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He shut the cooler lid. “My real family’s gone. I was living on an Amish farm for a while.”
“Guess that’s why you only look partially Amish.”
“Partially?”
She tapped her chin. “No beard.”
No one in The Order had facial hair. Once immortals reached their prime, their bodies sort of regulated that stuff. Dane didn’t want to stick out, so he made a habit of shaving.
“I’m guessing you’re looking for money.”
Her directness caught him off guard. “I…You just looked busy, so I figured I’d help.”
“Well, I am busy. My chef quit without notice, and my waitress has a sick kid at home, so it’s been a little crazy trying to keep up with everything.”
His brow creased. “You own the bar?”
“My dad does, but he can’t run it anymore. Dementia.”
“I’m sorry.”
She pointed to another cooler. “The potatoes in that one have been soaking, so they’re ready to cut. We only slice a few at a time, or they get mushy and brown. They’re pretty much made to order.”
He looked at the other cooler. “Did you want me to slice them?”
“You’ve been sitting out there all day. You’re hungry, right?”
He nodded.
“Then help yourself. The press is there. Drop them in the basket, and try not to burn your hands. Four minutes for regular. Six minutes for crispy.” She looked back at the bar and cursed asmore patrons arrived. “There’s warm cheese in that pump.”
When she left, he scanned the appliances. This was very different from Gracie’s kitchen or his grandmother’s, but he understood what everything did and could quickly figure out how the fryer worked.
Wedging the pre-soaked potatoes through the press was easy and he liked the sizzle the oil made when he dropped the basket into the deep-fryer. Rolling up his sleeves, he anxiously awaited the timer as the oil bubbled and the scent of food wafted through the air. He was starving and couldn’t remember the last thing he ate.
Too impatient to wait for crispy, he gathered a plastic basket and lined it with paper. He pulled the fries and dumped them onto the platter. Glistening and still sizzling, he popped one into his mouth and cursed as it burned his tongue.
“Don’t!”
Covering his mouth, he spun and found Gabby watching him again.
“They’re too hot. You have to give them a minute.”
The burn in his mouth was already healing, thanks to the blood in his system. But she was right. They were way too hot to eat.
“Here.” She angled a fresh beer toward him, and he gladly took it.
Once he cooled his mouth with a sip, he plucked another fry from the basket and popped it into his mouth. He was ravenous, so he didn’twaste time on things like table manners as he stuffed his face.
Gabby carried a bin of dishes and trash to the counter. “Why did you leave the Amish people?”
He swallowed. “I didn’t have a choice. I broke the rules.”
“What’d you do, use a lightbulb?” She laughed.
“Something like that.” Except it was more along the lines of blowing a six-inch hole through a vampire's chest, but that was a lot to explain so he just kept eating.
“Do you have a place to stay?” She handed him a shaker of salt.
