Free Virtues (Base Branch Series Book 8) by Megan Mitcham Page A

truck’s stove and its stubborn halo of baked on fat.
    “At least you’re upright. The shit keeps dripping in my face.” Luck’s voice echoed from the oven to her right below the sludge topped griddle.
    “Don’t let it get in your eyes. You’d go blind. I think I might from the fumes alone.” A tear rolled down Cara’s nose and dripped onto the stove, creating a tiny clean spot among the swill.
    “I thought opening the garage doors would help.”
    “It didn’t.” The back double doors hung open, letting in light that streamed from the street but did little in the way of ventilation.
    Luck extricated himself from the oven and the narrow alley that ran the length of the truck. He reached around her. Metal screeched against metal, forcing an ache into her molars. He trundled out the back, and seconds later, the food sale window bloomed wide, bringing with it a current of air not exactly fresh but certainly less toxic. The front door to the food truck opened, and Luck stepped inside.
    “I thought you’d opened that door already.” Cara straightened. After hunched over for so long, the muscles in her lower back protested.
    “Never occurred to me.” Splatters of brown soiled his face, but it couldn’t hide the wide grin that contorted his features, jaw to brows and everything between.
    “Are the fumes getting to you? How long were you in here scrubbing before I showed up?”
    “Don’t get all mom-ish on me. I’m fine, just distracted.”
    “About?”
    “The possibilities.” He actually hopped. Not a big leap, but a small fit of excitement his body couldn’t contain. His gaze immediately flew to hers. A manly throat clearing followed. “It’s open now. Is it better?” Without waiting for an answer, he riffled through a box full of old rags, scrub pads, and various cleaners.
    “Yes and no.” Dust sticky with layers of oil stuck to the vents above the cook space. Mold grew like grass around the sink’s drain.
    He looked at her from under his arm.
    “For the price, you’d think the truck would’ve been clean enough to eat off the floor.” She pointed at the thicket of dirt covering the stainless steel under Luck’s feet. “I’m not eating off that, and I’ve eaten in some shitholes.”
    “Oh. No, this isn’t that truck.” He stood and tossed a rag past her onto the yawning oven door. “I got this puppy for a steal and was able to put back a lot of the money from the sale of the Bentley for inventory and a down payment on a place.” His gaze slid over the sink, and his nose crinkled.
    Rin and Luck had fought for everything they had. Adversity created character, strengthened dignity. They were proof. Cara didn’t want them to fight anymore.
    “If you need money, you know—”
    “I don’t want to touch that money.” Luck’s staunch tone bounded off the rigid surfaces.
    He might as well have slapped her. She wouldn’t have been nearly as wounded by that. Pissed? Yes. But not this. The need to vomit toyed with her uvula, but she choked it back.
    “ That money bought the car you sold to buy this truck.”
    “It’s different, and you know it.”
    Cara knew how he justified his actions. She’d used the same rationale, only to a further extent. Now, things were different. After years of nothing, they were changing fast. Almost too fast for her to keep score. And she ran calculations like a beast. At least, she had until Rin popped back into her life.
    “It’s just money, Luck.”
    But suddenly, it wasn’t. She knew it. Luck knew it. His unwavering stare said he wasn’t backing down until she admitted it.
    She tossed the scrub pad onto the counter and turned away. The truck that seemed inescapably small only moments ago stretched. It took too many strides to reach the rear and leap for freedom from the food truck before the sides closed in.
    “Cara, I’m not judging you.”
    Sure.
    “I am,” she breathed. “Why not you too?”
    “That money saved me. It got back your