Page 15 of Vacation Friends

She stood and placed her napkin on her plate. She would go back to her apartment, cook some ramen, and change out of her red dress into some sweats and a T-shirt.

As she stepped away from the table, the waitress—a serious woman in her fifties with her hair pulled back into a tight bun—suddenly appeared in front of her. “Good evening, ma’am. Are you ready for your bill?”

“I didn’t order anything,” Cecilia reminded the waitress.

Her expression remained cool. “We have a minimum reservation fee.”

A minimum reservation fee? She’d never heard of such. Then again, her idea of a nice dinner was Applebee’s.

“But I didn’t even make this reservation . . .” Cecilia explained. Certainly this woman would hear what happened and back off. Anyone with some common sense would.

“I understand. But here’s your check.” The waitress handed her a slip of paper. “Our tables are in high demand, so we charge for each reservation.”

Cecilia’s eyes widened when she saw the amount on the bill. “It cost that much just to reserve a table here?”

“That’s right.” The waitress frowned. “People who come into establishments like this usually understand the intricacies of fine dining.”

She heard the underlying tone in the woman’s voice.

Cecilia didn’t belong in places like this.

But sixty dollars for a reservation fee seemed excessive. “That’s my entire pay after working a day at Balderston’s Department Store.”

The waitress’s expression remained unchanged. “I understand, but that’s not my problem.”

Cecilia needed that money. Sixty dollars could buy her groceries for a week. Her pantry wasn’t even stocked with anything expensive—mostly ramen, spaghetti noodles, jars of marinara sauce, and a few cans of tuna.

“I didn’t eat any food.” She worked hard to keep her voice calm, to not get wound up or cause a scene. “So I don’t feel as if I need to pay for simply being here.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not the way it works.” The waitress popped her hip out, clearly becoming impatient.

The woman had to have other tables to oversee, other patrons to serve. Couldn’t she just move on?

Ryan. This was his fault. If he’d just shown up, then Cecilia wouldn’t be in this position right now.

She should have known the man was too smooth for his own good. What man took that much time picking out an apple?

“Do I need to get my manager?” The waitress’s voice turned from cool to almost angry.

Cecilia glanced around. Other restaurant patrons—the rich elite who frequented high-brow places like this—were already starting to stare. She couldn’t blame them. She knew she was creating a scene, even though that hadn’t been her intention.

“Ma’am?” the waitress repeated as she waited for her answer.

“You don’t need to get your manager because I’m not paying for it,” Cecilia repeated, crossing her arms. The fact that these people thought she should pay sixty dollars just for the privilege of sitting at one of their tables was ridiculous.

“I’m afraid that’s not going to work.” The waitress’s words sounded clipped and tight.

Cecilia heard the judgment in her tone, and she didn’t appreciate it. She might not be rich, but that didn’t mean?—

“Here you go,” a deep voice cut into the conversation. “This should cover the ridiculous cost you have for simply entering this establishment. Now, if you’ll please leave this nice woman alone. She seems to be the only one here with any common sense.”

Cecilia’s breath caught as she looked up at the man who’d interceded for her.

In his thirties. Dark hair. A nice suit.

He screamed affluence.

The waitress actually flushed as she took the money from him and nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

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