Page 20 of Falling Backwards
He inhales deeply.Sucks on his teeth.Holds up the thick roll of stickers he got from a shelf.
“I’ve just realized something.”His tone has cooled off.“It’s not my problem that the kid atB-sixdoesn’t have stickers in his menu packet.That’s a hostess screw-up.You deal with it.”
He drops the stickers.Yanking in a breath, I try to catch the roll on its way down, but I miss.It thumps to the floor and almost completely unfurls.
I throw another glare to him, but it hits his back because he’s already striding away.
Ugh.
I understand that he’s probably still upset about my teenage reaction to his teenage idiocy.To tell the truth, I’ve realized it wasn’t my finest moment, so these days, I feel….But he hadsomethingcoming, didn’t he?He gets cranky just at the thought of what happened between us, huh?Well, he can get in line.
I pick up the mussed heap of stickers, deposit it on my stand, and tear off a few more than what we usually put with the kids’ menus.In a minute, once I’m back from taking them to table six in the bar area, I’ll need to check all the other packets to see how many more got neglected by whichever hostess prepared them last.
As I head for the table in question, the scar on my left eyebrow prickles beneath my bangs.I can’t keep from tracing it with a fidgety fingertip.
‘It doesn’t make you ugly.’
Even though my anger hasn’t gone anywhere, a disappointed sigh escapes me.
On one hand, I still feel like such a fool for thinking Luke really cared about me back in high school.
On the other hand…honestly, he did a damn good job of pretending.Who could blame me for falling for it?
Will I ever get past it?part of me wonders in a whisper.
For a long time, I didn’t let myself dwell on it because life was moving forwards and there were other things to think about, to experience.I didn’t want to let him take up any more space in my head—and heart—than he already had.Now these months of being around him have made detachment impossible.Present-day Luke and eleventh-grade Luke are on my mind so damn often.
I glance over to where he’s preparing a draft beer for someone, angling the glass beneath the stream of amber liquid in a way that doesn’t produce excessive foam, looking smooth like he doesn’t feel as tense as I know he does.Then I frown about how our most recent minute or two went.
Are we gonna go the rest of our lives not being able to have a normal conversation?
God, I can’t lie: just the thought of that makes me feel tired deep down.
But what other ending could there be for us?
How could there be any hope of things changing when we’ve been in a standoff for so long?
L U K E
In spite of people being allowed to dine without reservations, today’s work shift has been way less chaotic than yesterday’s was.Brunch typically isn’t overcrowded to begin with, but since the other bartender called in because of a personal matter, I did wonder if handling the shift alone would give me any trouble.I’ve kept up fine, though.The assistant manager hasn’t even had to leave his office for much of anything, let alone to cater to demanding or unhappy customers, which has been nice.
Plus, fun got brought into the mix about one o’clock, when my mom and Paxton showed up around the same time as each other.They both took seats at the bar so they could talk amongst themselves and with me when I could manage it.She’s gone now, but he’s still hanging around, slowly working on his food and generally taking it easy.
“I just never want it to end,” he’s currently saying as he spears a piece of French toast with his fork.“I wanna eat this for the rest of my life.”
My personal favorite here is the eggs Benedict.We use freshly baked English muffins and high-quality smoked ham, and our hollandaise is something else.That sauce is really the part I like best—seriously crave-worthy.I’m not sure I’ve ever tasted anything more damn luscious.
Still, I agree with Paxton, “It’s the best French toast in town.”
He nods ardently, then glances to his right and goes contemplative.
The mere thought of who’s over there adds a touch of heat to my blood.I look that way, too, to where Maggie is seated at the end of the bar.
A second hostess clocked in a little while ago, freeing Maggie up for some end-of-shift chores: cleaning menus, folding cloth napkins, and making sure the silverware is spotless before tucking it into the napkins.She wound up in that seat because no other empty ones were an acceptable distance away from the majority of our patrons.
On top of the tension from what transpired between us earlier, her being so near for so long has been annoying.I feel like I can’t relax, like some sneaky part of her is on the lookout for me to really screw something up so she can comment on it.
Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about it.
