Taco Ballz Deep- Chapter One: It's a Going to be a Very Good Day

Una Gold was having a spectacular day.

Granted, it was nine o'clock on a Sunday morning, which was not traditionally an hour associated with spectacular things. But Una had recently learned that happiness was largely a matter of perspective, and from her perspective, life was finally getting its shit together.

She had a new job.

Not just any job, either. Una Gold was now the assistant manager of Taco Ballz, a local restaurant best known for taking nachos, compressing them into spheres, breading those spheres, and dropping them into boiling oil.

Was it fine dining? No.

Was it management?

Absolutely.

After eleven months of scraping congealed mayonnaise off plates at Delaney's Deli, Assistant Manager sounded downright executive.

Admittedly, Una had made a few strategic omissions on her résumé. And perhaps one or two strategic additions. Nothing outrageous. Nothing that couldn't be blamed on creative interpretation if anyone became unnecessarily interested in the details.

She had already forgiven herself.

Besides, everything about this morning suggested the universe approved.

Her hair had fallen perfectly into place on the first attempt, something it normally refused to do without heat, profanity, and at least one existential crisis. She had found her favorite yellow polo shirt rolled inside an extra fitted sheet at the bottom of her closet, and somehow it didn't have a single wrinkle. Every intersection between her apartment and Taco Ballz had turned green just as her moped approached.

Every. Single. One.

The summer morning was warm. Fresh-cut grass perfumed the air. The sun felt good against her bare arms as she pulled into the parking lot.

Una killed the moped's engine and stared up at her new kingdom.

TACO BALLZ

The giant red-and-yellow sign had lost the light behind the second L, but she refused to interpret that as an omen.

Today was going to be perfect.

She marched through the unlocked front doors with the confidence of a woman who had recently acquired both a management position and a polo shirt with a collar.

"Good morning!"

Silence.

Una stopped.

The restaurant was empty.

Rows of plastic booths sat beneath fluorescent lights, and a cardboard display advertising the limited-edition FIRE BALLZ COMBO leaned precariously beside the soda fountain.

"Mr. Owens?"

Nothing.

That was strange.

Mr. Owens—the man who had interviewed her the previous Tuesday—had specifically told her he'd meet her at nine.

Una checked his office.

Empty.

She checked the kitchen.

Empty.

She checked the restrooms, although she wasn't entirely sure what she planned to do if she found her new boss sitting on a toilet.

Still no Mr. Owens.

Someone had unlocked the restaurant. A rusted gray Honda Civic was parked outside beside the dumpster, so unless Taco Ballz had a surprisingly industrious burglar, someone else had to be here.

She found him near the storage room.

His back was turned as he stretched upward, pulling an old promotional poster from the wall.

"Excuse me?"

The man spun around and nearly elbowed her in the face.

"Jesus!"

Una jumped backward.

"You can't sneak up on a guy like that."

"I wasn't sneaking."

"You appeared directly behind me without making a sound."

"That's just walking quietly."

He stared at her.

Una stared back.

And then her brain stopped functioning.

Oh.

Oh, that was unfortunate.

He was gorgeous.

Not cute. Cute was the guy at the coffee shop who remembered your order. Cute was somebody's cousin with nice teeth.

This man was six-foot-something of immediate workplace complication.

His dirty-blond hair curled slightly at the ends, already tousled despite the early hour. His blue eyes were startlingly bright against lightly tanned skin, and there was something irritatingly confident about the way he looked at her, as though he'd already figured out exactly what kind of person she was and found the answer entertaining.

Then one corner of his mouth lifted.

Una understood immediately that this man's smile had caused problems before.

Possibly divorces.

She straightened her shoulders.

She was management now.

Management did not stare at strange men's mouths.

Una held out her hand.

"Good morning. I'm Una Gold, the new assistant manager."

His gaze dropped briefly to her hand before returning to her face.

"And you are?"

He took it.

His hand was warm.

"Miro Wolfgang."

Of course it was.

A man who looked like that couldn't be named Kevin.

"I'm the manager."

Una brightened.

"Then you're my boss."

Miro's eyebrow lifted.

"Technically."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Wolfgang."

That grin appeared again.

"Miro."

"Miro," she corrected.

He released her hand and turned back toward the pile of posters.

"So you're the new hire my uncle sent over."

"Mr. Owens is your uncle?"

"Unfortunately."

Interesting.

Miro picked up a sheet of printer paper from the counter and handed it to her.

"Here. Do me a favor and tape this to the front door."

Una looked down.

