Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“You know what you should do?” he asked, cracking open his ginger ale.
“What?” I popped a fried pickle in my mouth, savoring its salty crisp outside and firm, tangy inside.
“A food truck. You could do catering for parties, special events, weddings, street fairs—anything.”
“I’ve thought about it. It won’t work.” I ate another fried pickle.
“Why not?”
“It’s a huge investment up front and no guarantee it will pay off.”
“Have you even looked into it?”
I opened my ginger ale. “Not in detail.”
“You could even keep it connected to Moe’s, but do different things.” He took a bite of his sandwich. “Moe’s on the Go.”
“My parents would never go for it, Dash. They wouldn’t understand the appeal. And they’d see it as a distraction from the ‘real Moe’s.’” I made little air quotes with my fingers.
“You could teach them about the concept. How food trucks are the new shiny thing.”
“They hate new shiny things,” I reminded him. “Plus, food trucks are like fifty grand at a minimum. I don’t have fifty grand.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I do.”
“No.” I dipped my corn dog in mustard. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Why not?”
“Are you serious?” I took a bite and studied him incredulously. “Anyone would tell you loaning that kind of money to a friend to start a business is a terrible idea.”
“Anyone?” He turned around and tapped the shoulder of a woman behind him. “Excuse me.”
The woman, who might have been about my mom’s age, turned around, her expression slightly annoyed. However, when she saw Dash’s handsome face, she brightened up. “Yes?”
“I wonder if you could help me settle a little argument I’m having with my friend here.” He gestured at me. “Do you think it’s a bad idea to invest in a friend’s business?”
“What kind of business?” the woman asked.
“A food truck.”
“What kind of food truck?”
“Diner food, but a step up. What do you call it again, Ari?”
“Elevated comfort food,” I said, giving him a murderous look.
He smiled. “That’s right. Elevated comfort food.”
The woman looked thoughtful. “Like gourmet sliders or something?”
“Exactly.” Dash snapped his fingers. “And fancy grilled cheese sandwiches made with braised short ribs. Truffle fries. Craft milkshakes. Things like that.”
The woman’s eyes grew wide. “That sounds amazing. I think it would be a good investment.”
“Thank you.” Dash sent me a triumphant look before turning his charm on the woman again. “What’s your name?”
“Lisa.”
“Thank you, Lisa. You’ve been a big help.”
Lisa looked like she’d just been handed a check for a million dollars. “You’re welcome.”
Facing me again, he picked up his cheesesteak. “So it’s settled? You’ll let me invest in your food truck?”
Laughing, I shook my head. “I don’t have a food truck. But I appreciate your confidence in me.”
“It’s not just me, Ari. Look how you impressed that food influencer. Look at your parents’ faith in you. Look at your training and your experience and your feel for Cherry Tree Harbor. You know what people like.”
I ate silently for a moment, Niall’s voice creeping into my head, dripping derision and scorn. “But I also know other things—like what it feels like to go after something and fall short of expectations.”
“Will you at least talk to your parents about it?”
“No.”
“Then I’m not telling you where the mustard is on your face.”
Embarrassed, I shielded my face with my hands. “Dash! Tell me!”
“Your chin,” he said, laughing. Then he grabbed a paper napkin, reached across the table, and swiped at my jaw. “There. It’s gone.”
“Thank you.” But I picked up another napkin and wiped my face a second time.
“You don’t trust me?”
“I trust you. Mostly.”
He grinned and sat back in his chair. “Then you should listen to me. Give this food truck idea some thought, okay? That’s all I’m asking.”
“Fine,” I said, mostly to change the subject. “I will.”
When we were done eating, Dash bought me a funnel cake, which I nibbled on as we wandered from one game booth to another. He did his best to win me a prize while I cheered him on, and eventually, he succeeded at some kind of bean bag-toss Tic-Tac-Toe challenge—I ended up walking away with a giant stuffed bear.
“What are you going to call him?” Dash asked as I hugged him tight.
“Bulge, of course.”
He groaned. “Of course.”
I checked the time on my phone. “I hate to say this, but we should probably head back. It’s already going on seven.”
“Xander said there was no rush.”
“I know, but I still need to grab my car, and I should probably change my shirt.” I glanced down at my chest. “I got powdered sugar all over it.”
“It suits you,” he said with a grin. “But sure. We can head out. Maybe I’ll come sit at the bar while you’re working tonight.”
I smiled. “That would be fun.”
As we started walking toward the parking lot, he slipped his hand into mine. With the bear he’d won tucked under my left arm and the fingers of my right hand laced with his, I tipped my head against his shoulder for a moment. At that moment, I wasn’t even sure my wedding day would compare to this one.