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One month before I was taken…
“Excuse me, miss, can I get a refill?”
I nod as I pass a table, balancing a tray stacked with dirty dishes. Where the heck is Pearl? That isn’t even my table.
“I need my check!” another table yells at me.
My backside meets the swinging door, and I drop the tray on the counter, blowing the loose tendrils of hair out of my face, taking a quick breath. People are out for blood today.
“Has anyone seen Pearl?”
The cooks all shake their heads. Seriously? Couldn’t she have picked a better time to disappear? We’re right in the middle of the lunch rush. I pop my head out the back door, checking to see if she’s smoking. She never would at this time, but where did she go? I groan in frustration when I hear the voices growing louder in the dining area.
As I’m about to push back through the swinging doors, Roberto stops me. I open my mouth to tell the owner of the Wallflower Diner that now isn’t the time. But he beats me to the punch.
“Hey, Pearl’s in the backroom, feeling woozy. I’m sending her home. Susie’s coming in an hour early, but I’ll come out and help clean off tables and run the tabs until she gets here.”
I stare at him, needing more information. Pearl never takes off work. She’d come in medicated before she would call in sick. “Is she okay? What’s wrong with her?”
He shrugs. “I’m not a doctor. She’s really pale and says she feels like she’s about to pass out.” His nonchalant attitude toward her annoys me.
“Did she eat something bad? Her blood sugar could be low. Do you think she’ll be okay going home by herself? Can she even drive?”
“Kali,” he says in a firm tone, interrupting my rambling. “I. Don’t. Know. And I don’t care. She said she’ll be fine. She just needs to go home and lie down. And I have a room full of people looking for their server.” He points out the door. “Get out there.”
Frustrated, I shoot him a narrowed glare, and he responds with a lifted brow, telling me to get moving. I huff, still worried about Pearl, but know he’s right. People will only get worse if they have to wait much longer. Within fifteen minutes, we’ve caught back up, and the crowd thins to just a few tables. I take a peek at the tip tally I keep track of during the day, and despite the exhaustion, I can’t help but smile at the better-than-normal numbers.
Making lemonade out of lemons.
“Oh my gosh, please tell me you haven’t been sitting here very long,” I say, stopping at a booth with a man sitting by himself, looking at his phone. He’s in Pearl’s section. No drink. No food. Who knows how long he’s been here. The stranger looks up from under the brim of his burnt-orange baseball hat and offers a charming smile.
Hello, Mr. Gorgeous. You’re not from around here, but will you marry me?
Dark curls peek out from the back of his hat, green eyes and perfectly straight white teeth greet me. Our town sits between two large universities, so college kids pass through frequently, especially during game weekends. This guy…totally fits the part. I imagine he’s in one of those fraternities, with girls throwing themselves at him at the incessant parties they have—the ones I overhear the college guys talk about. Yeah, I’m nosey like that. I’ve always wondered when they squeeze in their studies. But this guy, I bet he uses his handsome, boyish good looks to ace his classes.
“Not too long,” he responds.
Oh. He has a nice deep voice, too.
“Sorry. We’re a little understaffed today.”
“No worries. I’m not in any hurry. I’ve enjoyed watching you.”
My eyes widen, and I stand up a little straighter. Watching me? He’s out of my league, so my internal bullshit meter just popped up. I’m not horrendous. I’d rate myself a solid five. Long, thick, but mousy-brown hair with dull blue eyes, small boobs on a slender frame—average. This guy, however, doesn’t strike me as someone who settles for average. Not when he can get a ten, easy.
“That sounded creepy,” he adds, holding up his hand. “What I meant was, you’ve been working your ass off, so I didn’t want to add any more work when everyone seemed to be in a rush to get out of here.”
See, he’s just a nice guy, it wasn’t about me at all. “It’s too bad people couldn’t be more understanding like you.” His boyish charm contrasts sharply with his muscular physique, his shirt stretched tight around his biceps. “Headed back to school?”
“Yep. Went down south to see the family for the weekend.”
“Aw, that’s sweet. You’re a good son.”
“I try to be,” he says, his words carrying a trace of melancholy. I wonder about the story behind those words. The sadness behind them. But he shakes out of it, and he’s back to his boyish grin.
“So, what’ll be? It’ll be on the house for being so understanding.” Translated, I’ll be paying for it because Roberto doesn’t part with food without a transaction.
“I’ve heard about the famous cherry pie here. I’ll just have a piece of that.”
