Page 6 of The Life and (Medieval) Times of Kit Sweetly

Looking over her shoulder to make sure none of our bosses are around, Layla hands me the phone. It’s a super expensive, just-released iPhone. Light-years cooler than my shitty prepaid knockoff one.

Chris’s phone goes straight to voicemail, so I leave a message: “Where are you, dude? Len’s going to lose it if you don’t get here. I’m on Layla’s phone. Call me!”

As I hang up, a text from Eric comes in. Without reading it, I delete it before Layla sees it. Probably terrible, I know. But these are the things you do for your best friend.

“Chris will turn up,” says Layla, giving me a sympathetic smile. “He’s probably back there getting ready and you just missed him. Did you see Eric at all?”

Feeling slightly guilty about deleting his text, I shrug. “I ran into him earlier. He’s still the worst in case you’re wondering.”

Layla laughs and pulls a crumpled note out of her pocket and hands it to me. “He shoved this into my hand earlier.”

I read it out loud: “Hey, princess, want to get coffee sometime? My treat … call me.” I pretend to barf into the garbage can under the desk. “Ugh—even his notes are greasy!”

“C’mon, you’re not being fair, Kit. He’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? NOT. THAT. BAD?”

“He’s kind of cute—”

“In what? A small-mammal-wildlife-documentary sort of way?”

She laughs. “Now that he’s graduated, he’s chilled out a lot. And it’s just coffee.”

“I can’t believe you. This is the same Eric Taylor we’re talking about? Man of two first names who’s been stalking you for years?”

“He’s just persistent,” says Layla. “He’s not a stalker.”

“Don’t go out with him. Please. For the love of all between us.”

“Stop being so dramatic. Besides, you’ve never given him a chance.”

She’s not wrong. I’ve hated Eric ever since the first day he started working here, when I caught him making fun of a guest with a disability. But Layla’s heart is bigger than mine, and she’s convinced people can change.

“You can do so, so much better.”

Layla rolls her eyes at me. “Thanks, Mom,” she says. “How’s your love life? You and Jett still drowning in sexual tension?”

“Shut up.” I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one else has heard her. “We’re just friends. I can’t date him.”

“You can and you should.”

“Dating is against the Unbreakable Rules. You know this.”

“He’s adorable, smart, and totally into you. Plus, hanging out with Jett isn’t going to derail the rest of your life.”

“He’s not into me like that. And it could ruin our friendship. I’m not risking it.”

“What if it works out?”

“It wouldn’t. We’re seventeen. There’s no way we’re one of those best-friends-who-date-and-end-up-getting-married couples. That’s like the plot of a bad movie.”

Layla smacks me on the arm. “Those relationships work out sometimes. My aunt married the guy she met in eighth grade.”

I roll my eyes at her. “Don’t you have a cash drawer to count?”

“Don’t you have a section to wait on?”

I do. And I should be helping guests get settled now. Especially Eddy Jackson and his crew of big drinkers and big tippers.