Must Love Sandwiches (2 page)

The door swung open as Daisy dropped the sodden muffin halves into a sizzling pool of melted butter. She had been wrong. Emma looked bad. Possibly even worse than herself, but she couldn’t be sure since she’d only caught a fleeting glance of her own reflection in the small mirror on the medicine cabinet. “Hey there, buddy. How’re you feeling this morning?”

“That’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” Emma said as she collapsed into the corner of the futon. She curled up, rested her head on her knees and wrapped her arms around her head. “I’ve been awake most of the night, but I still ended up with a raging headache.”

“You did drink a lot,” Daisy said as she flipped the muffins over. “I think you had more than I did and my head feels like it’s going to explode. So I’m making my special, greasy spoon hangover cure breakfast sandwiches. It’s taken me many years of failed experiments to get this recipe right. I promise you’ll feel better after you eat one of these babies.”

“That sounds good. What are you making?”

Daisy dropped a couple slices of ham into another skillet. The loud hiss of the cold meat hitting the hot pan made her cringe. She sprinkled brown sugar onto the ham and flipped the slices over to caramelize. “French toasted English muffins filled with brown sugar glazed ham, eggs and cheese.”

“That sounds kind of bizarre. I don’t know if I want to try . . .”

“I’m kind of bizarre. My sandwich is sweet and savory, hangover fixing goodness. I promise.” She slid the ham slices onto a plate and sprinkled them with shredded cheese. Concentrating on cooking was helping keep her mind off how rotten she felt. She cracked a couple eggs into the frying pan the ham had been in and broke them up with a fork. No sense in dirtying another bowl when she could scramble them in the pan. The muffins were done. She divided them among two plates and asked, “Are scrambled eggs okay? I figured they would be more appetizing than a sunny side up version this morning.

“Definitely scrambled. I can’t deal with oozy, yellow stuff right now.”

Daisy stirred the eggs with the spatula to break them up more. “I agree. You don’t know the torture I went through trying to deal with the raw eggs for the French toast. Everything is almost done now, though, so hang on. I’ll bring you a plate in a minute.”

A muffled “thanks” came from Emma’s corner of the couch. Daisy slid a mound of scrambled eggs onto two of the muffin halves, topped them with a slice of cheesy ham and the other muffin half. She drained the rest of her cocktail and took the plates to the couch. “Would you like a Bloody Mary or something else to drink?” she asked as she set a plate on the coffee table in front of Emma.

Emma lifted her head and grimaced. “Why would I want more to drink? A Bloody Mary just sounds disgusting right now. I don’t want anything, thank you.”

“I know. I had a hard time choking it down, but getting back a bit of a buzz usually eases some of the pain. Maybe I should just forget the tomato juice and knock back the shot of vodka in the future.” She took a bite of her sandwich and waited for a response. Emma was still curled into a ball, her arms wrapped around her head. Finally she moved a bit. One eye peeked out of her self-made fortress of darkness. She didn’t say anything. Daisy poked her in the ribs and said, “Come on, nothing? Where are the witty comments I love you for?”

“They’re gone, along with my love life for the foreseeable future.”

“What are you talking about? You’ll have a new guy falling head over heals in love with you within a week. Stop moping around about Max.”

Emma lowered her feet to the floor and crossed her arms over her stomach. “It’s not Max. I’m giving up on all men. I’m turning into my slutty mother and I can’t allow myself to do that. No dates, no boyfriends, no sex until I break myself of the nasty habit of always being in a dead end relationship.”

Daisy whistled softly as she exhaled. “You don’t want to do that. Instead of giving up on guys cold turkey, why don’t you and I set up a buddy system for dating? I’ll critique your potential dates to make sure they are quality, upstanding man material. If I ever get asked out, you can do the same for me.”

Living vicariously through Emma’s accounts of her dates was pretty much the only love life Daisy had now. Emma was like honey to flies as far as men were concerned, while she was more like a repellent. Not many men got past her acne scars, linebacker shoulders and weird clothing to ask her out once, much less embark on a committed relationship. Naturally blonde hair didn’t help at all. Emma certainly wasn’t a typical man magnet either. She was petite with dark, wavy hair and chocolate brown eyes. Far from a curvy, fair-haired super model. Yet she breezed through dates, charming her suitors into falling for her in a matter of minutes, and now she wanted to give it up. One person’s hell was another person’s heaven.

