Page 252 of Branded
“You.” A grin. “Courtesy of Matt.” She inclined her head, red hair bouncing, toward the bar, where my boss was watching the table. When our gazes connected, he smiled and nodded at the table, silently telling me to sit down. He was always watching out for me, though thankfully, I could take care of myself nowadays—something that hadn’t been true when he’d first hired me.
Hence the spilled trays.
Now, though, I was an expert level waitress.
But he still watched out for me—albeit with less frequency, considering he was busy with his own husband and baby and had handed off a lot of the management of CeCe’s.
I was thrilled for him. He deserved to be happy.
“See?” Beth said, drawing my focus again, her lips turning up. “Even your boss says you need a break.”
I smothered a sigh. Knew I’d been bested. “Are you going to share your cheese?”
The women came in, usually once a week, and indulged in Cheese Night Extravaganza—basically, they ordered any and all types of unhealthy cheese on the menu and went to town, pounding more food down than I had ever seen anyone eat.
And they still had things like waists (minus Beth, who was acting as a surrogate and carrying twins for Pru) and sleekly muscled arms.
Seriously.
I would hate them if they weren’t so fun.
They were also highly protective of said cheese, going so far as to threaten with forks if anyone dared to so much as steal a mozzarella stick.
Stabby-minded mofos.
But—forks and stabbing aside—I liked them.
They tipped well, weren’t assholes, and had come in often enough that I’d begun to consider them friends.
Not that I had friends.
I was too busy being a mom and working and going to school and trying to keep my life together to actually do something like have friends.
Was I lonely at times? Maybe.
But I also liked to think that I was too busy to be lonely, and plus, I was used to being alone. I’d been alone for most of my life.
That was the nature of being born to a man who’d lost his wife because of me, who’d descended into grief (that was laced with no little amount of resentment because I had been the one who’d caused the death of the love of his life), who’d been solitary by nature even before he’d lost his wife.
The trees and snow and animals had been friends until I’d gotten old enough for school.
Then I’d managed to have some actual friends.
But I’d lost touch with those friends years ago. Moving across the country would do that to the convenient ties formed through shared classes and proximity.
People grew up, had their own lives.
Went to college.
Worked every spare moment and went to school and were single mothers.
Daydreamed—
Chairs screeched and, jerking, I glanced up from where I’d been absentmindedly tracing the faux woodgrain pattern of the tabletop.
My gaze hit Beth’s, who silently pushed a plate forward.
Smothered tater tots.