OUT OF BUSINESS

ALL TACO BALLZ HALF OFF REGULAR PRICE

She read it twice.

Then a third time.

Her spectacular day suffered its first minor complication.

"What is this?"

"Our going-out-of-business sign."

She looked up.

"Going out of business?"

"That's usually what 'out of business' means."

"But I just got hired."

"I know."

"As assistant manager."

"So I've heard."

"Of this restaurant."

"That's the one."

Una waited for him to laugh.

He didn't.

"Miro."

"Una."

"Why did your uncle hire me to work at a restaurant that's closing?"

Miro shrugged. "You'll have to ask him. He told me he was sending someone over to help me shut the place down. I assumed you knew."

"I most certainly did not know."

"Huh."

"Huh?"

"That explains the enthusiasm."

Una looked back at the sign.

Her beautiful new management career had lasted approximately seven minutes.

"When are you closing?"

"Tonight."

Her head snapped up.

"Tonight?"

"Ten o'clock."

"You're going out of business tonight?"

"Technically we're already going out of business. At ten, we'll have successfully gone."

Una stared at him.

Miro seemed completely unconcerned by the death of both Taco Ballz and her professional aspirations.

He started peeling another poster from the wall.

"The place hasn't turned a profit since before COVID," he said. "Then we had the mouse thing."

Una's stomach tightened.

"The mouse thing?"

"You didn't hear about that?"

She had.

Everyone had.

Three months earlier, a local twelve-year-old had opened a carton of chocolate milk at Taco Ballz and discovered something inside that had neither been chocolate nor milk.

Una had watched the news report while eating dinner.

"Oh God," she said. "That was this Taco Ballz?"

"The one and only."

"Eww."

"Yeah. We should've dropped that supplier years ago."

"A child found a dead mouse in his milk."

"I didn't put it there."

"I'm not accusing you of putting it there."

"You said it like you were."

"I said eww."

"It was an accusatory eww."

"There was a mouse in the milk, Miro. I think an accusatory eww is warranted."

For the first time, he laughed.

It transformed his face.

Una hated that.

She hated it because it made him approximately thirty percent more attractive, and he had already exceeded the recommended workplace maximum.

"Just hang up the sign," he said.

Una carried it to the front door.

She taped it carefully against the glass, stepped back, and contemplated her circumstances.

Seven minutes.

She had been middle management for seven minutes.

Still, technically, that was seven minutes longer than yesterday.

Progress was progress.

When Una returned to the kitchen, Miro was standing over the grill.

The kitchen was already getting hot. Summer sunlight streamed through the front windows, competing with the heat rolling from the cooking equipment. A faint sheen of sweat had appeared along Miro's temples.

His sleeves were pushed up.

Una noticed his forearms.

She immediately decided she hadn't.

"So," she said brightly, grabbing a broom. "I've never shut down a restaurant before."

Miro glanced over his shoulder.

"I gathered that."

"I've also never assistant-managed one."

That got his full attention.

"What?"

Una froze.

Perhaps that had been information best kept private.

She tightened her grip on the broom.

"Successfully."

He stared at her.

She smiled.

"Where do you want me?"

His eyes flicked over her.

It lasted no more than a second.

Maybe less.

But Una felt it.

Something changed in his expression before he looked back at the grill.

"Careful with questions like that."

Heat crawled up Una's neck.

Miro continued as though nothing had happened.

"We've got a handful of regulars who'll probably come in when we open at eleven. Between customers, we clean, pack whatever's left, and get the place ready for me to hand the keys over to my uncle tomorrow. The storage room's mostly done. Everybody else already found new jobs."

"Everybody else?"

"Yep."

Una glanced around the empty restaurant.

"Meaning..."

"It's just you and me."

"Until?"

"Ten tonight."

Thirteen hours.

Alone.

With him.

In a failing restaurant famous for fried nacho balls and rodent-contaminated dairy products.

Una considered this.

Then she lifted the broom.

"Okay."

Miro looked mildly surprised.

"Okay?"

"Today was supposed to be the first day of my new career. Apparently, it's also the last day of my new career. I'm not wasting it."

His mouth twitched.

"Any questions before we start?"

Una thought about the résumé currently sitting somewhere in Mr. Owens's office.

"Nope."

"None?"

"Not a single one."

That was a lie.

She had several.

Most urgently, she wanted to know whether Taco Ballz issued paychecks before or after bankruptcy.

Second, she wanted to know why Miro Wolfgang kept looking at her like that.

And third, she wanted to know whether thirteen hours was long enough to make a very bad decision.

Una smiled and started sweeping.

"Let's get this place closed."