The fact was, it wasn’t only me who would be affected if I found him. Both of us would. We were a package—Darla and me—a pair, a team, a double.
During my shift later that night, I swore in my head, unable to push the memory of her tears aside.Fuck, now I was forced to wait tables for Florida’s finest with the bruising memory of a pained and hurting Darla weighing on me.
Don’t judge. I was miserable.
“Claire?”
My floor manager stole me from my painful thoughts, calling me by my middle name, which I’d assumed full time. It was the only name Bryce had ever known for me, and we’d come to Florida from the Southern Steak and Sea’s North Carolina franchise together. We’d worked together for six years, ever since I’d shown up for an interview with a month-old Darla in tow.
“What’s up, Bryce?” I leaned my hip against the kitchen counter, keeping one eye on deck in case my latest order surfaced.
“Jenny was supposed to help with the dinner in the private room, but she went home sick.”
I shook my head. “You know I hate the back room. Hated working it in North Carolina, and I’m sure it’s worse here. It’s always a bunch of guys getting grabby because the doors are closed, or a room full of gray-hairs who don’t tip shit ... think their steak was overpriced and the creamed corn not creamy enough. Nope.”
“Come on, Claire. I need someone good. It’s a big corporate dinner, so they’ll tip. And I’ll put Paul back there as a runner or busser, so no grabbing.”
“I’m new here. Trying to get to know the weekend regulars. I need the tip money.”
“I’ll owe you. No lunches on your schedule for a week or two. Fridays and Saturdays in the best sections. Please? I don’t know the other servers well enough to trust them with a party of thirty.”
The bell dinged, and the guy in whites bellowed my name.
“Claire!”
Before I could react, Bryce took over. “Paul, why don’t you run this food out for Claire and then follow her to the private dining room.”
“I didn’t even agree,” I said to Bryce, pretending to pout. He knew I’d give in.
“This is the last ticket you have open before the second seating, so I’ll have Stella take care of desserts and checks.”
“No lunches for a while,” I called after Bryce, tightening my bun and sticking my pen behind my ear. Cracking my neck from side to side, I straightened my tie and smoothed my white shirt before heading to the back.
Bracing my shoulder against the heavy wooden door, I pushed into the back room. The smell of crisp money and wood paneling engulfed me.
I hated everything about the back room, including the name. It intimated exactly what the men thought they might find there. Perhaps I despised it because it reeked ofmanand reminded me of what I didn’t have, and now there were close to thirty of them milling around the bar in the far corner.
With tumblers of whiskey in their hands and the scent of a decent cigar in the air, the men laughed as they stood around and made small talk. No one was seated yet, so I turned toward the door, deciding to sneak out for another fifteen minutes to try to pry myself out of my self-imposed funk.
Only two steps away from freedom, the sound of a deep chuckle made goose bumps rise over my entire body. The glorious sound rumbled through the room, taking hold of my heart like it had so many years ago.
Shocked, I stumbled and reached out and braced myself on the oak-paneled wall to keep from falling. I begged myself not to turn around, but then I heard it again. Like when a favorite song comes on in the car as you park at home and you can’t bear to get out of the car, I stood with my back to the room and my ears perked up for my most favorite song ever.
I could only make out murmurs rather than actual words, but since I’d heard the laugh, I knew which murmurs were his—full-bodied like an aged Scotch, smooth like silk with a touch of gruff, and just right. His laugh rang out again, and it stabbed at my heart. He was happy and good, had probably made a life for himself as I’d suspected. A better life than he could have had being saddled with me.
Desperately, I wanted to turn to see if the crinkles around his eyes had deepened. More than anything in this world other than Darla’s safety, I wanted to look. Just a quick glance.
But I didn’t. My damn need for self-preservation kept my eyes trained on the oak paneling in front of me. I panicked, needing to get the hell out of here and tell the boss I didn’t feel well.
I needed to move.
Again.
To Alaska.
He’d lived in Florida once long ago—on the other coast, the honky-tonk part. I had no idea why I’d never considered he’d be here. On the east coast. At my steak place. My refuge.
He’d loved that old farmhouse, so I always imagined he’d found another. A clapboard mansion filled with kids and a beautiful wife, somewhere quiet and serene.
