Page 60 of Naughty Santa Daddy

Susan, one of the other waitresses, called out, which I should’ve known would happen since she’s known for not giving a shit about others, but I was hoping she’d actually show up.

She is always rude, disrespectful, and lazy—three traits that are not good for a person in the food service industry.

Needless to say, Susan is not at the top of my list of people I like. Hell, she isn’t even on it. But she’s another set of hands to where I have at least a little time off from this place. Of course, only when she shows up. She won’t last long here. Gilbert gives people several shots, but once his patience runs out, he’s going to chuck her.

Then I’ll have to move on and find someone else to train, which takes up a lot of damn time that I don’t have.

Grin on my face, a haggard man with scuffed-to-hell boots and dirt smudged on his face walks through the door. If I were a betting woman, it appears he hasn’t slept in quite some time. Can’t help my curiosity about his story, not that I will dare ask. It’s none of my business, and the way I grew up, keeping my nose out of other people's problems is always safer.

With a large backpack on, he approaches the counter and takes a seat. He groans, taking the pack off and setting it on the floor.

“Well, hello there. What can I get you?” I ask, grabbing a menu and placing it down in front of him.

In a very raspy voice, he answers, “Water, please.”

“Sure thing. Gotta run out some food. Be right back.”

He doesn’t answer, just nods. Out of the corner of my eye, tall, dark, and handsome has his nose in his newspaper. That man. Strange. Mysterious. And very, very hot. But what is with the newspaper? No one reads those anymore, do they? Phones. Tablets. But a physical paper? Strange.

After doing a run and double-checking on my patrons, I head back to the stranger. “What can I get you?”

“What can a buck sixty-seven get me?” he asks, my heart sinking for him.

Anytime I encounter someone struggling, it instantly takes me back to the day before I turned eighteen. My foster parents at the time sat me down with my pillowcase of belongings beside them and explained,“Hadley, you’re a sweet girl. Life will be good for you. At midnight, you turn eighteen and you’re out of the system. We need the money, so you are going to have to go in order for the caseworker to bring us the next child. It’s been nice having you with us for the last year.”

And with those parting words, I was tossed out to figure life out. I had my car, which is a clunker, and two hundred dollars saved to begin my life… alone.

Mentally, I begin thinking through the menu to help this fellow out. Less than two dollars is a stretch for sure. A cup of coffee, maybe. Even sides are one ninety-nine or up. The cheapest meal is five ninety-nine. Yeah, he isn’t going to get much.

I don’t have money to spare. Every dime I make is put to bills, trying to live, and keeping my car running. I was him once, though. No money. No home. Starving. Nothing.

A kind woman gave me help when I was sleeping in my car those first few months. She found me sleeping in the parking lot of the grocery store I worked at. Offered me a temporary place to shower, sleep, and gave me the best advice anyone could:“Get yourself a job waiting tables. The tips will pay out daily.Honey, it’s always a man’s world, but we women need to think smart to survive.”

My heartstrings tug at me with all the memories, and I need to figure out what I can spare. This won’t be much, but it is something. At least he can have a belly full before resuming his travels. It is the holiday season, and maybe this will be the only meal he gets.

“It can get you two eggs, biscuits and sausage gravy, bacon, sausages, home fries, hot cakes, and a coffee. You in?”

His brows rise to the top of his head in shock. “All that?”

“Yep. How do you want your eggs?” I ask, not blinking an eye. No one likes being pitied. I sure didn’t and still don’t. Consider it an early Christmas present to a stranger.

“Over easy, please.”

“You got it. It’ll be ready soon.” Smiling, I write everything down on the ticket and put it on the spinner for Gilbert. He lifts his chin, acknowledging the order, and begins to get to work. It doesn’t take long before the food is ready, and I serve him.

As soon as the plate is set down, the bell over the door rings, and Mr. Mysterious walks out. Guess he’s done for the day. Coffee and a newspaper in an old diner—how thrilling! No wonder he’s always frowning. Maybe he needs more sunshine in the mornings and some sugar in that coffee.

Hours pass. Charlie comes and goes, being his awesome self.

The man who ate hours ago still sits at the counter. I have filled his water and coffee more times than I can count. I figured he’d be gone by now, but he’s found his perch. Hot damn, he is about to be Carrie’s problem, as she walks through the door. I am beyond tired and ready to get out of here.

My double shift was a killer yesterday, and I really need sleep. A shower sounds good too, but my feet are about ready to fall off. I’ll cross that bridge of deciding when I get the heck out of here.

“Hey, girl,” I greet as she approaches. “Cashed out and ready.”

“Give me ten to put my bag in the back and go pee,” she responds, moving quickly behind the doors to the small employee room. The relief I feel almost knocks me to my knees. Carrie is a single mom and can only work limited shifts, and she isn’t always reliable to show up. I don’t know if I could have handled working until we close tonight.

“Miss.” The guy from the counter calls, and I grab the coffee pot instinctually, moving to him.

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