“What if this is too much to ask? What if he can’t love this kid?”
“Then you have me,” he whispers, pressing his lips against the shell of my ear. “You’ve always had me. Eres familia.”
I take a shuddering breath and step back, smoothing a hand over his mascara-stained shirt. “I’m sorry.”
He catches my hand and holds it to his chest. “I have more.”
“I know you’ll probably want to find another waitress, and I don’t blame you. I mean, who wants a server who pukes all over the squid?”
“You have a job here as long as you want it. Just ... try not to vómito on the customers if you can help it.”
I nod and laugh humorlessly, and then I sniff back more tears because there’s been so much fucking crying since I found out,but this conversation has somehow made me realize that I do have support, even if I’m afraid, it’s okay. I also don’t appear to be losing my job, so ... yay. “I guess we should get back out there, huh?”
“I will need to change.”
“If you’ll just send me the dry-cleaning bill for your shirt.”
Arturo shakes his head and I give him a sad smile and step out into the hall, closing his office door behind me. A beat later, there’s a loud bang from the office, as if a heavy piece of furniture has been upended and Arturo yells, “Mierda!”
I pause outside the room, my heart in my throat and hand on the doorknob, but Judah appears at the end of the hall. “Girl, where the hell you been? Your boys are causing a damn ruckus, and table eight want their check.”
“Sorry, I’m coming.” I let go of the knob and hurry toward them.
“Holy shit, what dimension of hell did you just return from?” Judah asks, and my brows crease as they wipe their thumb under my eyes and expertly smudge my mascara to look deliberate. If anyone can fix this wreck, it’s Judah. “Baby girl, what the hell happened to your face?”
“Long story.” I smile sadly up at them. “Hey, will you do me a favor and check on Art? I heard a crash in the office.”
“Sure. I could use a little alone time with Mr. Boss Man.”
I laugh and hurry off to check on my tables.Hopefully it ends better than my alone time with him.
Gabe and the boys close the place down, and there’s still several hundred dollars left on the table when they leave, despite Arturo comping their meals.
I take the black leather billfold to Arturo at the register, and he frowns.
“I know. I told them it was free, but Gabe knows what it’s like to run a small business. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.” I lean against the counter and stretch my tired feet in my shoes.
Arturo thrusts the folder toward me. “Give it back to him.”
I glance down at it, and catch sight of his swollen knuckles. “Holy shit. What happened?”
I reach for his hand, but he yanks it away. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, Art.”
He shakes his head as Judah comes out from the kitchen and flops onto a barstool. “Idiot about broke his damn hand. I told him he should go to hospital, but he’s in a moo—”
“Thank you, Judah.” Arturo levels my coworker with enough venom in his expression to take down a horse.
“How did you do it?” I glance at the tiny Steri Strips holding together his split flesh.
“I tripped, put out my fist to stop myself from falling.”
I frown. “When?”
He shoves the folder at me again. “Please take the money back to Gabriel. Or keep it for yourself, for the days to come.” He locks eyes with me, as if I could misunderstand what he means by that. “I do not want it.”
“Speaking of lover boy.” Judah points to the window where Gabe is standing on the street with a sunflower in his hands as he waits for me to finish my shift. “You really shouldn’t keep cute boys with flowers waiting.”