Page 13 of Broken Rules
“That’s my girl,” Savannah said approvingly.
While Brandi crossed the busy dining room, heading toward the back of the house, Savannah hurried in the opposite direction.
The night had barely begun and there was already a line out the door. Heather stood at the hostess stand, scribbling on the wait sheet and handing out buzzers.
Taking a deep breath, Savannah entered the first floor bar.
Having spotted her coming, Bryan, a Cove lifer who was forty and a hardworking family man, hastened from behind the bar. Sweat beaded his brow. He raked his hand through his short salt and pepper hair. “Upstairs is slammed with the wait. Lauren’s gotta be dying up there by herself.”
“Thanks for coming down.”
“Miss you.” He kissed her on the cheek as he passed but then stopped and looked back. “Hey, what’s up with the skeevy guy?”
Savannah groaned. “I was hoping he’d be gone when I got back.”
“Excuse me,” a woman with straightened, bleached hair, who was sitting on the far side of the bar, called out while waving her empty pint glass in the air.
Skeevy Stevie forgotten, Bryan rushed away while Savannah hurried back behind the bar.
Still waving her empty glass, the woman scowled at her. “We ordered like twenty minutes ago. Where’s our appetizer?”
“Give her a break,” the guy at her side said.
Savannah smiled at her would-be defender, but then his eyes trailed over her like she was the plate of long-awaited nachos.
Rolling her eyes, Savannah turned and poured the woman another light beer and hurried over to the service bar—the waitress’s tickets were getting backed up.
“Five frozen mudslides!”
Why couldn’t people just drink beer? Beer was easy.
“Damn it.” She swore under her breath while scooping ice into the industrial blender.
“A mudslide sounds good. I’ll take one.”
She shuddered at the sound of Steve’s voice behind her. “Coming up,” she gritted out, resisting the urge to grab the gun and chase him out of the bar with a powerful stream of soda water.
She couldn’t wait for the night to be over.
“Savannah?”
She jerked around to the side bar entrance where Wally, the head chef, was standing. His whites were already grease spattered, and his sandy-blond hair was covered by a red bandana.
“What?” she snapped, erasing the smile from his boyishly handsome face.
He threw his hands up. “Don’t shoot. I’m just here to tell you to eighty-six the special. We’re out of salmon.” When he walked away, she heard him mutter ‘what the hell is up with her’, which she knew she deserved.
She never lost her cool, no matter how intense the rush or dysfunctional the night. But at that moment, she was only adding to the evening’s chaos. Completely distracted, she was snapping at the staff and forgetting orders.
Still, if anyone knew what had happened to her the night before, they wouldn’t hold her moodiness against her.
Whathadactually happened?
Once again, she sifted through her memories of the previous night.
Terror. Confusion...and something else, a feeling she couldn’t quite name.
She tried to keep her mind fixed on the criminal act—she’d been the victim of a break in...well...sort of...but invariably, her thoughts drifted to the way the intruder had tried to soothe her and make light of the moment. When he had held her, he did so tenderly, gently laying her down on the bed. She closed her eyes, remembering the feel of his gloved hand grazing her cheek.
