Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(53)

Emerson didn’t even know what she was going to serve. There hadn’t been enough time to put together a concrete menu plan. They’d made a list of possibilities, a backup list just in case, but nothing had been decided, and making that decision now, without her mom, made her feel empty.

“Yeah, and Harper and Shay have a Kitten Therapy for Kids conference that weekend, so I’d be flying solo. And solo doesn’t work in a food truck.”

Unlike her cart, a successful food truck required a team effort. Which was why they’d planned on hiring an employee or two. But to find someone she could spend twelve hours in a pressure cooker with and not want to stab them in the throat would be difficult. To find that perfect someone before Street Eats?

Impossible.

Dax shrugged, different than his normal I’ve got this shrug. It was almost shy in nature and self-conscious in its delivery. “I’m not much help in the cooking department, but I am lethal with a knife and excel at giving and taking orders.”

Emerson blinked, certain she was having a negative reaction to the weirdness, because she must have misunderstood him. “Are you offering to be my sous chef?”

Dax opened his mouth, then closed it as if he too were confused by his offer. Then he grinned—all charm and swagger. “Why, Emi, are you offering me a job?”

She took a step back. “Negative, Ranger. I need to be able to work with a sous chef and I don’t even know if I like you, let alone if we could work together.”

“Oh, you like me, Emi.” He grinned and came at her. “And we work together just fine. The other night proved that.” She swallowed—hard. “It also proved that I know how to bring in a crowd.”

This was true. With Dax working the window every woman at the event would flock to her truck. And as of now she didn’t have a better plan. Her dad would be more of a distraction than a help, her friends were out of town, and her mom was gone.

Which left Violet or Dax. Violet couldn’t reach the window. But Dax had hesitated—she’d seen it in his eyes—and that, more than the flutters in her belly, made her nervous. “Why are you offering to help?”

“I don’t know, maybe I can pick up some basic cooking skills and learn to make more than toast and steaks.” He fiddled with the yarn ball at the end of her hat. “Or maybe I feel like I cornered you into taking the job with me and now that I see how busy you are I want to help you out.”

“I’ll figure something out, but thanks.” She was fine, absolutely fine. Fine, fine, fine. And if she said it in threes it would magically become true.

“Never play poker,” he said with a laugh. “And before you tell another lie, think about it. It’s one event, then you hire someone else, and we both move on.”

It sounded so easy. Just like one night, no strings, which didn’t seem to be working out all that well.

“I’ll think about it.” He looked at her like her pants were on fire, so she added, “All right, Tough Guy, have you told Jonah your decision about the weapons training position?” His expression said no, that he too was a big fat chicken, and Emerson made the appropriate sound.

“Did you just cluck?” he asked, and she did it again—this time flapping her arms. “Fine, if I go across the street and talk to Jonah, will you put the damn envelope in the box and hire me for the day?”

She looked at the box, then back to the man who had given her one of the best nights she’d had in years. If she had settled for crumbs with Dax, she would have missed out on what it felt like to be carefree again.

Decision made, Emerson pulled the letter out, sent up a silent prayer to her mom, and dropped it in the box.

“Good decision,” Dax said softly, and she felt a secret thrill from his approval.

“What are you going to tell Jonah?” she asked, telling herself that it didn’t matter.

He leaned in, and she felt that hot breath on her neck like he’d promised, and in a conspiratorial voice he whispered, “I said I’d talk to him, not tell you what I decided. Why? Do you want to know?”

“Nope.” She pulled back, tightening her coat. “No weirdness.”

Which brought her to the next topic of conversation she hadn’t wanted to address. “My dad went on the interview. And he seems to be excited about the job.” She cleared the humble pie from her throat. “He liked how flexible the hours were and is excited about working with tourists.”

Roger was more than excited. He’d talked nonstop all through dinner. Apparently, before he landed in wine he had wanted to be a cruise director, which in retrospect shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was. Living on a floating daydream on the high seas was right up her dad’s alley. And working in a warehouse with the same people, day in and day out, had become taxing, he’d said.

“He still hasn’t gotten an official offer, but it was the first time he seemed open to going back to work,” Emerson finished. “So thank you.”

“I’m happy it worked out” was all he said. No “I told you so,” no rubbing her nose in it, like she would have done. Just sincere happiness that maybe her dad had found something he could take an interest in again.

“I want it to work out,” Emerson said, surprised at how her voice caught. In fact, thinking about her dad finding his place irritated her eyes and her chest. Thinking about him finally finding happiness, well, that about took her out at the knees.