“And now you’re working here? Why did you drop out of college? That’s so unlike you.”
I noticed Mel’s back goes rigid, stiff as a board, she says, “No, I crashed my car and my parents told me I'm cut off until I can prove I can take care of myself and stop drinking so much.”
“Shit Mel, I-I had no idea, I’m sorry,” Josh says.
“No, it’s fine. You didn’t know. No one did until I told Abigail.”
Josh reaches over to touch Mel’s hand. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
My heart raced and I felt my cheeks heat all of a sudden. I wanted to yank his hand off of hers.
“I’ll take their orders if you want to check on your other tables.” Mel’s eyes flickered to mine, and I pinned my gaze on her. She pinned it right back before reluctantly turning around.
It was pushing ten. The restaurant had thinned out, the kitchen was winding down, and Mel was on close tonight. Perfect timing—if I was ever going to bring this up, it had to be now. I didn’t know if Abigail was swinging by to pick her up, but honestly? I didn’t care. I wanted to be the one taking her home tonight.
I found her in the back, tucked in the cramped little space between the kitchen and the dry storage, rolling silverware in black napkins with mechanical precision. Her shoulders were tight, like she’d been holding her breath all night.
“Hey,” I said, voice low.
She jolted, just a flicker, but I saw it.
“Deep in thought?” I asked, trying to keep it light. But she didn’t smile. Didn’t even look at me. Just went back to wrapping forks and knives like they’d done her personal harm.
“Guess so,” I mumbled, feeling stupid for even trying.
“No,” she said, voice flat, “I’m just not used to being snuck up on. Stalker.”
I ignored the jab. “I was hoping we could talk. You’re clear of tables.”
She turned then, arms folding across her chest like armor. “What? Is this about the customer who couldn’t wait a whole five minutes to be acknowledged?”
“No—”
“Or maybe the asshole who bitched about his steak three times? Because if that’s what this is, I swear to God?—”
“It’s not,” I cut in, sharper than I meant to. “It’s not about your shift.”
She blinked, caught off guard by the edge in my voice. I looked away. I hadn’t wanted to do it like this, but there wasn’t another way. No family safety net. No backup plan. Just me—and this.
“Come into my office,” I said.
She threw her hands up, scoffing as she pushed off the counter. “What now?” she muttered, brushing past me, catching a whiff of citrus shampoo and heat.
I followed, closing the office door behind us. The air between us thickened. “When do you leave for Vegas?” I asked.
Her head snapped toward me like I’d spoken another language. “Excuse me?”
“Your trip. When is it?”
“In a week,” she said slowly. ““In a week and I know it’s the week of Thanksgiving, but I'm not going, remember, so you don’t have to worry about me taking off, and I know restaurants are always open on that day for lazy assholes that can’t cook themselves.”
Her tone was acid, sharp enough to cut through steel. I didn’tunderstand it. From what I’d seen, her life had been golden—movie premieres. Designer clothes. A childhood soaked in privilege and fame. She had the kind of life people dreamt about, so I wasn’t sure why she was so dam angry all the time.
“I want to go with you,” I said.
She stared. Her body stilled completely, like the words froze her mid-breath.
“Why the hell would you want to do that?”
