Page 112 of Over the Edge

“I’m happy that you are taking life by the balls.”

“Alina,” I cough out.

“I said it. Live with it. Now, do that last song again,” she prompts.

We play through “Put Your Head on My Shoulder” two more times. The only reason I don’t get asked to do a third is because my phone starts to ring.

“Yeah?” I ask wearily.

“I have a favor to ask,” Fletcher says, without greeting.

“Another old Volkswagen?”

“It’s Annie, she’s got a stomach bug and can’t make it to Butter Half for her shift. I normally wouldn’t ask if it was a slower season,” he says.

I know what he means, it’s fall and everything has been booked out. Most businesses are struggling to keep up with demand.

“If there’s no one else, then I can stop in for a bit,” I say.

“There really isn’t.”

“Thought so, I’ll head over.”

I’ve stepped in over the years at plenty of the shops and businesses around town. First, it was because Lana would miss shifts and I was trying to make it up to the business owners who went out on a limb to hire her, despite her reputation for being unreliable. As I grew older, it gave me a comfort that even if I didn’t fit somewhere specifically, I could step in as needed.

I text Evelyn that I’ll be at Butter Half, but I don’t get a response by the time I arrive at the cafe. There is a line of people trailing around the corner waiting for an available table. I give a nod to the hostess before heading to the back and grabbing a spare apron and server notepad.

The tide of business drags me in. I carry hot plates loaded with the special, eggs benedict and bacon, refill the diner-style mugs over and over with the house roast coffee. Time loses meaning in the familiar monotony. It’s past two when the shift lead asks me if I can roll silverware before I head out. I walk out from the back to find an empty table to sit at as I work. The crowd has subsided, and the outside patio has closed since dark clouds have rolled in.

“Hey, didn’t know you’d be here,” Oliver says, looking up from his menu. Quinn is seated across from him sipping tea, but there’s no third menu.

“Yeah, just helping out for the lunch rush.” I prop the bin of silverware on my hip as I settle into the conversation.

“Glad we missed the crowd.” Quinn folds her menu and places it to the side.

“Good to see you’re doing okay. Evelyn told me she went to see you earlier,” I say.

Oliver’s brows inch up his forehead. “Oh, she told you?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t she?” I ask.

Quinn lets out an exaggerated breath. “Thank God. I was hoping she would tell you. I’m too tired to keep pretending to be dating Ollie. I just want a shit ton of bacon and a nap.”

“Can you please stop acting like dating me was the worst thing to happen to you?” Oliver winces. Poor guy. “I’m an excellent fake boyfriend.”

Fake.

My expression falls. “What?”

“Yeah, there was never anything between us. We just did it to make you two feel comfortable,” Oliver explains, and his good humored expression makes me feel like I’m in a fun house.

My grip tightens on the bin causing the edge to dig into my fingers. That doesn’t make any sense. But if that’s true…God. If Oliver cared enough about Evelyn to fake a relationship, thenwho knows how he still feels about her. He’s the better option. They have history. They built a life together. Hell, they were engaged. I can’t promise her the same simple things that she knows she can get with him.

My throat tightens as I feel history repeating. There’s always someone better. Always a person more worthy of their time. I’m just a pit stop that tricked itself into getting used to the idea of something permanent.

“Where is she?” I croak.

Quinn and Oliver share a glance then Oliver says, “I think she went on a hike on that trail you guys missed out on a few days ago.”

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