Page 113 of The Hallows Queen

She nods quickly. “I swear, Penelope. Last time I’m ever drinking.”

I chuckle, knowing she’s just being dramatic. I was twenty-one once; I know how it feels to get so wasted that you can’t stand up the next day. A week passes and you’re back at the club like nothing ever happened.

Business picks up after my first thirty minutes working the to-go orders, and I actually feel myself having some fun. Sure, putting themanagerhat on is great, but I miss being in the trenches sometimes.

I’m juggling three online orders and two call-ins when I hear something smash out in the restaurant, and when I turn around, I see one of the servers looking over a pile of dishes broken on the floor, food scattered around them.

I rush over, making sure everyone is okay, offer to comp the bill for the customers who just lost their dinner, then rush to the kitchen to push their order to the front of the line.

The kitchen staff hurries to start preparing the order again, and I go back out to reassure the customers it won’t be long. The bus boys are cleaning up the mess already, and it makes me feel like I’ve grown an efficient staff since I took over last year.

Thankfully, the customers are understanding, so after I’ve given them my superstar smile, I run to check on the server who had the accident.

I knock on the bathroom door, then poke my head in.

One of the younger girls is by the sink, her face a mess of tears while she scrubs the marinara from her shirt.

“Hey,” I say, stepping into the bathroom. “You okay?”

“Fine.” She sniffles, using a paper towel to try and get the stain out. “I feel so stupid. I just slipped.”

“It happens to all of us.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “I think I have another shirt in my office, hold on.”

As I’m rushing through the restaurant again, I hear the phone ringing at the to-go counter, and I curse under my breath. I pick it up, apologizing for the wait, take the order, punch it into the computer, then hang up.

“I wish I was back with my bread,” I mutter under my breath as I hurry to my office to grab a shirt.

After I’ve taken the server a shirt, I go back to the to-go counter and check on all my orders. I see a car waiting out at the curb, while another customer is walking in the front door and heading for me.

Time starts to blur together as I get through the rest of the late dinner rush. By the time it calms down, I’m covered in a thin layer of sweat, and I have a thick stack of tips tucked in my back pocket.

I take a minute to drink some water when I only have a couple of orders in the queue, leaning against the counter, and when I hear the door open, I straighten out again.

Turning to look over the counter at the customer, I almost swallow my tongue and fall on my ass at the same time.

“Holy fuck,” I blurt without thinking, coming face to face with Hayden Monroe.

He laughs, his face turning red. If he’s feeling anything that I’m feeling right now, he’s extremely good at masking it, because I want to run for my life. My throat swells, and I can’t get myself to say anything else to him. I just stand there, staring, my mouth dropped open like a fish out of water.

He clears his throat. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

My heart is pounding under my ribs, and the blood is rushing so fast in my ears, it’s making me dizzy. I swallow, shaking my head a little to bring myself back to the present. “Um, yeah.”

He’s aged – the rugged handsomeness that used to give him boyish features has blossomed into model good looks. A light stubble covers his jaw, and his hair is longer on top. I want to scratch his eyes out; he doesn’t deserve to be so attractive after what he did to me.

Silence consumes us again, and the noise of the restaurant falls away behind me.

I start to feel like we’re in a wind tunnel, air rushing around us and keeping us confined to the same space – and it’ssuffocating.

After a minute, I take a breath. “What are you doing here?”

He twists his fingers together. “I’m picking up an order.”

I shake my head, trying my best to look at the computer screen, when all I want to do is look at him, get lost in the dark eyes that once felt like home to me. “I don’t have an order for you.”

“Oh,” he says. “I think it’s under Serena.”

Fire licks at my spine, and the words leave my lips before I can stop them. “That your girlfriend?”

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