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Celia shook her head. She didn’t mention that she’d already splurged on a bus pass to get around the city. “I thought I might give it a go here, if I can find a job.”
His sunbeam of a smile appeared again. “That’s amazing, Celia. I’ll be glad to have you closer.” The smile faded, and he leaned in closer. “Are you certain, though? I understood why you needed to leave.”
“I’m not a kid anymore,” she said. Malcolm often needed the reminder.
Her cousin laughed. “It was hard to tell last night, with you drenched and in Trent’s coat.”
She ignored the barb, taking a sip of her ginger ale. “I got caught in the rain. It can happen to anyone.”
Above them, something slammed, followed by quick, clanging steps down the stairs. When the waitress from the night before appeared, her face was bright red, and she was already ripping off her apron.
“The next order has been up,” Malcolm told her.
The waitress’s apron hit the bar before sliding to the ground. “I’m done,” she said, not even pausing as she stalked out the door.
Malcolm sighed.
Slower steps descended the stairs, and Blake sheepishly met Malcolm’s hardening gaze. “You had to do it, didn’t you?” Malcolm asked.
Blake shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not my fault you keep hiring the crazy chicks.”
Malcolm slammed the bar entrance up, stalking toward his friend and grabbing him by the arm to drag him away from the patrons already enamored by the drama. “If you didn’t fuck and then dump them, they wouldn’t get so angry,” Malcolm snapped.
Celia tuned out the rest of the argument. It was pretty obvious what had happened, and she didn’t need a blow by blow. Glancing at the food that had likely begun to chill, she slid off her chair and bent to retrieve the apron, tying it on. She worked through who in the crowd the completed dishes were likely for and grabbed the first two.
Crossing to the older couple by the window, she cleared her throat. The white-haired woman with the flowered blouse turned her way. “You had the chicken salad?” Celia asked.
“Oh, yes,” the woman said.
Celia placed the food in front of her, with the older man’s turkey sandwich with green beans instead of fries following suit.
The bushy eyebrows on the older man drooped. “Green beans. My wife is worried about my cholesterol, you know.”
“I plan on keeping you for a while longer,” she said, rolling her utensils open with a pointed look in his direction.
The old man sighed, but his expression eased into a smile as he looked across the table at his wife.
Celia reached for the nearly empty glass in front of the woman to avoid the personal conversation. “What were you drinking?”
“Oh, just an iced tea, sweetie,” the older woman said.
“Coming right up,” Celia promised, taking the glass with her. The tea carafe was in the corner near the kitchen. She refilled the glass, grabbing another plate on the way. After dropping off the older woman’s drink, she approached the short woman closest to the stairs, the one that had a certain tilt to her chin. “This one yours?” she asked, indicating the burger with loaded-down cheese fries.
The woman’s eyes locked on the food. “Oh, yes.” She moved her drink back to make room, glancing up to where Malcolm continued to lecture his friend. “All this drama gave me a bigger appetite.” The short woman’s eyes were locked on Blake.
Celia shook her head, but the woman didn’t notice. “Do you need any condiments?”
Another order was up from the kitchen while she was gathering the ketchup, and Celia made quick work delivering both. When she returned to the bar with an empty beer glass, Malcolm was behind it again, eyeing her thoughtfully.
Celia slid the glass to him. “A refill of the blonde ale.”
Malcolm nodded, turning to the tap. “I don’t remember waitressing being one of your prior jobs.”
She shrugged, her fingers smoothing down the apron. “It’s a job if I’m in a pinch, though I don’t seek it out typically.” She glanced over at the older couple, leaning toward each other while they talked. “The tips are better for those that add a personal touch or a bit of charm.”
“Ah,” Malcolm grunted, placing the beer in front of her. “And charm isn’t your style.”
Celia didn’t see a need to confirm that, choosing to deliver the beer instead. When she crossed back to Malcolm, she nodded at another table. “They’re ready for their check, but I wasn’t sure what you charged.”
