by King, Kelsey
“I’ll get your check then.” She picks up the plate and walks away, and I realize I haven’t gotten her name.
A minute later she comes back and refills my coffee and places a slice of blueberry pie in front of me.
“Oh, I didn’t order that,” I say, thinking she made a mistake or misheard me.
“I know.” She places my check down on the table and walks away. At the bottom, she circled the price and drew a smiley face at the top. When I read her name printed in the top corner I smile. Brianna.
It’s a beautiful name and fitting for her. Elegant but simple.
I place my credit card on the edge of the table and wait for her to return.
“Are you Brianna?” I ask, handing her my credit card.
“Yep. I am,” she says, putting out her hand to shake mine. I take it in mine, and notice how soft she feels. It's small and cool to the touch. “Brianna Carson.”
“I'm Tate,” I reply. I almost say my last name, but quickly stop myself. Though it's stupid to think that some waitress in Whitefish, Montana would recognize the Williams name, yet, I still hold back.
“It’s nice to meet you, Tate. Are you just passing through?”
“No, I live here. Just a few miles up the mountain.”
“Oh, I thought I knew everyone in this town.” She looks genuinely surprised, and I can’t tell if it’s a pleasant surprise or not.
“I keep to myself a lot.”
“Brianna, you’ve got two new tables!” a man calls from the other end of the patio. He looks annoyed, but the way he snaps at her kind of irritates me.
“Be right there,” Brianna calls back. She turns to me again. “Sorry, it’s getting busy.”
“It’s alright. Go do your thing.”
“It’ll be like this for another hour or so, and then the dinner crowd will be worse,” she says, dread on her face.
“You’re working two shifts?” I ask.
“Yep. It’s what pays the bills.” She shrugs.
“Understandable.” I smile, seeing how hard she’s working.
“Well, nice meeting you, Tate,” Brianna says, then turns and walks off with the pot of coffee tightly grasped in her hand.
“You too.”
I watch her walk away, and I find myself admiring her curves. I wish that the café wasn't getting busy so that we could talk more. Surprising, considering that I haven't craved conversation in a while.
The pie is delicious. I savor it but know I've got to get going because I need to get back to chopping trees at the cabin. I write a one hundred dollar tip on the credit card slip and make the zeros into smiley faces, just like the ones Brianna wrote on the top of my check.
“Come on, Shark,” I say, taking his leash and walking through the patio area toward the gate that leads to the sidewalk. The other customers watch Shark as he passes by and he could care less about anyone.
I open the gate for Shark, and walk him to the truck and open the door, and he climbs in without help. Walking around to the driver's side, I'm full and happy and glad I stopped at the café. Just as I put the key in the ignition and hear the familiar growl of my engine, I look back toward the café. Brianna steps outside, her brown hair blowing in the breeze and she’s walking to the table where my credit card slip is.
Shock covers her face when she sees the tip, and she looks up and looks around. The noise from my engine causes her to look in my direction, and our eyes meet again. She gives me a warm, relaxed smile, and I half-attempt the same.
“Thank you,” she mouths and waves goodbye to me. I do the same and feel like an idiot knowing how happy I made her. I hope she doesn't think that I'm aloof or something because, in reality, I find myself intrigued by Brianna Carson.
2
Brianna
I’m so damn clumsy today. First I drop a tray of dishes, and now I have to clean up a plate of salad that hit the floor. Sometimes I wonder why I chose to stay in Whitefish and become a waitress in the first place. I could’ve gotten out of this town and done something with my life, but once dad got sick, it felt like I had no other option, but I’m making the best of it.
I do like the food at the Whitefish Cafe, and I'm a people person, so it makes my job easy. I'm not so crazy about the tourists that come during the winter, because they're always starving after a full day of skiing and they're pushy. But thankfully, things are a bit more relaxed during the summer, and people are more patient, except for today.
The day was slow, and as soon as a gorgeous man came and sat down, it's like every person in the town wanted to eat a wrap.
Tate. At first, I didn't know what to make of him with that beard and clothes, but his green eyes were striking. They pulled me in and still haven’t let me go. I can’t stop thinking about them.
