Page 45 of Their Christmas Miracle

The waiter took the machine from her as it began to spill out a slip of paper. He tore it off, slid it over the bill folder, and tapped at a word.

“Declined, ma’am. Can I try again?”

Elle blinked at that word, inhaled a stifling breath, and nodded.

A minute later, another slip of paper joined the first.

“Do you have another card, ma’am?”

“There’s—this one should—”

What was the point of arguing? She slid another card out. Handed it over. Watched the waiter’s face grow stony and unreadable. A third slip joined the others.

“Could you please come through to the office? My manager—”

“There’s nothing wrong with my credit cards.” Elle shoved a third one in the kid’s direction. “Here.”

“Ma’am…” The waiter shifted from foot to foot.

Elle dipped her head and glanced around from under her lashes. A few of the closest patrons were openly staring at her. One woman had a wine glass frozen against her lips, eyes wide as she watched this spectacle unfurl.

“Yes, okay.” Elle got to her feet. The carpet felt too soft and springy under her heels. She had a death-grip on the strap of her handbag as the waiter led her across the restaurant toward a distant, dark doorway.

The waiter exchanged murmured words with a suit-and-tie while Elle did her best not to spontaneously combust from humiliation. The waiter held out an arm, and then disappeared as soon as Elle stepped inside the room.

Elle blinked rapidly. The manager held all three her credit cards in his fingers, tapping them against the desk behind him as he bit the corner of his lip.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I have to cut these up — they’ve been canceled.”

She watched him for a few seconds, waiting for him to add something that would turn his words into something that made sense. But he didn’t. He just watched her. Tapping those cards.

Swallowing hard, Elle leaned her weight onto her back foot. “I don’t understand. I used that one — the black one — less than an hour ago.”

The manager shrugged as he turned around and slid open a drawer. Elle’s spine stiffened when he drew out a pair of scissors.

“Hey!” She reached for the cards, but the manager knocked her arm aside with his elbow.

“Ma’am, please. It’s regulation—”

“You can’t do that!” She heard her own voice rebounding from the walls of the small office and took a small, unsteady step back. “You can’t… do that.”

But he did.

Then he told her she owed him twenty-eight dollars for the drinks.

So she laughed at him. Dragged her purse from her handbag. Stared at the notes neatly arranged inside. She’d drawn five hundred from the ATM; she didn’t like carrying cash around with her. She took out a twenty and shook it in his face.

“There. Take your Goddamn money.”

He did, seeming reluctant. “It’s twenty—”

But she didn’t stay to hear the rest.

Elle stormed out of the restaurant, wobbling on her heels over the thick carpeting all the while suppressing a sob so hard that her diaphragm convulsed with the effort.

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