Then he turned, walking away like I hadn’t just fallen apart and stitched myself back together in front of him. I tied the apron around my waist, fingers trembling with fury. Screw him. I wasn’t going to be the girl everyone expected to fail. Not this time. Not again. Even my mother expected me to fall flat on my face.
But not today.
I stormed out to the main floor just as a new table was seated. I pulled my shoulders back and pasted on my most practiced smile. I may not know how to survive in this world yet, but if there was one thing I was born to do, it was to act.
“Evening. How are you two doing tonight?” I drop the menus onto the table with a smile that’s about as sturdy as a house of cards in a hurricane.
“We’re doing great,” the older man replies, cheerful and oblivious. “And how are you?”
“I’m alive,” I mutter.
They laugh. Of course, they laugh. Everyone always laughs at pain when it’s dressed up like a punchline.
“That’s always a plus. You new here? Don’t think we’ve seen you before,” the man adds, his white hair slicked back with the kind of ease that comes from not giving a damn.
I clear my throat, caught off guard. People don’t usually notice me, not like that. Not in L.A., where no one has time to look up from their misery.“Yeah. First day.”
“Oh, don’t mind him,” the woman cuts in. “We’re just regulars. Come twice a week. We would’ve remembered seeing a pretty girl like you.”
Was that a compliment? Or the start of something worse? I can’t tell, but their smiles don’t feel dangerous, just… warm. Which almost makes it harder to handle.
“Thanks,” I say, forcing a grin. “I’ll do my best not to fuck up your order.” My mouth betrays me, and I want to rewind time the second the word flies out.
Heat floods my cheeks. “I mean—mess. Mess up. Sorry.”
The woman laughs. “No worries, George curses too when he gets nervous.”
My shoulders loosen a fraction. Okay. Maybe this won’t be a total disaster.
“Can I start you off with some drinks?”
“Two glasses of Chardonnay,” George says.
“It’s our anniversary.”
“Really? That’s beautiful. How long have you been married?”
“Fifty years,” he says, gripping his wife’s hands. “Fifty glorious years.”
I blink. “Wow. That’s… that’s something to celebrate.” But as they gaze into each other’s eyes, something sharp twists in my gut. Like I’m watching a movie I’ll never be cast in. I mumble something about getting their drinks and flee.
“Can I get two glasses of Chardonnay?"I asked the bartender. When she turned around, it was the military girl from the dinner the other night—the one who sat by Nick.
“Well, well. Look who crawled out of daddy’s wallet.” She says.
Fucking great, just when i thought i was going to like this job this bitch has to ruin it. “I didn’t ask for commentary. I asked for wine.”
She leans on the counter. “No can do, Barbie.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Boss's orders.”
Before I can snap back, I feel it—a hand at my lower back. Warm. Heavy. Male. Nick.
“You can’t serve alcohol until your liquor license comes in.” he says, voice like gravel and gasoline.
“No one told me that.” I hiss
