Page 47 of Crossed Paths
“I’m not sending someone else in to mop it up. I’m going to look her in the eye and take responsibility. She deserves that much.”
Chapter 14
Alexandra
Istand behind thebar, watching the three remaining waitresses weave through the room with tight smiles and trays of nibbles. One nearly collides with a guest who suddenly turns to take a selfie with the cake table. The other glances back toward me, eyes wide, like she’s hoping I’ll tell her what to do next.
I don’t.
I can’t.
Not when I’ve got three drink orders half-poured, a broken glass in front of the fridge, and my phone buzzing with a text I don’t have time to read.
This is going to be one fucking nightmare.
I wipe my hands on a tea towel and take a breath, trying not to let the panic show. There should be a break when the food goes out—a lull. But even with that, we’re painfully understaffed. For a party this size, it’s a joke.
Since Tom, Marco, and Magda walked out on Tuesday, I’ve tried everything. Called in favours, posted in every local group. A couple of mates offered to help, but the truth is, unless you’ve done this before, you’re more likelyto get in the way than help. I don’t have time to babysit anyone today.
And right now? I need experienced hands. Not good intentions.
Mandy insisted on coming down and whilst she can’t help me on the bar, she is trying to manage the waitresses with her very limited knowledge of service.
I press my fingers to my temples, then force them down to the counter.
No crying. No cracking.
I’m not giving anyone the satisfaction; not the clipboard-clutching bride, not the guests waiting to be served, and definitely not the part of me that still flinches when I think about Hunter.
Not the part thathurts.
I straighten the menus again. Focus. Breathe.
The door to the back corridor clicks open behind me, quiet enough to miss unless you’ve worked here long enough to know what every door sounds like.
I don’t turn around.
Not until I hear footsteps.
And suddenly he’s here.
Hunter steps behind the bar like he belongs there. Like it’s normal. Like nothing’s happened.
Peter’s right behind him.
I freeze, spine going rigid. “This area’s not for guests,” I say, flat. Sharp.
Hunter doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t say a word. He just crouches down and starts gathering the shards of the broken glass from the floor like I haven’t just tried to throw him out.
My chest tightens.
Peter steps forward, more hesitant. “Ally, it’s not—”
But I hold up a hand. Still facing straight ahead. Still pretending I’m fine.
I don’t let him finish.
Because if he saysit’s not what I think, orHunter didn’t mean to, orlet us explain—I don’t know what I’ll do.
