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I tried to step in front of my newly mated omega, but he stepped up first. “Do you have some kind of investment in this truck?”
Clint kicked at the tow attachment. “This piece of shit? He’ll be lucky if he can pay the rent with his snowball money. Kids selling lemonade from a cardboard box probably make more than West will.”
“In that case,” Antoine said. I’d never heard his forceful tone but, as he talked to Clint, it kind of turned me on. Gods, he was especially adorable when he was mad. “Why don’t you go back to wherever you came from and leave him alone?”
“Oh, having your little fox fight your battles. Pathetic alpha. You always were.”
There was a time when those words would’ve stung but, today, with my omega by my side, my brilliant, talented, genius of an omega here with me, there was nothing that could spoil my day. And I wasn’t letting this asshole say anything more.
“Come on,” I said and brought Antoine to the truck. I was excited to show my mate my truck. I’d worked hard to save for it and he had been a big part of me getting it. I showed him the machinery that came with the truck and he pulled out his phone. Before I knew it, we were in a full-blown planning session discussing flavors and toppings. My omega was as curious about the condensed milk as was I.
“You’re sure you won’t change your mind, West? This is what you want?” Clint’s voice plucked my strings and not in a good way. His voice that I once loved now sounded like an out-of-tune fiddle.
“He’s sure.” Antoine whirled on him with his hands on his hips.
“Just leave already, Clint,” I said. “I don’t want you anymore. I don’t love you and I never really did. I don’t miss you. If I never see you again in this lifetime, it will be too soon. Just go.”
Clint flipped us both off, but he gave us a gift. He left.
“Thank you for standing up for me, omega,” I said, pulling Antoine in for a hug. “No one has ever stood up for me before.”
“You’re welcome. He was giving me the creeps. One day you’ll have to explain how you put up with that for so long. In the meantime…have you heard of the flavor Island Dream?” He showed me his phone. “Passionfruit. Pineapple. And guava.”
“You know what?” I said, kissing his temple. “I’m gonna find your favorite flavor and name it after you.”
“The Antoine sounds nice. Oh, apple!”
Who knew the omega got so excited over shaved ice flavors? Not this guy.
Chapter Thirteen
Antoine
I liked shaved ice the few times I had it but until Roy mentioned it, I had never heard of a snowball. I thought about this while working on a surprise for West’s grand opening. Food trucks often had those sandwich board signs—I thought they were called that anyway—set on the sidewalk or somewhere near the order window. I had snooped around enough when the truck was delivered to be pretty sure there wasn’t one, and since I had been trying to come up with a gift for his first day, this seemed like a good idea.
At least I hoped so. Strolling around the park, where many trucks were parked, I looked over their signs in hopes of finding inspiration. Frankly, most of them were just boring with hours and maybe a few of their items listed. I went home and went to work sketching out what I had in mind. West would be opening shortly, so I didn’t have time to take weeks to mull over what I might be doing. No, this was going to be a one-day project, few hours really. With that in mind, I tossed the sketch, slapped a coat of primer on the board I was going to use, and spent the time it dried wrapping some of my finished works for shipping.
Then I looked up pictures of shaved ice, of snowballs, snow cones, and anything else similar and ended up so totally confused by the differences and similarities, I decided not to paint one of them. Instead, I went another way. His truck had that whole Polynesian/tropical feel, and so should the sign.
Hauling the board outside, I found one of the workers in the backyard and asked them if they had a jigsaw.
A few hours later, I tucked the barely dry sign in the back of the car and headed for West’s home where the truck was currently parked in the driveway. I still found it interesting that he chose to do something like shaved ice when he had been denied sweetness both in food and in life for so long. The truck was a vivid reminder to all the neighbors that soon there would be a whole new treat to be enjoyed in Oliver Creek.
When I parked in front, West came down the steps of his trailer, wrapped in an apron splattered with all the colors of the rainbow.
“Hey, omega.” He came in to give me a sticky kiss. “I’ve been practicing my recipes and trying out some new combos.”
“And taste testing if your kisses offer any indication.” I licked my lips. “Guava dragon fruit?”
“You’re good.” He reached for my hand to pull me toward the truck. “Come and give me your opinions.”
“I will, but first I’ve got something in the car.” I turned to open the back. “I hope you like it.”
“A gift for me?” He wiped his sticky hands on his apron. “Let me see.”
I pulled out the sign I’d painted for him, and he went still. Instead of painting one kind of snow cone/ball or other icy treat, I’d painted them all but in a muted way that hopefully wouldn’t have people asking for something he didn’t make. “It’s for your grand opening.”
“How did you get a sign in the shape of a palm tree?”
