With a composure that would make my nana proud, I walked over to GQ’s table and grabbed the plate of red pasta out from under him. Arrabbiata with grilled chicken. Good choice.
GQ said nothing, just watched me as if watching a caged animal, probably afraid of what I might do. Which was wise, given how I felt right now.
Striding over to Vinnie, who was now helping another customer at table twelve, I upended the plate of pasta over his head and watched in delight as he screamed like a fifteen-year-old girl and spun on me with a glare.
“I quit,” I said, and then I took off my apron and let it fall to the ground.
A single clapping noise filled the restaurant. I turned in the direction of the sound to see GQ smiling at me, applauding my outburst. I ran out of the restaurant, mortified by my immature behavior. It was just the way Vinnie had spoken to me, the way he had drawn out the words “you’re fired” slowly. And telling me to get over my mom’s cancer. What did that even mean? It had triggered something inside me.
By the time I'd made it to the side alley between Vinnie’s and The Shake Shack, the tears came.
What was I going to do? Vinnie’s was the nicest restaurant in town. The food was expensive, which meant the tips were good. That was so stupid of me.
Willow Harbor was small, and people would talk. Hannah having a mental breakdown at work would be all over town tomorrow.
Vinnie was a jerk, but he didn’t deserve pasta being dumped on his head in front of everyone. I shouldn’t have done that. I had been late. I’d deserved to get fired.
Shame burned my cheeks.
I sat down right on the asphalt and looked up between the two buildings at the blue sky.
“God, if You have a greater plan here, I’d love to be let in on it,” I told Him with a whimper.
My mom’s numbers hadn’t looked good today on her blood test, and now we were probably going to lose the house, the one she’d worked so hard as a single mom to get us. I was twenty-three with no job and facing eviction. Cancer was expensive,even with health insurance, and my mom had to take time off from teaching in order to heal, so I was the only one making money.
Awesome.
We could probably stay with Aunt Ellie in North Carolina for a bit, but her house was full with all of her foster kids. She had a good life there; I didn’t want to screw it up.
How had I found myself still waiting tables at this age? I should have gone to college or learned a trade like everyone else. I was a late bloomer as far as career choices went. I always imagined myself as a small business owner or something, but life just got in the way and my high school job became my job job. Sometimes you just gotta pay the bills and put your dreams aside. Maybe if I found another job really quickly and asked the bank for another late payment schedule…
“Hannah?” a male voice said, and I looked up, wiping at my eyes.
It was the GQ model. Now that we were up close and I could see him properly, I realized I hadn’t given him full credit. He wasn’t a perfume ad model—he was a cover type of model. Impossibly tall, with thick, dark hair that was slicked back, a chiseled jaw, and arresting, green eyes. He was one of those guys with such great bone structure you wondered if they’d had work done on them or were just genetically blessed.
And I’d stolen his pasta to dump on my boss.Great.
I took a cleansing breath and stood.
“I amsosorry about that in there.” I gestured to the building. “I owe you money for the pasta. That was not my best behavior. I just…I’m having a bad day.” I muttered the apology, feeling mortified.
He waved me off like it was nothing. “Your boss shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. So, is it Hannah with two N’s?” he asked as he whipped out his phone and typed something.
Okay…that was a very specific question.
I frowned, confused. “Yeah…”
He looked up at me. “Will you meet me here tomorrow morning at, like, let’s say eleven?”
What was happening? Was he a stalker or something?
I took a step backward, and his face changed, his eyes going alert.
“Oh, no, this isn’t a weird thing. It’s about a job. I heard you get fired and I’m just trying to help.” He pulled out a business card and handed it to me, and my posture relaxed.
Did God seriously just answer my prayer thirty seconds after I’d sent it? A job! Exactly what I needed.
“I can meet you at eleven,” I said eagerly.
