Maybe he’s in the mob.
Yes, because all Italians are in the mob.
Maybe I just watch too much Netflix.
Okay, he’s probably not in the mob, but he’s definitely not the kind of guy you run to crying about slashed tires. So, I call Reid to pick me up and pray my car is still in one piece the next morning.
Fortunately for me, it is. Not only is it in one piece, but someone has replaced all four tires with brand new ones. That could only have been Reid. I make a mental note to thank him later.
My first Saturday night shift is a crazy one. Carlos finally let me have my own section. No more shadow training. It’s time to be a big girl now. Thank God for good deodorant.
I’m sweating like a sinner in church. I’ve never had a job before, much less one that involves carrying oversized trays of food and memorizing an entire Italian menu all the way down to the ingredients. Thankfully, all my customers are patient with me, and if my math is right, I even made nearly one-hundred dollars in tips. Not too bad for a rookie.
After the tire slashing incident and the Saturday night madhouse, I’m about thirty seconds from calling it quits on this whole adulting thing.
“It’s not so bad once you find your rhythm,” Jaxon tells me as he hands me my portion of the tips.
Jaxon is the bartender. He’s young. He’s blond. And he’s got a smile that would make anyone feel at home. I like him.
I let out the deep breath it feels like I’ve been holding all night and drop my head. When I lift it back up, his understanding blue eyes meet mine, and I don’t feel so defeated anymore. “Thanks. I must look like a total mess out there.”
He chuckles. “I’ve seen worse. You’re gonna be fine.” He gives me a wink then continues his task of stacking glasses in trays.
“I sure hope so,” I say before turning to head out the door.
With one hand on the door handle, I turn back to tell him thank you again, but he’s heavily engrossed in conversation with another man who appeared out of nowhere. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. It’s like my body instinctively knows better than to interrupt their conversation. I try not to stare, but my eyes are drawn to the stranger. He’s tall, taller than Jaxon. His back is toward me, leaving me fighting to find his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. The liquor bottles hide everything but his eyes, which happen to be currently deadlocked on mine. His presence causes a serious shift in the atmosphere. My heart starts to pound faster. Harder. My palm sweats against the metal handle. I’m terrified. Wait. No. That’s not right. I feel like I should be terrified, but I’m not. I’m not at all afraid, and that is what terrifies me.
Jaxon peeks around the man’s body and gives me a final wave and a smile. I still can’t speak, so I simply smile and give a shy wave back. Then I turn the handle and wonder what the hell that was all about.