George stuck out his chin. “I’ve come to make your day.”
“Oh? You gonna order the meatball sandwich again? I’d sure like to see someone actually eat one of those.” She winked at Jack, who listened in.
“Gosh no.” He placed one hand on his stomach as if a phantom pain had erupted in his gut.
Allie hid her smile. The meatball sandwich had that effect on everyone. She’d tried to warn him …
“I came back because we won!” George threw his arms in the air.
His excitement was lost on this small crowed. Friday morning shifts were notoriously slow.
“Won what?” Allie swiped a cleaning rag across a booth.
“The lottery! Pizza with Anthony Green and a night at the Ritz.”
“Um, wow.” The name was familiar … “When is it?”
“Next Friday.”
Allie shrugged, not really feeling all that disappointed at missing out. “That’s my regular shift. Sorry.”
“Isn’t that the night your building’s being fumigated?” asked Selina.
Allie groaned. The whole building was clearing out. A decrease in the number of silverfish bugs she had to kill before going to bed would be a blessing, but she’d be homeless for twenty-four hours. Finding a cheap place to stay was a challenge.
George kept his mouth shut, his head swinging with the direction of the conversation.
Selina kicked her legs around so she faced the dining room. “I’ll cover for you.”
“But you hate working Fridays.” What she didn’t say was that Selina hated working Fridays because the tips were lousy. Allie didn’t have a kid to support and didn’t have anywhere else to be. She’d take a lousy day of tips over no day of tips.
“Tell you what. You get Anthony Green to sign a baseball for José and we’ll call it even.”
José, Salina’s son, was the world’s biggest baseball fan, and he was autistic. Allie tapped her lips with her pen as she thought about going. José was the cutest kid in the world. He’d go nuts over a Braves baseball. Plus, the money she’d save on a hotel would make up for whatever tips she’d miss. “How can I say no to José?” She laughed.
“Okay.” George rubbed his palms together as he looked her up and down. “Do you have anything else to wear?”
“Excuse me?” Allie glanced at her black skirt and button-up shirt. Her clothing wasn’t fancy, but she was clean and put together with her thick brown hair in a French braid.
George bobbed his head. “Besides Anthony, Mark Dubois and Beau Mckay will be there. I’ve been waiting for three months to win this lunch and I don’t want you to come in all …” He waved his hand through the air. “Prissy.”
“You’re embarrassing yourself,” growled Jack.
George backed up toward the door. “I just mean—can you glam up—make me look good?”
Allie barked a laugh. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent more than five minutes in front of a mirror. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to glam up.”
Her sarcasm was lost on George. “Great.” The bell tinkled as he left.
“Can you believe that guy?” asked Allie, hooking her thumb towards the door.
“Ignore him,” advised Selina. “What you need to focus on is those three hunks you’ll be sitting next to at this lunch.”
“Hunks?” asked Allie.
“Yes, big giant hunks of muscle and gorgeousness.” Selina fanned her face.
Jack snorted. “You’re killin’ me, Selina. Those guys could be your kid.”
“Hush, Jack. I may be old, but I ain’t dead. And they’d be more of a kid brother than my kid.”
Allie’s cheeks burned. Who hadn’t noticed Beau’s hazel peepers or Mark’s bulging muscles? She wasn’t sure about this baseball player, Anthony, as she didn’t follow the team like a good Atlanta native should.
Jack harrumphed and went back to his dry slice of pecan pie.
Allie tried to disappear into the kitchen, but Selina was hot on her tail.
“You’re not old,” said Allie. Selina did all the same work Allie did and she went home and took care of José. Allie never thought of her as old.
“Don’t worry about me. I got thick skin. Buuuut, George had a point. You should dress up.”
“I don’t even know how to go about glamming.” Allie flapped her arm around to indicate the industrial, run-down kitchen. “This is as glamorous as I get.”
“Just promise me you’ll try—maybe wear your hair down.”
Her reflection in the stainless steel cover for the heat lamp bulbed out at the top and the middle sucked in, distorted by the metal. She had an hourglass figure, all right. “There’s no point to putting in that kind of effort for one lunch.”
“Yes there is—this is your one day off in forever. Your fairy tale. For once in your life, live a little.” Selina snapped her fingers and shook her perfectly round booty.
Allie laughed. “Fine. I’ll wear my hair down.”
“Thank you.” She clasped her hands together. “And those pretty jeans you have with the sparkles all over the butt.”
Those sparkle jeans were an impulse buy at the consignment store. She’d worn them exactly once. “Why?”
“Because you’ve got good assets.” Selina snickered.
“Some days it’s hard to believe you teach Sunday school.”
“And some days it’s hard to believe that the good Lord wasted all that on a woman who dresses like she’s eighty-five.”
“I do not!” Allie bit her lip. Except that she kind of did.
“I dare you—wear the pants.”
Allie blew a raspberry. Selina was right. This could be her one and only chance in life to see how the other half lived. “Fine.”
“Good girl.” Salina patted her hand.
Allie softened. For all her trouble, Selina was a dear.
Gag! I even think like an eighty-five-year-old.
She took another look at herself in the heat lamp. She’d never been one to wear a lot of makeup. Her dark, thick lashes were a blessing. But maybe a little blush and some lip gloss wouldn’t hurt. And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn her hair down. Somewhere in the apartment was a flat iron; she might as well get some use out of it.
The more she thought about dressing up, the more her hands trembled. It was one thing to just be you every day, and quite another to pretend to be more than what you are.
She wanted to remember how it felt to be in her twenties. Maybe with a little practice, she’d stop thinking like an old lady and start living like a young one.
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Sweet Love of Mine: Sweetly Southern Page 8
