“I’m glad you’re so in love with the cream your boyfriend makes. I just wanted to know how he’s doing. He didn’t look so good last time. How are preparations for the town hall inauguration going?”
That’s the question I hate the most. What should I say, since I don’t have an answer either? The only thing I can do is lie. As always.
“His father’s home with the flu, so he took on the responsibility himself. You know how he is—stubborn and never willing to admit he needs help.”
Or someone by his side, or that he’s sick, or angry, or just wants to give up.
“He’s been running back and forth in the kitchen since this morning because he wants everything to be perfect.”
A woman points to the empty napkin holder with her eyes, and while Will deals with the couple I was watching, I grab a spare box from an empty table and take it to the woman with the kind smile. I carry the empty one to the storeroom to refill it with paper napkins. Will joins me with eight more empty boxes, and together we start stuffing napkins into each one.
“Do you need a ride back to the bakery after your shift?” he asks.
“No, don’t worry about it. I took Maggie’s car, and I’ll be done much later than usual today.”
He looks up at me. “Do you have to do the cleaning? You know you’re the only one who actually does it? We leave as soon as Mary drives off. Why don’t you just go home instead of staying here? You work every day. You should take a break.”
I can’t. “It’ll be fun!”
Tonight there’ll only be two of us, so it’ll take twice as long. Maybe I can teach the new musician how Amelie and I play basketball with trash baskets.
“By the way, did Mary tell you she hired a new musician?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Tell me? Didn’t we all get a group message that I ignored?” My tone is doubtful.
“What message are you talking about?”
“Forget it. Do you know the new musician’s name? Mary’s sure we’ll get along.”
We head out of the storeroom with boxes full of napkins.
By now the place is packed, and not a single table is free.
“I think his name’s Victor. Nathan said he’s really hot. I saw him come in with a guitar about an hour ago. You would’ve met him if you’d arrived earlier. His car’s the gray one parked next to Mary’s,” Will whispers in my ear, then pulls away to set napkins on tables.
Victor. The one who stole my parking spot. Idiot. I’ll make him pay by eating all the fries myself.
While plotting my revenge and arranging napkins, I see Jasper beckoning to me from the kitchen door—my orders must be ready.
“Two pepperoni-and-mushroom pizzas for table seven, right?” he asks, making sure he didn’t mess up.
“Exactly. Thanks.” I grin broadly and carry the pizzas to the family at table seven. As I set them down and wish the customers a good meal, someone steps onto the stage.
I look up, ready to finally put a face to Victor—but my smile fades in an instant.
Maybe I would’ve preferred being stuck in traffic all night, or scolded for hours by my boss. Anything would’ve been better than seeing him. Not now. Not like this.
“Vincent?”
I’m standing right in front of the stage, but I know there’s no way he can hear me in all this noise. Yet after a few seconds, he lifts his gaze from the acoustic guitar and meets my tear-filled eyes. Astonishment flickers across his face, as if he hadn’t expected to see me here.
Maybe he wouldn’t have wanted to see me either. Not now. Not this way. Maybe not at all.
He doesn’t speak to me, and soon his dark eyes drift away. He turns his full attention back to the guitar strapped around him.
I try not to think about the fact that he’s playing a melody I know all too well. I don’t dare watch his performance, even though my heart wants to climb onto a table and clap along with the rhythm of his voice. My eyes well with tears, which I wipe away with the back of my hand.
The moment he starts to sing, Vincent’s warm, velvety voice fills the room, and a chorus of applause wraps around the melody of his words.
