“You’re the best.” I don’t have to lift my head to hear her relief. “Maybe show off those silver sparklers while you’re at it. Some handsome fellas at that table.”
She lets out a low whistle and I roll my eyes on a snort, counting the last of my change. Alma may not be as young anymore, but that doesn’t stop her from gawking when she sees something pretty.
“You’re insane, woman.”
She grabs at my jaw and my eyes are forced to hers. Examining me intrusively as my cheeks pudge over her bony limbs.
Her eyes shine before I feel her amusement. “My, my, is that an actual smile I see?”
I swat her hand away, looking back down at the register, suddenly self-conscious.
“And bashful too? What happened to you, girl?”
She means it playfully, but my throat bobs, thickening in a layer of saliva. If she only knew…
The temperature in the room drops as abruptly as he pushes his way back into my mind. My grip locks on the counter as my eyes slam closed. A mirage of images of his face appears in my head and it’s like bone-cracking torture.
My heartbeat escalates, pounding.
I feel light-headed. Iamlight-headed.
No, no.No!
Cole Kellet is not allowed to take any more from me than he already has.
I have to force them out, forcehimout.
If only my heart would listen to my head. I’m crumbling, crashing deeper every day in this broken abyss and I hate it. I hate what he did to me—to us.
Hate it all.
How he made me feel, the way he looked at me. I want them all gone. Good or bad, I don’t care because it can’t fix what he caused. What he’s done.
He. Means. Nothing.
My mouth parts in a choked gasp. Eyes springing open in the same beat.
Blindly, I reach for the four plates of readied food.
What table did Alma say it was again? My brain still a jumbled mess.
Three? Five? Eight?
Even Sampson, in his dull headedness, shoots me a look of concern when I have to double-check the table ticket. So, I can only guess how delirious I look.
I brush it off regardless. Squaring my shoulders and getting back to work if only to convince myself that I’m alright.
Table six? I take a deep breath. Table six.
Why do I have to keep reminding myself of this?
Table six. You’re okay. We’re doing this.
I smile awkwardly, passing an elderly man as he wipes extra ketchup from the side of his mouth with his sleeve. The jowls on either side of his face worse than his need for manners.
Deep breaths, Rory. Count to five, in. Hold it. Count to five, release.
Nodding, I pass a family of three. The child is throwing a tantrum. Neither parent coddles her as tears streak down her cheeks.