His sandy hair glistened with sweat, and as he wiped his eyes with his shirt I was blessed with a front-row seat to a set of perfect six pack abs. The way his tool belt jangled low on his hip like a gunslinger’s sidearm made me sigh like a silly little girl. That made sense, I guess; I’d had the biggest crush on Joe way back when I was in high school. The twins were four years older than me and Joe had been their roommate. He was by far the cutest guy I’d ever seen and he always had a smile for me. Back then, I used every excuse I could think of to show up at that sewer the three of them called an apartment.

As a freshman, I’d spent countless hours watching them work on cars, shoot pool, or other such man-cave nonsense. Whenever his back was turned, my brothers used to tease me mercilessly about crushing on Joe. Thankfully, if he was aware of my lust for him, he’d always been kind enough to ignore it. I’d thought about him often over the years, but I hadn’t seen him since before I’d left for college. The twins had failed to mention anything about him since I’d been back.

My eyebrow twitched. “Is he single?”

The pause that followed this made me question whether Mac and the guys had gone back to work and left me alone, drooling. I turned and they were all still there, intensely interested in the menu board. Mac must have felt my eyes on him, because he shifted his leery gaze to me. He looked exceptionally uncomfortable.

“Well? Mac?” I folded my arms.

“Huh?” He was being obtuse and I wanted to choke him. I assumed it was his need to imagine I was a nun. My older brothers had never seemed to give up the idea that their sister was untouchable.

“Is he single?” I emphasized each word with dramatic diction. Mac looked down and crushed out his cigarette on the bottom of his steel toed boot.

“Yep. Really single.” I saw Graham shoot him a complicated glance and I filed that away for a later interrogation.

“Molly! I can’t do this all alone!” Dirty S.’s version of shouting was like a stage whisper. I hurried back into the truck to wash my hands.

We quickly fell into our rhythm and soon the orders were coming in so fast that we could barely keep up. Stacy used the back-up to flirt with everyone in line as Sanchez and I bustled back and forth. I glanced up to see her practically leaning halfway out the window, so I figured whoever’s order she was taking must have been a real piece of work.

“Hey, handsome.” I heard her coo. “What’re
you
hungry for?”

“Nothin’ from this overpriced roach coach.” I heard a deep voice shoot back. My temper, which had been known to get me into a bit of trouble on occasion, flared like a 12 alarm fire.