Page 4 of The Family Pet

“Bring me a bottle of Marques de Murrieta.”

My mind spun. That was one of the more expensive bottles we carried. “The, uh, Cast Ygay Bl? Sorry, I’m new,” I whispered, staring at the tablecloth while I swallowed hard.

His grip loosened and he dropped his hold. Whatever spell he’d cast that had kept me bowed in submission finally dissipated, and I shuffled back from the edge of the table with my tray in hand.

“One glass or two?” I asked, and my voice wouldn’t get any louder. He had to lean closer to hear me, and after I repeated myself, he snorted.

“One. You know Ridge doesn’t enjoy wine.”

Nodding, I rushed off with panic making it difficult to think. Uncle Bowie and Ridge hadn’t really done anything yet except order. My heart fluttered in a way that made me anxious. Were they here to help me? Had they found out I was working here? Did they want to give me a massive tip? I snorted. No, it was likely they wouldn’t tip at all, but that was fine. As long as they left without causing problems, I would count it as a win.

My stomach began to feel sick.

I brought back the ungodly expensive white wine, then opened it. We were all pretending not to know each other, for the most part. Ridge sat back in his chair with an amused quirk to his smile, and Uncle Bowie raised his eyebrows.

“Would you care to give your opinion on the wine, sir?” I asked.

Truthfully, once I’d opened the wine the table was supposed to be responsible for it, but the restaurant relied on repeat business, so they were more worried about not pissing off any of the upper-crust clientele than eating the cost on one bottle of alcohol. Would he make a scene? Would my manager have to comp this wine?

My hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

“Pour,” Uncle Bowie said, and I did. I held my breath as a single drop of the wine splattered on the white tablecloth and shot a look at his face. It was too much to hope he hadn’t noticed, and he scowled at me, shaking his head.

“Sorry, sir,” I murmured.

He grunted before taking a sip of the wine, then snatched the bottle from me and topped up the glass.

“I’ve always found this vintage lacking,” he said, but he wasn’t looking anywhere except in my eyes.

My body blazed hot. Maybe in the past I’d thought our family was better than his because Uncle Bowie’s wife had screwed around behind his back and my parents were still married. His son wanted to be a lawyer, which I’d always thought was awful work. I’d wanted to write philosophy arguments and live the life of a Godfrey. It wasn’t much of a game plan, but it wasn’t like I’d needed to work.

At least, not before Mom and Dad skipped town with my baby sister Gwendolyn. She’d just turned three, and they loved her more than anything in the world. More than me. I was pretty sure she was the reason they’d decided to leave New Gothenburg.

My heart hurt. They hadn’t cared about abandoning me here to deal with the consequences of their actions.

Uncle Bowie continued to stare at me, and Ridge laughed. Embarrassment heated my cheeks and my head felt light.

“Would you care to hear today’s specials? I apologize that I haven’t brought out the regular menus yet. I was waiting for you to arrive, sir,” I said to Uncle Bowie. That was a lie. I hadn’t known he was coming, and I wished he wasn’t here.

I glanced up, and Ashleigh at the front gave me a long look. Maybe she was noticing I wasn’t quite myself. I ignored her head tilt of inquiry.

“Sure, why not?” Uncle Bowie said, but he shrugged.

I rattled off the dishes of the day, certain I’d forgotten a few, but I wasn’t sure I cared.

“None of that sounds good,” Ridge said with a smile at his father, the very second my mouth snapped shut. “We should probably stop coming here. It’s going downhill.”

“Why don’t you bring us menus?” Uncle Bowie said, settling in. I groaned internally. They weren’t going to make this easy on me.

Nodding, I went off and grabbed the leather-bound menus from the serving station at the rear of the restaurant behind a half wall, then hustled back. I handed the menus to them like I would any customer, and before they could get a word out, I went over to take care of another table and bring them a bottle of wine.

When I was finished with the small production that occurred each time I hauled out a corkscrew, I disappeared through the doors to the kitchen, stumbled over to the humid dish room, and leaned against the wall. My skull throbbed as I finally gave in to the tightness in my chest. The small panic attack was almost a relief because I’d had to put on a strong front out there. I struggled for breath and gasped in as much air as I could.

“Hey!” Jeremy waved at me and walked over with his hands stuck in his black waterproof apron. He was taller than me, only twenty-one, and had been nothing but nice. His shaggy brown curls clung to his sweaty cheeks and he always seemed to be smiling. “Are you okay?” His expression softened with sympathy. “Bad crowd tonight?”

“Uh—” I laughed. “—yeah, I have some tough customers.”

“Who?” He shuffled a step closer and stared into my face like he cared about the answer. My heart lurched.