“One Hoboken special and a turkey club, no onions.” Mia’s voice rose over the sound of the crowd outside the food truck.
A warm California breeze blew in through the open window, smelling like fried onions and saltwater…and Mia’s orange blossom perfume.
Ben flipped two filets of chicken on the sizzling griddle before moving to work on the sandwich order. With a glance out the window, he saw it belonged to their last customer.
Relieved, he finished up the order, and fifteen minutes later, he was slouching into a folding chair at the back of the truck. He ran his fingers through his hair, let out a long sigh, and propped his feet up on a cooler. Mia pulled off her baseball cap, and her coffee brown curls tumbled around her shoulders.
Ben’s breath caught, and he studied his shoelaces like they held all the world’s secrets. Did she see the blush heating up his face? Continue reading “The Friend Zone”