“No, I don’t think that will work. I need to stay away from men, until I get used to being alone.”

Daisy picked at the ham on the edge of her sandwich. A rock settled in her stomach. “Alone isn’t really a good thing.”

The heavy, glass door wouldn’t budge. Emma shoved harder, barely making headway against the wind pushing on the other side. The door opened a few inches, but a gust slammed into the glass. Luckily she wasn’t leaning forward or her face would’ve become a door stop.
That would’ve left a mark.
A collection of Daisy’s intricately-patterned scarves were draped over the arms of a coat rack at the edge of the gallery space. The strips of wool fabric twisted and fluttered like they had come alive after being touched by the cold wind. Finally, the strong breeze eased up to allow her and Daisy to scramble out the door.

Emma wrapped the heavy, wool cardigan tighter around her torso. It was the first day of spring, but the wind chill was below freezing. Typical weather in Michigan. She had often heard people saying that if you don’t like the weather then just wait a few minutes because it will change. Maybe there wouldn’t be many food trucks willing to brave the cold weather. During the previous summer the park had drawn over a dozen food trucks that set up shop every weekday. People from the artists’ colony where she and Daisy lived, as well as workers from all of the nearby office buildings, flocked to the green oasis in the middle of Bartonville’s business district at lunch time. Recently fliers had been circulating around the neighborhood announcing that the Fulton Park Food Truck Court would open on the first day of spring. Rain or shine.

Emma’s eyes watered from the frigid assault. She wiped cold tears from her cheeks with the back of her mitten. “Thanks for letting me borrow your sweater. I’d be a popsicle without it.”

“No problem.” Daisy tugged her fuzzy pink hat down over her ears. “It’s made with Merino wool, so it should keep you pretty warm.”

They turned the corner. Over half a dozen brightly-colored food trucks were parked along the edge of the street in front of them. More than she had expected on such a blustery day.

“It looks like quite a few trucks are here,” Daisy said as they crossed the intersection. “I hope that one that made the BLT sliders last year is back.”

Frequent menu changes were common among the mobile restaurants. Quite a few of the chefs tailored their offerings based on whatever they found interesting at the market that morning. Chalk and white boards, as well as laminated print outs, were used to display many of the trucks’ offerings for the day.

“Why don’t we take our food back to my apartment?” Emma asked as she stopped in front of a dark blue truck that she didn’t remember seeing the previous summer. Many of the food trucks looked like they had stepped off the pages of a comic book. Bold colors and quirky images, like winged pigs or carrot-wielding ninjas, were common. The Sandwich Emporium was different. The name was rendered in an old-fashioned script font painted in gold that made the truck look stately and sophisticated. Ornate, gilt picture frames attached to the side of the truck displayed the menu options. They offered six sandwiches and two soups along with a choice of two, flavored iced teas. “If we try to eat here the food will get cold before we’re done.”

“Sounds like a great idea to me!” Daisy rushed past Emma. “I see a truck down there that looks interesting. I’ll meet you back here in a few minutes.”

The window of the sandwich truck slid open. A man leaned out and waved at a woman bundled in a puffy parka who was standing nearby. The guy was wearing a long-sleeved black t-shirt. The fabric clung to his well-defined chest and arm muscles. His dark, spiky hair was tousled from the wind. Emma took a deep breath. No men allowed, no matter how gorgeous they were, for at least six months. After the woman hurried away he caught Emma’s eye and grinned. “How about a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup? Better than your mama ever made. Guaranteed.”

“How do you know my mama isn’t a world-renowned chef?” she asked as she stepped up to the window.

He winked one of his beautiful, ice blue eyes. “In that case, as good as your mama made.”

“Okay, I’m sold. I’ll take a Muenster Melt and the tomato soup. To go, please.”

“Coming right up.” He nodded his head toward the left. “If you stand down at the end of the truck you’ll be out of the wind a bit.”

“Thanks. I’m starting to feel like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.”