And I’m pretty sure he’s the reason for my slippery hands and screwing up orders. I'm just distracted. I was almost thankful when he left because I figured my concentration would return, but that wasn’t the case. After his generous tip, I'm left standing in shock. It would’ve taken me at least two days to make a hundred bucks.
“Brianna, can you do a double tomorrow?” Josh asks. He’s my manager and not my biggest fan.
“I’ve been on a double the past two days,” I protest. I’m clearing plates because the busboy seems just as out-to-lunch today as I am.
“Vanessa called in sick. We need you,” Josh says, begging.
I want to say no. I want to make excuses and say that I’m doing something important tomorrow, but the truth is there's nothing more important than paying the bills, so I cave.
“Sure,” I say, taking the dishes to the back, wishing I could sleep in one day this weekend, but I know that’s a wasted wish.
Damn. Will I ever have a break? I work non-stop and could definitely use a vacation. But I’m happy to finally help my dad while paying for my own little place. It’s the best of both worlds. Dad has my support, and I have my privacy. So, though I don't want to, I’ll be working another double tomorrow, and I won't feel sorry for myself for one second. It is what it is.
As I’m pouring ranch dressing on top of a salad, I can’t stop thinking about Tate. Maybe he’s a gardener, I think to myself. He had a huge lawn mower in the back of his truck, and his clothes were filthy. I also noticed his worn and callused hands as if he used them a lot, but there’s something about him that makes me think he's a gardener. He was a big guy, muscular build, not that I was staring, but he had a lot of muscle on him. Maybe he's a lumberjack. The thought makes me laugh, and I’ve no idea why I can't get him off my mind.
“I ordered the Florentine omelet,” an annoyed woman says.
“Right, of course. It’s coming soon,” I reply, carrying a plate of scrambled eggs Florentine back to the kitchen, rolling my eyes at myself. Messed up that order too, but I’m finding it hard to pay attention. I glance toward the parking lot like I’m expecting that Tate guy to magically return. How silly. I'm never like this, but he's like the new guy in town, though he lives here. I could’ve sworn I knew everyone in my hometown.
During the rest of my shift, I luckily have no more spills, and I’m on my A-game by the time the dinner hour hits. Almost every customer sits outside because it’s a beautiful night. The cool breeze accompanied the twinkling stars. The views are one of the benefits of living in Whitefish. There’s nothing like this in any other place in the world.
After I close out my final check and do my side work, it’s time for the best part of the night. I order a sandwich to-go then I get into my Honda Civic and drive the half mile to my dad's house. It seems silly to drive such a short distance, but he always complains that he doesn't like me walking at night. His little house looks pretty ragged on the outside, but it takes a beating during the winter, and he doesn’t have the energy or resources to fix it. I hope to help him fix it up one day.
The house is dark, so I'm sure dad’s sleeping, but it still makes me feel good to check in on him. Once I walk in, I hear light snoring, a
nd I walk over to his bed, sitting on the side of it. I lean over and kiss his forehead. He looks so frail lying in bed, and it causes my heart to lurch forward. I rest my hand on his for a moment and then get up from the bed, tiptoeing to the living room.
Dread comes over me. The fear of the future and what’s going to happen to dad, and how we’re going to pay for his medical bills weighs heavy on my mind. Mom hasn’t been in the picture for most of my life. She fled when I was a little girl, and even dad has no idea where she is.
I refuse to let my thoughts go dark tonight. I’ve never been one to sit back and feel sorry for myself. I place the sandwich I got for dad in the fridge and write a note on the whiteboard, letting him know I stopped by. Once I get back into my car, I text my best friend Callie, and she agrees to meet me at my house. I don't live too far away, and while my house is nothing fancy, it's mine.
I walk through the door, pick up my dirty uniforms and start a load of clothes. It takes Callie all of five minutes to arrive. She walks through the door with a bag of chips and some salsa. I grab two beers from the fridge, and we fall into our routine of girl talk and eating.
“You wouldn’t believe this crazy lady today,” Callie says, getting comfy on the couch and dipping a chip into some salsa. She works at the only grocery store within a one hundred mile radius and knows most of the gossip that’s floating around in town.
“Oh, no. What happened?” I ask, taking a sip from my bottle of beer.
