“Yeah, that one’s at the top of the list, Violet,” adds Ollie.
“I will definitely keep that in mind,” I assure. The last thing I need are some third-degree burns on my conscience…especially in that particular area.Ouch.
At Brit’s urging, I jump right in waiting tables, and the shift goes surprisingly well despite Ollie and Jake’s many warnings. My biggest hurdles are the elaborate menu and the caliber of clientele, but besides asking some complicated questions about the wine and liquor selection, the members seem decent enough. And when one older gentleman tips me twenty-five percent on a three-hundred-and-fifty-dollar meal, well, I almost do The Can Can in the middle of the dining room.
At this rate, my savings will be replenished in no time.
Take that alternator.
“This job can be a real dream sometimes,” Brit says when I show her the check, though her tone’s so flat that I can’t tell if she’s being serious or sarcastic.
“I never got a tip like this waiting tables at The Green Haven Diner, that’s for sure,” I tell her.
She opens her mouth to respond, but something over my shoulder draws her gaze. Her mouth flattens, unamused, and I follow her line of sight straight to Christian McCoy, whose being led across the hall by the hostess.
“Unimpressed by the walking ad for Vineyard Vines?” I ask.
Brit gives me a sharp glance, and for the first time, I see a spark of real emotion. It just so happens to be rage. “Don’t tell me you know Christian.”
I can’t help but grimace. “Unfortunately. He wasted no time introducing himself when I was in the lobby last week.”
“That weasel,” she mutters. “I’d steer clear of him if I were you. His grandfather was one of the founding members of the club, and his daddy’s practically considered royalty here. Christian’s always hanging about, and he always has an infatuation with the new girls.” She gives me a pointed look. “It never ends well.”
I shake my head. “Trust me. I have no interest.”
“Good. He was screwing Mallory for a while before he discarded her like trash. Pretty sure that’s what set her off in the end.” She sighs, tucking a few menus under her arm. “Of course, Kirsten seats him in my section. Of course.”
Still mumbling to herself, she heads off in the direction of his table, her demon glare transforming into a pleasantly aloof expression. I watch as she greets the group, but Christian must feel eyes on him because seconds later, his gaze locks with mine. His mouth twitches, and I turn away, heading back to check on my tables. I know guys like him. Guys who think you’re the most interesting thing in the room until you stop playing their game and give them what they want. My hometown was filled with them, and during that year of bad decisions, I became closely acquainted with a few.
Never again.
The rest of the day goes by easily enough, and before we leave, Brit tells me that we’re all going out Saturday night as part of my initiation. She doesn’t make it sound like I have an option, but I’m okay with that. It will be nice to hang around people close to my age who haven’t known me my entire life.
The house is empty when I get home from work, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I really wasn’t looking forward to any Landon encounters. After a quick shower, I venture to the store in hunt of the ingredients for my favorite salad, as well as a few items I’m missing for sugar-free chocolate crinkle cookies. I eat by the pool, admiring the gorgeous sunset I’m not sure I’ll ever get tired of, watch a couple episodes ofThe Baking Challengein bed, and fall asleep.
This routine repeats over the next few days. Run. Work. Eat. Sleep.
Christian McCoy doesn’t show up during my shift again, and besides mixing up a few orders here and there, work passes quickly, and the tips start piling up. At home, I don’t bump into Mel’s elusive boyfriend, though I hear him come and go at odd hours of the day and night. Landon’s erratic schedule still doesn’t make sense to me, and I find it strange that he’s practically a ghost in his own home. The only evidence that he’s been here at all is an added pan to the dishwasher or a missing bottle from the fridge.
Thursday’s my day off, so I wake up an hour later than usual and get to work mixing together ingredients for my sugar-free crinkle cookies. When the dough’s complete, I put it in the fridge to chill for a few hours before heading out for my jog.
I’m gradually growing used to the humidity, but the sun’s significantly hotter a couple hours past my usual time, and I’m dripping sweat when the house comes back into view. Struggling to catch my breath, I’m fishing the key Mel left me out of the tiny pocket of my running shorts when a dark-haired kid rides up on a bike. Parker. I wave and smile at him, aware that I must look like a disgusting sweaty mess.
“Hey, Parker!”
“Hey,” he mutters, his eyes flitting to my face, then away, then back again. Clearly, he’s still nervous around me, but I make it my mission to change that.
“Mowing the lawn today?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Nice bike. You live close to here, then?”
He nods.
“Well…I’m going to shower and put some cookies in the oven. It’s a new recipe, never been tried before.” I waggle my eyebrows. “Wanna be my guinea pig again?”
Parker’s cheeks turn a bit red, and he ducks his head, clearing his throat. After a moment, he glances back at me, brushes his hair out of his eyes, and nods. “Sure.”
