Page 6 of Just a Distraction

“Uh, Miss?” I hold up a finger as Rose rushes past my table.

She whirls around, her face equal parts horror and “I’m your waitress, so I have to be kind.” I backpedal. Maybe she really is having second thoughts.

I rein in some of the chiding tone I’d planned. “I’m . . . disappointed in these sardines.”

“Oh?” She arches a brow, her cheeks stained the perfect shade of pink. “I apologize. Would you like something else?” Her lips twitch as her voice carries across the room.

I pause, unsure. I don’t want to make any trouble for her. She blinks twice, deliberately, as if we’re suddenly using this secret eye language.

Blink twice for help, three times for all systems go, and four times if you want my phone number.

But she doesn’t blink again, so I’m whisked out of my imaginary flirting. She nods as if to encourage me, so I continue on. “I don’t want anything else. These are just . . .” I think of the mouthfeel and gag internally. “Not good. Can I speak to your manager, please?”

Rose chews her bottom lip and then offers a curt smile. “Of course.”

I still can’t tell if she’s having second thoughts. She’s probably a better actor than I am. Regardless, we’re doing this, so I have to be all in.

Do not laugh. Do not laugh.

I curl my hands into fists to brace myself, but once I get a glimpse of Blaine, all tendencies to break out in laughter go away. He’s scowling and sort of has this deer-in-the-headlights look, like he got pulled away from something important.

“Hello, sir,” he says, Rose at his heels. The tension between them is strange—heavy. “What seems to be the problem?” He’s got dark hair in a buzz cut and a faint scar across his chin. He’s wearing a nametag and the same type of black kitchen work shoes that Rose has on. With his black, tucked-in button down shirt and tight black pants, he looks like a hulking stagehand in our play.

Instead of the villain he’s imagining himself to be, he’s nothing but an anonymous stagehand.

I curb the smile that’s biting against my mouth. “Well, I ordered sardines, but what I got was a big pile of crap.”

Rose’s professional expression starts to waver, and she eases back so Blaine can’t see her covering her mouth with her hand.

Blaine’s jaw muscles harden. “I apologize you don’t like them. They can be an acquired taste.”

“Oh, I’ve already acquired the taste for sardines. The problem is, these are far too slimy and should not be served to anyone.”

Blaine’s eyebrow twitches. “I’ll see that they’re comped on your check.”

I shake my head. “I’d say you can do better than that. To just comp them would be something you’d do for getting an order wrong or taking too long to get the food to the table, that sort of thing.” I make a sweeping motion with my hands in front of my plate. “But to bring this rubbish to me, expecting me to eat it?” I glance at his nametag. “That’s low, Blaine.” I raise my chin, my eyes lazily taking him in. “So yeah, comp them. But what else are you going to give me?”

Blaine draws in a breath, his shoulders hunching to his ears. He’ll never win any customer service awards with this attitude. “Can I ask you to keep your voice down?” His gaze goes to the tables where a loud group of men in their thirties have quieted as they’ve started digging into their cannolis. His face flushes.

I take a swig of water and run it around the inside of my mouth like it’s mouthwash. “Seriously,” I say in a quieter tone. “What are you going to give me to get this bad taste out of my mouth?”

Blaine glances behind him at Rose, who’s three tables down taking an order, her back ramrod straight. He returns his gaze to mine. “We can have your waitress get you a fountain drink.” He barks at Rose. “Bring him a Coke, will ya?”

“That waitress has a name. It’s Rose. And you know what?” I lean back in the booth. It feels good to have the upper hand. Blaine’s obviously the type of guy who’s used to thinking he’s in complete control all the time.

“What?” he asks in a mutter.

“I’ll have you know Rose has given me excellent service. She’s a true gem. A flower befitting of her name. I heard you yelling at her earlier, and I don’t appreciate it.”

Blaine widens his stance. His nostrils flare. “What’s it to you?”

“When a woman is being mistreated in my presence, I will say something, one hundred percent of the time.”

“What if it’s none of your business?” He rocks side to side, like he wants to strike.

“Verbal abuse is everyone’s business.”

Blaine grunts out a bark of a laugh. “Verbal abuse?”

---