First job asking clients at my work, “Do you want any cream or sugar with your coffee?” One guy answered, “No, just put your pinky in it and swirl it around. That’d be sweet enough for me.” Eighteen-year-old me was swooned off my feet with that line.
He’s now been making me coffee for forty-two years.
—LIZA C.
I froze. Like a deer in headlights, if deer wore pigtails and the headlights were twinkly brown eyes.
Chris’s gaze moved over me. I sucked in my stomach in some vain attempt to fold into myself and become invisible. Then he glanced away. Maybe that worked? After all, I was dressed like Hillbilly Barbie, and he couldn’t have been expecting me to be here.
As quickly and quietly as I could, I set up the folding table, keeping one eye on the job at hand and the other on Chris. Four other men and a woman were seated around the table; none of them seemed to notice us servers. At Heather’s direction, I slid plates of food in front of two of them and shuffled around the table to serve the last one. It put me closer to Chris. I held my breath.
Don’t notice me. Don’t make eye contact.
But when I risked a glance, he was staring right at me.
He squinted.
I rocked back on my heels.
He raised an eyebrow.
I shook my head.
He grinned slowly.
Of all the terrible restaurants with half-naked waitresses and he had to come into mine.
My hands started to shake. Unfortunately, I was holding an order of chicken wings. I watched in horror as the plate teetered and the contents slid off, landing on the lap of a middle-aged guy in a gray suit. Then I watched in slow motion as the bowl of Chicky’s dipping sauce took the same journey, leaving a blotchy red trail on the man’s hair, his face, his white shirt.
He swore loudly.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I hurriedly set the plate down and snatched a napkin off the table. With a wince, I rubbed at Chicken Wings Guy’s head like it was a genie’s bottle and I could wish this whole situation away. Yeah, that didn’t work.
He batted at my hands and yanked the napkin off his head.
“What the hell? You idiot!” he bellowed, his thin face turning almost purple.
I froze and was shocked to discover the backs of my eyes began to burn. I did not cry, and I would not now.
“This is a two-thousand-dollar suit!” He cursed again, throwing out a few choice words about my mother, my intelligence, my weight, my apparent sexual promiscuity, and my cat. I don’t know how he knew I had a cat but no one, no one, talked about Kevin like that.
My hands curled into fists. I opened my mouth, not exactly sure what was about to spill out, only mostly sure it would get me fired.
Before I could, Shane appeared by my elbow. My eyes swung to the side and caught on Chris. He frowned slightly; his head tilted to the side as though he wanted to say something. I shook my head and begged him silently to keep his mouth shut.
“I’m so sorry about this,” Shane said. “We’ll get you some towels. Please, let me take care of your meal today as an apology.” He pinched my elbow and growled through gritted teeth. “It’s coming out of your tips. Go get towels. Now.”
I snatched up the now empty folding table, ready to make a mad dash for the kitchen or possibly right out the back door to catch a shuttle to a different planet. Could I do that? Volunteer to repopulate Mars, or something? I’d have to research it.
How was this my life?
Chris’s voice stopped me. “It was an accident. No need to get angry. Nothing that can’t be fixed.”
His eyes moved between Chicken Wings Guy and my boss, a friendly smile on his face. But his voice had a firm, no-nonsense quality to it, like he meant business.
“Besides, that was an ugly suit anyway.” He grinned. “You did him a favor.”
Did he find this funny? This was not funny. This was my life. I glanced down at Chicken Wings Guy just as a glob of sauce dripped down from his hair to his nose and chin. Maybe it was a little funny.
I took a deep breath. “I am sorry. It was absolutely my fault. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”
Chicken Wings Guy opened his mouth, but Chris cut him off. “Nah, I’m sure Douglas understands that these things happen. He’ll take care of it but, Doug, you’re gonna need something to change into.” He swiveled his head around until it landed on the wall of Chicky’s merchandise—keychains, license plate holders, shot glasses, mostly stuff with sparkly letters and silhouettes of women in braided pigtails with large front and back carriages. Your run-of-the-mill money-grab merchandise.
Chris smiled widely. “I know exactly what you can do to help us out.”
In the next ten minutes, Chris dragged Doug to the bathroom. Shane gave me another hurried speech about getting my act together, and I cleaned up the mess while Heather put in for another order of chicken wings.
My mind raced as I sopped up the barbecue sauce. There was no good way to explain this away to Chris. He may be a football player, but it was becoming very clear he was a smart football player.
I pressed a hand to my stomach, overcome by the desire to puke my guts out. How had he managed to learn two secrets about me in such a short time? Secrets I’d worked hard at keeping hidden from every other person in my life.
I stood up from wiping the floor in time to see Chris leading Doug back to the table. Doug was free of chicken wings, sauce, and his fancy gray suit. It had been replaced with a pair of black sweatpants with Chicky’s sprawled up one leg in sparkly pink letters. It paired well with the pink t-shirt bearing the famous Chicky’s silhouette.
A manic laugh bubbled up and I pressed my lips together to stave it off.
Chris shot me a smile. “See? All taken care of.”
Doug did not look amused. Doug looked like he wanted to do me great bodily harm.
“I—I’m taking a fifteen-minute break,” I said to no one and scrambled into the kitchen. I slumped against the nearest wall. My breath sawed in and out like I’d run a marathon.
