Page 10 of Loaded

Maple?

“And?” She arches one eyebrow.

The bun’s soft on top, crunchy underneath, and the sauce, the onions, and the cheese offset the patties perfectly. It’s the best burger I’ve ever had, and Iloveburgers. I didn’t tell her that. After what I did tell her, I expected seafood.

“It’s really, really good. But if this burger costs a hundred bucks, I’m going to be annoyed.”

“Will you really?” She drops one hand on her hip.

Nothing she does could annoy me. “Absolutely,” I lie.

“You’re in luck, then. It’s the cheapest thing on the menu.”

“Doesn’t that cut into your tip?”

She shrugs. “I think happy customers tip better.”

“But surely ten percent of a hundred bucks is better than twenty or thirty percent of twenty-five?”

Bea leans closer, her breath washing over the side of my face when she whispers, “People come here for an experience. As long as we deliver, we’re doing our job.”

An experience.

I turn so I can see her face, and I’m lost again. Her eyes are like nothing I’ve ever seen. So earnest, so sincere, and so doe-like. “Well, I appreciate your sensibility about my budget.” I cringe as I say it. What’s wrong with me? I haven’t flirted in so long—have I forgotten how? That’s embarrassing.

She straightens. “What should I do with hers?”

“Do you happen to like crab or filet?”

She scrunches her nose. “I prefer mine medium rare, but there’s no way she’d eat that.”

“So you ruined a perfectly good filet.”

“It’s butterflied.” She shrugs. “So yeah, ruined.”

I laugh again. “Better throw it to the dogs.”

“Do you have a dog?”

I’ve never wanted to have a dog more in my entire life. “I should get one, now that I have a little more time.” I smile. “I know someone who could help me with it.” Gah, Easton, you idiot. I should have told her I needed her help in picking one.

“Elizabeth’s very passionate about pets,” she says.

“You’re not?”

“I like animals,” she says. “But I’m not really in a position to take care of one. I work long hours, and I’mnot exactly ordering steaks and crab to toss to a dog.” She winks.

I’m such an idiot. She’s a waitress, and I’m just reminding her of that. “I feel you on not having the time.” And now I’m just staring at her again.

“Well, I’ll let you eat that burger.” She shoots me a half-smile and then she’s gone.

Like a buttercup at sunset, I slump over my burger. It’s delicious, but I swear it tastes twice as good when she’s smiling in my direction.

When she brings me a dessert—just one this time—I perk back up. “What’s this?”

She’s literally carrying a balloon suspended by what looks sort of like a sour straw, connected to a tray that’s covered with chocolates and syrup.

“You seem like someone who appreciates presentation as much as flavor.” She tilts her head. “Is that wrong?”

---