The Texan's Second Chance. Allie Pleiter
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a story behind that remark, but Witt chose not to pursue it. “I know how that goes. I’ve kept a notebook by my bed for years, and another one next to my rowing machine. I seem to get all my best ideas away from my desk.”
“You crew?” she asked. “Or row just for exercise?”
“I was on the crew team all four years in college. Despite my height, I was never any good at basketball. Crew was the next-best place for a guy of my size.”
“I had a friend who rowed in high school, and she got me involved, too.” She met his surprise with a smirk—at her height she clearly wasn’t tall enough to row. Maybe coxswain, though—those people who sat at the back of the boat and called out the strokes and directions were often small. “I got into it as a coxswain, not a rower,” she added, confirming his guess. “That’s where I honed my talent for barking orders.”
His brain tried to conjure up an image of Jana perched on the edge of a rowing shell, gliding through the water on a misty morning, but he shut that attempt down as quickly as possible. Instead, he offered “Something else we have in common,” then wanted to swallow back the remark. Time to leave before you say something else stupid. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Tomorrow.”
Get your head in the right place, Buckton, Witt scolded himself as he walked to his SUV. He needed to make this food truck a success, to show his family—both at Blue Thorn and at Star Beef—that he could do this. An attraction to Jana put that goal at risk. He’d had employees before. He knew how to manage a staff without getting too attached. He had a feeling, however, that managing someone as strong-willed, attractive and off-limits as Jana Powers was going to be a whole new challenge.
* * *
Jana pulled in a deep breath Wednesday morning as she turned the truck into the parking lot of the address Mica had given her. It wasn’t the turn that made her stomach tighten—she’d been surprised at how easily she’d picked up maneuvering the large truck—it was the task ahead of her.
Mica’s studio was in a more industrial part of town, a renovated loft space that made for the perfect interior and exterior shots Jana knew Witt wanted. Witt was right; Mica sounded warm and artistic even in her emails. Someone she might even come to call a friend in this new city. So it wasn’t the photographer that made her uneasy. In fact, it wasn’t even the photographs. It was the prospect of publicity. Of being known by strangers. Coming back up out of the shadows where she’d hidden herself for years—that felt hard. Maybe she should have told Witt—or at least Ellie—about all the Ronnie business when they’d first talked about this job.
Why? It’s not part of your work life. It’s personal. And anyway, it’s all in the past. You can do this. You need to do this, she told herself as she grabbed the extra clothing and opened the truck’s back door. Promoting is a huge part of Witt’s overall plan, and you don’t want start off messing things up with the new boss. She’d paid her dues for years making boring food or pandering to owners who jumped on the latest food fad—this truck could be her chance to truly establish herself and her own personal style. It was worth a trip outside her comfort zone. You’ve let Ronnie keep you in hiding long enough, she chided herself as she stepped out of the truck. I know You laid this opportunity at my feet, Lord, she prayed. Help me trust You with all of it. I don’t believe You want me to live in fear any more than I want to keep looking over my shoulder.
“Hey there!”
Jana jumped a foot before realizing it was Jose that had come around the corner of the truck. She’d been so startled she’d almost dropped her clothes onto the dirty asphalt.
Jose caught her bag just as it slipped from her shoulder. “Whoa, there. Didn’t mean to freak you out. Witt told me to meet you here at 10:30 to wash the truck.”
“I know. Sorry.”
“Hey.” Jose grinned. “It’s only 10:28. I’m shocked that I’m early, too.”
Jana tried to paste a casual smile on her face. “Good for you.” She tossed him the truck keys. “There’s a bucket and some sponges under the sink, and a ladder behind the door. Get her all ready for her close-up and come up to Mica’s loft on the third floor when you’re done, okay?”
Jose caught the keys in one hand. “Sure thing, Chef.” Witt had insisted Jose use classic kitchen protocol and reply “Yes, Chef” when responding to all her requests. It came out lots of different ways—things like “Sí, Chef,” “Gotcha, Chef,” and “Yep, Chef,” which continually amused her. Sure, she’d been a bit put off by his wild-guy look with crazy long hair, and a large tattoo down one arm, but the truth was the kid had a sweet nature and a soft heart. He loved being here. He worked hard, too. She’d been startled at Ellie’s recommendation of kitchen help at first, but could truly grow to like the guy.
“Go stun ’em in there,” he called, waggling his eyebrows and even adding a wolf whistle as she turned toward the loft.
Jose’s teasing struck an already raw nerve. She had to get over the way she dreaded this photo shoot. Restaurants were a PR-driven business—through advertising, social media, word of mouth, or hopefully all three. It was clear Witt expected her to give interviews, and pose for photos with her burgers and the bright blue truck. Witt had every right to expect her to be ready and eager to do all those things. And really, what was there to be so upset about? She was about to get her hair and makeup done by a professional stylist and enjoy the glamor of a photo shoot—most woman would relish this experience.
You’re not shy, she told herself as she pulled open the large metal doors to Mica’s building. You were scared once, but that’s not the same thing. And you don’t have to be scared anymore. Ronnie Taylor is hundreds of miles from here and years in your past. Don’t you dare let that that creep steal your present or your future. You walk in that room as Chef Jana, Austin’s next food sensation.
As the metal box of an elevator groaned its way to the third floor, Jana straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and inhaled all the way to her toes. I will live in fierce expectation of all God has planned for me, she recited, a favorite quote her mom had sent her in card after card during cooking school and beyond. Right along with the verse from Jeremiah 29:11—“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
Jana’s hope and future were waiting up there on the third floor, and in the bright blue truck that stuck out like an aqua sunbeam in the parking lot below. She yanked open the elevator’s cage door with a deliberate gusto and let herself feel excited at the scene before her.
Mica’s loft looked exactly as Jana had imagined—a huge industrial space strewn with equipment, drapes, fans and props as well as an artfully decorated living space tucked in one corner. Swingy, energetic Americana jazz filled the sunlit space. Mica looked up from a tripod to wave eagerly at Jana.
“And there she is,” Witt called out from a counter where coffee and some bagels were set out. “Our star.”
“Her and the dozen burgers she’s going to make me,” Mica offered. “Oh, I do love the jobs where I can eat the props when we’re done.” She walked up to Jana. “Hang those clothes on the rack and grab yourself some coffee. Linda’s just getting set up over there.” The stylist looked up from her bag and waved just as Mica had done. “That woman’s a wonder,” Mica said as she leaned in. “I’d give anything to have her in my bathroom every morning doing my hair and makeup.” She winked. “I’d probably be on my fourteenth wedding proposal by now if I did. Not that you need much primping, sugar. Witt wasn’t lying when he said you were the whole package. That hair...” She ran her eyes over Jana’s mass of unruly curls as if they were strewn with diamonds. “Linda, honey, will you come look at this hair?”
“I can see it from here,” Linda replied. “Finally, the Good Lord sends me something I can work with!”
The pair of them plied Jana with compliments and encouragement for the next half hour, until Jana rose