“You okay?” one of the cooks asked. “You look like you’re gonna be sick.”
I pushed off the wall, mumbling something about going to the bathroom. Once inside the ladies’ room, I splashed a little water on my face. One of my stupid fake eyelashes was hanging a whole lot lower than the other one. I looked like I was in a permanent state of winking.
“You’ll be fine,” I said to the mirror. “You made a mistake and yes, Chris Sterns showed up, a-and…” I paused, pulled in a deep breath and steadied my voice. “Shane hasn’t fired you yet. Just get back out there and do what you need to do. You got this.”
Good plan.
Solid plan.
With a renewed sense of confidence, I pulled open the door and there he was. Waiting. For me.
Fine. New plan. Without stopping, I grabbed Chris’s hand and yanked him down the hall to the only place we could have a chance of privacy—the supply closet. It was mostly shelves and a small space to store a mop bucket and vacuum. Still, we managed to cram both of us in there, and Chris was a whole lot bigger than a vacuum.
There was just enough room to breathe if he leaned back against the door. I pulled the string dangling down and a weak light snapped on.
I crossed my arms. They brushed against his chest. I uncrossed my arms. What the heck should I do with my arms?
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
One dark eyebrow rose. “You’re asking me that?”
I ignored him and plowed ahead. “I was almost starting to respect you. Why would you come to a place like this?”
My mouth said that, but my mind skittered somewhere else. Mostly thinking about how good he smelled. He wasn’t encased in a cologne burrito like most of the guys who came in here. It was a clean fragrance, like he’d just gotten out of the shower—and then my brain briefly struck on the idea of Chris Sterns in the shower even though it did not have my permission to go there. I stopped that immediately. These wayward thoughts had no place in my life. It was already crowded enough with jobs and bills and a stupid mayor/ex-boyfriend on a mission to ruin my library. Besides, I was Chris’s sister-friend. Geez. Get a grip.
He shrugged. “Doug’s my agent. He picked it.”
“Your agent is a sleaze.”
“I know. That’s what makes him a good agent,” he said. “My turn.”
“For what?”
“A question.” He frowned. “Where are your glasses?”
“Really? That’s the question?”
“I like your glasses. They suit you.” His eyes roamed my face then dropped lower. I wanted to cover up the copious amount of cleavage happening down there, but I forced myself not to. “I’m not sure this suits you, at all.”
I straightened, feeling almost offended. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know I can pull this outfit off just fine.”
He smirked. “I don’t think I said that.”
“You implied it.”
Now he crossed his arms, coming dangerously close to the ladies. He muttered something under his breath about four sisters and patience. “Let me try again. Why are you working here? Is this some sort of fantasy you’ve always had?”
“Yes, I’ve always dreamed of wearing Daisy Dukes while serving drunk guys overcooked food. I can die happy now. So glad we had this talk.”
He rubbed a hand over his chin, his eyes crinkling in the corners with amusement. “Hmm.”
“Hmm, what?”
“You should consider wearing this at the library. It could be very popular with a segment of the population who usually aren’t big readers—they’re more video watchers, if you know what I mean.”
“Shut up.”
He ignored me. “What about a story hour for adults? Hot wings, beer, you reading a selection of, ahem, adult literature?”
“I’m so glad you find this amusing.”
He flicked one of the braids resting on my shoulder. “These are a nice touch. I like them.”
“Are you done?”
He rubbed his thumb along his bottom lip like he was deep in thought. “I think so.”
“You are the most irritating person I have ever met. Do you know that?”
Judging from his expression, he wasn’t bothered by this observation at all. “It’s a gift.”
I took several deep breaths to curb the anxious rhythm of my heart. Irritating or not, he knew something about me I didn’t want anyone else to know.
He sighed and unfurled his arms. Gently, he cupped my shoulders. His voice was soft when he spoke. “Is everything okay?”
I stared up at him, at the concern in his eyes. It was like he could see straight through me, and I was almost overcome by the strangest desire to press my head right against his chest and tell him everything—my mother, the stroke, the medical bills, the library, Iris, my father’s possible return. Maybe he’d pull me close and rub my back and tell me it would be okay and that he’d help me figure it all out, and I would believe him.
But the thing is, life didn’t work that way. Heroes didn’t swoop in out of nowhere and solve your problems. Life wasn’t a romance novel. Life was more like a never-ending literary novel. Literary fiction never had happy endings, just real endings.
My eyes dropped to the buttons on his polo. “I’m fine. Just trying to earn a little extra money on the weekends, that’s all.”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he squeezed my shoulders and let go. But I felt the slightest touch on my cheek. It wasn’t weird except it was weirdly comforting, and I was shocked to discover tears were forming for the second time that night.
I cleared my throat and met his eyes with resolve. “Can you not tell anyone about this? Please?”
The twinkle was back in his eye and that was good. Turns out Gentle Understanding Chris was on my list of potential downfalls. “It’ll be just between us, Samantha.”
“Thank you. Now, I need to get back to work. So…” I waved a hand to encourage leaving. “Open the door. Let’s go. Chop-chop.”
With a grin, he rested his hand on the doorknob. “Although, if you wanted to wear that shirt to our next book club meeting, I would not be unhappy about it.”
Ignoring his laughter, I marched back to work.
