Page 11 of Waitress at the Shadow Ridge Inn
“How could you be running out of cash? Your parents left you a fortune.”
Her tone was light, but I heard the subtle undercurrent of resentment.
Yes, my parents had been well off, and when they were unexpectedly killed in a car accident when I was eighteen, everything went to me. Most of it was in a trust that I couldn’t touch until I was twenty-five, which meant I’d only had access to my college fund and a small stipend back then. My father had had a strong work ethic and wanted me to understand the importance of earning a living, as he had. Of course, they hadn’t expected they’d both die so early and leave me without access for seven years.
Angie’s background was much different. Her father had taken off when she was a kid, and her mother never saw her or her siblings as anything other than a burden. As such, she had a natural dislike for anyone who came from money or a loving family. I’d had both. We’d ended up on the same dorm floor freshman year—her on a scholarship and me with my college fund—and she pretty much hated me on sight.
Had anyone told me then that we’d become good friends over the next several years, I would have said they were delusional. But that was exactly what had happened, and when we both ended up getting jobs at the same firm, we had moved into an apartment together.
“You still haven’t claimed it yet, have you?” she asked.
“No.” Claiming my inheritance required more than signing a paper. “Besides, every withdrawal leaves a digital footprint,” I reminded her. “You know this.”
Angie sighed. “Yes, I do. Has something happened that I don’t know about?”
“No, it’s been quiet,” I assured her. “But a psychic did tell me that I would meet someone tonight who would have a great impact on my life.”
She snorted in disbelief. “You went to a psychic? Seriously?”
“Not exactly. She’s someone I work with. Believe me, the prediction was completely unsolicited.”
“Hmph,” she said. When I didn’t say more, she prompted, “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Did you? Meet someone, I mean.”
Gorgeous hazel eyes once again came to mind.
What I said was, “Yes, but I meet new people every night.”
“Oh God, you’re not a hooker, are you?”
I laughed. “Not even close.”
“Traveling carnival worker? Waitress? Farmhand?”
“Angie …”
“You can give me a hint, you know. Otherwise, I’m going to think the worst. There aren’t that many legal temp jobs that pay under the table.”
“Fine. I’m working as a waitress.”
“Nice place or dive bar?”
“It’s nice. And I’m renting a cute little place on the mountain with a great view. But that’s all you’re getting out of me. Besides, it’s only a temporary gig. I’ll be hitting the road again soon.”
“Heading south?”
Another flash of annoyance. “Perhaps,” I said. “I might change things up. Everyone migrates south for the winter. Maybe I’ll do the unexpected and head north.”
“If you do, maybe we could meet up at a ski resort or something. Remember our girls’ weekend ski trips? Hitting the slopes all day, then letting hot guys buy us drinks in the lodge at night. That was so much fun.”
I said nothing.She’dhad fun. I’d usually spent the evening in the common room with her hookup’s wingman, playing cards or watching funny videos or something. I was done talking about myself, and I wasn’t going to answer any more questions.
“Guess not.” She exhaled heavily. “It was worth a shot.”
“Have there been any more deliveries?”
