Page 44 of Not in My Book

“What about drinks?”

“Fuck.” Her face paled. “I knew I forgot something.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll fix it. It’ll be fine.”

I spent the next three and a half hours running around the restaurant, delivering food, and spilling plenty of drinks on myself. Every time I asked the bar for a drink, I thought about begging one of the tenders to switch with me, but I wouldn’t inflict the hell that is food service on anyone.

Even though the holiday season had officially started, the customers weren’t acting like it. They’d send food back, complaining it wasn’t to their standards, and more than one server complained about tables giving shitty tips.

Finally,finally,the closing waitress came in to switch off our shifts. I began to pull my tie off, but something caught my eye. A peacoat.

Aiden was here. He and an older man were being seated in my section. This must have been his father. They had the same square jaw and angular nose, and they were around the same height. But where Aiden had gorgeous, full dark hair, the man’s was graying. Lighter strands peppered around the nape of his neck and into his beard. Both of them were dressed in finely pressed suits, Aiden’s peacoat hanging off the back of his chair.

“You ready to get out of here?” Lisa asked. She was straightening her tie and reaching for the notebook in the pocket of her apron.

I nodded but continued to watch Aiden. His back was turned toward me, but I could see his dad clear as day. Like Aiden, he didn’t smile. He seemed to have permanent frown wrinkles by his mouth, quickly spitting out angry words. Aiden still had his perfect posture, but it looked like every muscle in his body was tensed in defense.

“Actually, I can take this last table,” I told Lisa, my eyes not leaving Aiden. I knew I shouldn’t have interfered, but when Aiden’s knuckles turned white as he gripped his glass, I couldn’t help it. “Why don’t you grab some food from the kitchen before your shift?”

Before she could answer, I stalked off toward Aiden.

“You’ve proved your point and had your fun,” Mr. Huntington scolded. “It’s time you quit and—”

“Hi,” I interrupted. I smiled down at them, my ponytail swaying slightly behind me.

Aiden’s head jerked up from the menu to meet my gaze. “Rosie?”

He blinked up at me, dumbstruck, as if he couldn’t believe he was seeing me. I knew now was not the time to gloat about howIwas the taller one for once, but man, I really wanted to.

“Hey,” I said softly. I turned to Aiden’s dad. “Hi, Mr. Huntington, I’m Rosie. I have a class with Aiden, but I’ll be your server tonight.” He only hummed and picked up his menu. I glanced at Aiden, and he was watching me with a look I couldn’t discern. “What can I get started for you guys?”

Aiden spoke quickly, his words in clipped sentences like always. But I could hear the distress and the strain in every syllable, and my mind flashed to the little boy alone in the subway car.

“I’ll take the steak, cupcake,” Mr. Huntington said, his eyes never straying from my chest. “Medium rare.”

“For your sides?” I asked, scribbling it down.

“What, you gotta write all that down to remember? That’s what you go to that big, fancy school for?” Mr. Huntington looked to Aiden to share a laugh, but Aiden’s jaw was clenched. He turned away from his father and to me with an apology in his eyes.

“Your sides,” I prompted flatly.

I thought Aiden was bad, but I’d take him every time over his father. Back home, men often called me “sweetheart” or “sweet cheeks,” which was horrible, but preferable over the demeaning way Mr. Huntington had reduced me to nothing but a servant.

“I’ll be back in a little while with the food.” I snapped my black notebook shut and slipped it into my apron. “In the meantime, let me know if y’all need anything.” I gave Aiden a kind smile for the first time in my life and went to enter their tickets.

As I waited for the kitchen to finish up the food, I kept my eyes on Aiden and his father. Aiden took quick sips of his water, just like he had on our first date when silence fell between us. He looked nervous now—had he been nervous then?

Finally, their food was ready. Neither of them spoke as I set the plates in front of them, adjusting their utensils and drinks accordingly. Just as I was about to leave, Aiden’s father stopped me.

“Cupcake, what class do you take with Aiden?”

My gaze slid over to Aiden. He looked straight ahead, his jaw clenched.

I smiled, hoping to lighten the mood. “Is this a trick question?”

His father’s glare sent shivers down my back. “No.”

My smile dropped quickly, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. “We’re in a fiction workshop that preps us for our thesis.”

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