It was two days—a Friday—before I saw my brown-haired hottie again. It was one in the afternoon, and the lines were long. Ricky was helping me out once more, since for some reason, that day of the week was usually the busiest. Maybe people were gearing up to party all night or something? I had no idea, but it was my best sales day, always, despite the competition from other food trucks in the area. And I stayed open the longest, too.
I’d just finished handing over a bacon cheeseburger with a banana milkshake to a jerk who’d been complaining about the length of time it took to make it—a whole five minutes, I ask you—when I came face to face with my presentation guy.
“Remember me?” he asked, his tie askew and strangely dull, tired eyes staring at me in resignation.
“Hi. You don’t look so
