Page 3 of Just a Distraction

He lifts a shoulder. “Maybe taking him down a notch might help the greater good. The other servers might be grateful for that.”

“Oh, I’m the only one he mistreats.”

His jaw tightens and his gaze flicks over me. “Well, even more reason to embarrass him.”

“Wait. No.” I glance over at the kitchen. “I can’t get you involved. I don’t even know why I said anything.” I clap my hands over my cheeks. “It was unprofessional of me.”

“Stop.” He lightly rests his hand on my elbow. “I’m glad you said something.” When he removes his hand, I realize his touch had been warm. So brilliantly and unexpectedly warm, like when sunlight spills onto the kitchen floor and your bare feet soak it in.

“Just—” Now my neck is warm. “Forget it. Are you waiting on anyone else to join you tonight, or . . .?”

“Can I tellyoua secret?” he says, clasping his hands together on the table in front of him. “I’m here on a Friday night, eating by myself because everyone else in my family has a significant other they’re spending time with and I don’t. So . . .” He leans back against his chair. “We’re doing this.”

I chuckle, crossing my arms over my chest. “Wow. Alone on a Friday night? That’s a little pathetic,” I tease, and ignore the thrill that the thought ofhe’s singlebrings up.

I think I might be the pathetic one.

He nods and takes a sip of water from his heavy, icy glass. “It is. That’s why you need to help me out with my boring, pathetic night.” His gaze flicks over my face, seeming to take in every detail of it.

I look behind me again. The tables on either side of us are empty, so it’s giving us a bit of a buffer from anyone hearing. “So, what’s your idea that’s so much better than my whipped cream one?”

“Well, he’s obviously got narcissistic tendencies.” His tone is joking, but he’s not wrong.

“Obviously,” I agree.

“And he’s got bad breath and webbed feet.”

A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. “Nailed it.”

“Does your boss do the cooking?”

“No. He’s part owner. He does administrative stuff.” The reason he wasn’t fired long ago is because his family owns the place. It’s why he can get away with all the crap he pulls.

Like scheduling me to work tonight, of all nights.

My customer tips his head back and laughs, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Nerves tickle my middle. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing too terrible, I promise.” His eyes bore into me. “I can’t have him messing with you.” His chuckle is low as his words reverberate through me. “Let’s do this.”

Chapter 2

Rose

I run the tip of my tongue over my lips, strangely excited about the possibility of hatching a plan with my new favorite customer. My other customers are getting restless, though, so I need to take care of them first. “Alright,” I say, in a breezy tone. “I’ll be back.”

Without another glance, I attend to my other tables, return to the kitchen, and see on the screen above the prepping station that his pasta carbonara order won’t be up for a few more minutes.

That means I have a minute to check on my baby. I rush to the breakroom where Callum is being watched by Blaine’s mother, Darla. My sister, Eden, is gathering his things into the diaper bag.

“How’s he doing?” I ask, dropping a swift smooch on Callum’s head, marveling at the perfection that is my thirteen-month-old boy. He’s playing on a blanket on the floor, maneuvering around it on his thick legs, toys in both of his hands.

“He’s been fine,” Darla says, standing from an office chair. She offers a kind smile. “He ate all the food you packed.”

Eden slings the diaper bag onto her shoulder and picks him up. The blanket

gets a little tangled in his legs, and I help to ease him out of it.

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