Page 155 of How to Lose at Love

But everything isn’t fine.

When Ryann sees the trio of us walk through the front door of ROSCOE + MIMI, it looks as if she wants to flee through the back, the stack of plates she’s carrying almost slipping from her hands when I stride forward.

She fumbles with them as I take a seat in one of the booths, watching as she sets the plates on a nearby table.

Drake and Drew sit in another booth, my wingmen to the end.

Ryann stomps over. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you.”

She gives me a hard stare. “There is no loitering.”

No loitering? “What does that mean?”

“You can’t just sit here and not order something.”

My brows go up. “Is that an actual rule or did you make it up to get rid of me?”

Ryann raises her brows. “It’s an actual rule.”

Fine.

I take a menu and give it a glance. “I’ll do fries.”

She narrows her eyes. “Fine. Anything else?”

Drake turns around, arm up on the back of the booth. “I’ll do a burger and fries to go, and he’ll do a chicken sammich, also to go.”

The look she gives my brother could kill a man, or at least stop him in his tracks.

“Fine.” A writing pad materializes from the pocket of the cute little apron tied around her waist and she scribbles, walking in the direction of the kitchen. Slaps the piece of paper on the shelf for the chef, who’s staring through the small window separating the dining room and kitchen.

The dude gives me a wave with the spatula in his hand, and I hear Ryann scold him.

“Stop it,” she hisses. “We do not like him anymore.”

“We don’t?” asks the cook. He’s definitely our age and probably also a student.

“No.”

“Oh.” His face falls, and he gives me a wan smile before taking the sheet of paper and beginning our order.

Luck is on my side, though, because there are only two other people in the restaurant, an older couple who look to be my grandparents’ age, and they’re completely oblivious to the drama that’s about to unfold.

Ryann is back at my table, arms crossed.

Damn, she looks adorable in that apron, hair pulled back into a low ponytail, all professional and waitress-like.

“As soon as your order is up, you need to leave.”

Curt.

Serious.

“All right.” I nod. “But that means I get at least ten minutes to give you my side of the story, okay?” I pause. “Please, Ryann.”

“Please, Ryann,” I hear behind me.

---