The guy chuckled as he slid the window shut. Emma moved to the area he had directed her to. She pulled a mitten off to retrieve the money in her jeans’ pocket. The chef was adorable, but she definitely wasn’t in the market for a new man. The sting from Max’s unexpected break-up speech still throbbed. Two days was too soon to be on the prowl, even if she was only looking for a rebound boyfriend, which she definitely wasn’t. She smacked her forehead with her palm before slipping the mitten back on.
Stop thinking about him.
It wouldn’t be long and she would turn into her mother, indiscriminately chasing after every man who was unfortunate enough to make eye contact. How could she even remotely consider this guy after insisting to Daisy she was giving up on all men?

“Did you order?”

Emma jumped. Daisy had reappeared, apparently out of thin air. “Yes. It should be done any time now.”

On cue, the order window slid open again and the tempting sandwich maker leaned out to wave at Emma. “Your order is ready.”

She exchanged her money for a brown paper bag speckled with dark grease spots. “Thank you. Hot soup sounds wonderful today.”

The grin plastered on her face looked idiotic. She knew it. The stupid, toothy smile was an involuntary reaction whenever she spoke to a cute guy. She spun around, desperate to escape the magnetic pull of the handsome chef. Daisy yelped when Emma stepped on her toe. “Sorry. Why do you keep sneaking up on me today?”

“I’m not sneaking. You keep getting lost in Dream Land.” Daisy looked back at the blue food truck. “Or maybe it’s Sandwich Land.”

“Well, I still think you are being sneaky on purpose. If you keep scaring me I’ll make you a bracelet covered in bells so I’ll at least have a warning.”

The walk back to the artists’ colony was quiet as they both concentrated on keeping their bodies and lunches warm. Emma plugged in the electric water kettle to make hot tea as soon as they arrived in her apartment. The iced tea the sandwich truck offered sounded good, but not in the middle of a cold snap.

“Did you see his name is Brad?” Daisy asked as she arranged foam take-out containers on the coffee table while Emma tossed a couple tea bags into a simple, brown teapot.

“Who is named Brad?”

“The guy from the sandwich truck that you were making googly eyes at. He was pretty hot. Not as hot as the guy in the vegan truck, but close.” Daisy sat down on the couch and pried the lid off her soup. She sniffed it and then flipped the lid off Emma’s tomato soup and fanned the aroma toward herself. “Your soup smells better than mine.”

Emma settled onto the other end of the couch. “It’s chunky tomato. What did you get?”

“Vegan lentil with spinach and squash.” Daisy wrinkled her nose. “Kind of looks like baby shit.”

“You said it. Don’t blame me when you can’t eat it.”

Daisy closed her eyes as she tried a spoonful. “It’s pretty good. Needs some hot sauce, but not bad at all. I can eat this vegan stuff again.”

The bread of Emma’s sandwich was perfectly grilled, golden brown and crispy. The mellow muenster cheese was laced with spicy flakes of red pepper. Crunchy pickle slices, in a small condiment container, were an addicting blend of sweet and sour. The soup was warm and savory, studded with chunks of tomato and onion. She would be paying more visits to The Sandwich Emporium for the food alone.

“Why eat at the vegan truck again? You’re not even close to being a vegetarian, let alone vegan. There are plenty of other choices. I’m sure more trucks will come when the weather gets better. I would highly recommend The Sandwich Emporium.”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “I’m going back to the vegan truck for the same reason you’re going to be paying more visits to the sandwich dude. The chef is tasty.”

“It doesn’t matter how gorgeous or nice he is.” She had made up her mind and nobody was going to change it, not even Daisy and definitely not Brad. “The only thing I’ll be doing with him is ordering my lunch.”

The warm sunshine soaked into Emma’s sore shoulder muscles as she sat at the picnic table. Two gift shops had called the previous week, asking for more merchandise. The increase in sales meant she didn’t have to worry about paying the rent, but it also meant she had to spend countless hours at the workbench adorning miniature fairy doors with wreathes of tiny flowers and custom-painted welcome mats. Many of the trendy shops downtown had installed the doors in quiet corners, where they were they could be discovered by curious children and adults. The idea of fairies living in walls often provoked squeals of delight. Apparently the fantasy appealed to a lot of people, because she could barely keep up with the orders. Lunch in the park with Daisy was a welcome break from the detailed work.