Even seeing him plate up at the line is enough to make a blush creep up from my chest to my neck, and I need to get out of here before I turn into a flaming Alexis. Damn my Irish heritage for this complexion that can’t hide a thing.
Head down, I practice the wording the staff are supposed to say when submitting a ticket under my breath.
Table twenty-three, two people, strawberry salad, extra dressing, fries, Bites burger medium, fries.
Rounding the corner, a tall figure blocks my path and I yelp as we collide.
Looking up, my brows knit when I see the distinctive dark hair held back with a black bandana, the tanned olive skin, seasoned with life experience even at his age. That scar in his brow, his slightly crooked nose, they’re all pieces of evidence that point to the life he lived before he got to the Heights.
They shouldn’t send a thrill through me.
I wish I needed the visual to know who it was I ran into. That there was no magnetic pull when I’m this close to him, commanding me to get closer, to stay a while.
But my sister was always the smart one of us. Me, the reckless. I’ve never done what’s best for me, have I?
Large hands come down on my shoulders, steadying me, and his lips pull up in a smirk. “Boss! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“To table twenty-three.”
I slam the ticket into his chest and cringe when I notice how hard it is. He doesn’t even flinch at the contact, hand coming up to cup mine, dwarfing it as he secures the ticket.
“And there’s no pleasure about it,” I tack on, before practically sprinting back to the dining room in my haste to getaway from the man. I can feel my hair bouncing as I go, like its own character in the sitcom I’m surely starring in right now.
My pulse doesn’t get the memo, blood still pumping at an unhealthy rate as I flurry through the dining room once more. When I go back to take Weston and his mom’s order, he tries to be smart with me.
“You good, Lex?”
Trying not to bare my teeth, I reply, “It’s always a great day at Heights Bites.”
That just leads to Mrs. Grady, I mean Suarez, checking on me in that motherly way of hers that only makes me miss mine.
I’m no expert in HR, but I think full-scale meltdowns are frowned upon in work environments. I’ll have to consult with Rory about that later, so for now I just tilt my head back to the ceiling and take a deep breath, trying to find my center, or whatever the fuck people who don’t have public episodes over their poor life decisions do.
But when I go to take their order, Weston so kindly points out that I never brought a second menu over.
It’s as I’m contemplating going to babysit Tracy’s grandchild for her so she can come back and do what I am clearly not meant to that West stops me.
“Actually, never mind.”
Two stomps later and I’m back at his table, and his mom nods at him before he speaks. “Whole menu looks great. We’ll take whatever the chef recommends, both of us.”
Great. I’m sure Wilder will have a field day with that. A chance to serve one of the nine dishes he’s tried to get added to the menu. Maybe I should tell him they want the burger.
Weston keeps talking as I contemplate the options. “Just no pine nuts for my mom. She’s got an allergy.”
I’m already grabbing the menu and heading to the kitchen. “Well, now’s your chance. Table sixteen, two people, both want‘whatever the chef recommends.’” I make air quotes on the words, not bothering to hide my disdain.
He claps his hands together once and points at me. “Perfect! I’ll take care of ’em. Two chef specials coming up. Fire tortellini!”
“Firing tortellini!” Charlie echoes, like he’s a soldier in a trench across a battlefield, not three yards away from his chef, about to pull out some pasta.
At this point, today is just one of those days where a butterfly could land on my head and it would piss me off. There is just nothing good about today.
That’s proven when I walk away but Wilder calls after me. “Boss, can I trouble you to grab a few more steaks out of the walk-in? I’ve got four pans working, don’t want to step away.”
“Sure,” is the word that comes out of my mouth, but I make sure he hears my opposite meaning in the tone.
The freezer. Another place that I can’t go without remembering Wilder breaking down my self-preservation, my common sense, and devolving me into this woman I hate for giving in to him.