“So she comes over with this huge bag of purple vegetables, and as far as I know, this stuff is squash,” Callie says.
“It’s eggplant. Haven’t you had eggplant parmigiana before?” I ask.
Recognition crosses her face. “That's the stuff with all the cheese?” She smiles, taking a sip of beer.
“Yes,” I reply, stifling a laugh.
“Right. That’s what I thought too, eggplant. Anyway, she comes over and is very pissed. Like there’s a permanent frown on her face or something, and she looks like she's sucking on a lemon. Anyway, she puts the huge bag on the scale, and I politely ask her what it is, just trying to make conversation. Then she looks at me like I have a disease and she says aubergine.”
“That's another name for it.” I chuckle.
“I've never heard that in my life. And I make a small joke about it being eggplant, and she proceeds to tell me that I don't know how to do my job. I mean, she's getting furious about this whole aubergine or eggplant thing, so the manager, Jessica, comes over and says that it’s brinjal.”
“It sounds like you’ve learned your eggplant synonyms today.”
“Tell me about it,” Callie says, cocking her head and contemplating it all.
“I’m sure she was just a pissy old lady that needs to get laid. Did you know her?” I ask.
“No, just another bitchy tourist that thinks she knows everything.” Callie laughs.
I roll my eyes. “They’re the absolute worst,” I say knowing I should be grateful. It's the tourists after all that pay my bills. We both get quiet, and then I think about Tate. “I met someone interesting today.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. A townie. But someone I’ve never seen before. I thought that I knew everyone here.”
“There are always folks coming out of the woodwork. Just the other day at the supermarket I met an old man that has lived here all his life. But he sits in his cabin all day. I guess he finally decided to come out and buy some food,” she tells me.
“This guy was kind of like that. He’s around our age, though. Probably in his late twenties,” I say, deep in the memory of the handsome brown-haired stranger.
“So who is he? What’s his name?” Callie asks, noticing how lost I am in my thoughts.
“There's nothing much to say. His name is Tate, and he’s sexy as sin,” I say with a giggle, finishing off my drink.
“Ohh?” Callie says, always on the lookout for a new booty call. There's always handsome tourists traveling through, but it seems like there are very few prospects that actually live in Whitefish.
“Yes, I was surprised. He's hot. Had this whole rugged thing going on with long hair on one side and a scruffy dark beard.”
“Mmm. You know how I love a man with a beard,” she teases with a popped eyebrow.
“Right? Totally not my usual type but the whole look was really working for me. There was something…intriguing about it actually. Oh! He also had a dog with him. A huge dog!”
“Man with a dog. Why is that so hot?” she taunts. “Please tell me you slipped him your number.”
I laugh. “I thought about it, but chickened out. Also, he left me a one-hundred dollar tip!”
Her eyes practically bulge out of her head. “So he’s rich, has a dog, a beard, and a nice body? What the hell? You get all the luck.”
I start laughing and nearly spit out my beer because Callie has a point.
“I probably would’ve given him my panties,” she spits out.
We start laughing even more, and I swear she says this kind of shit for shock value.
This is why I look forward to hanging out with Callie. It’s our time to laugh and decompress. I know I can share anything with her, and she won’t judge me. There’s nothing better than friendship like this. She doesn’t judge my small house, which I have to admit is a mess at the moment, but in the darkness of night, it's less noticeable. The Christmas lights strung up in my living room are the majority of the illumination in the place. I know it’s summer, but I love the soft glow they cast.
“So, do you think he’ll come back to the café?” Callie asks. We have polished off the chips, and she eventually dumps the bag of crumbs in her mouth.
“Probably not. Doubt he even gave me a second look. I’m sure he’s not interested in me. Look at me.”
“Brianna Carson, shut the hell up. You’re one of the prettiest girls in town, and you know it.” She eyes me.
“Quit stroking my ego, Cal.”
“You see, that’s your problem,” Callie says, getting up to find another beer in the fridge. “You're freakin' gorgeous. If I were you, I'd be asking hot people on dates left and right.”
“Stop it. You know you can have anyone you want,” I say. And it’s true. Not only is Callie beautiful, but she’s also feisty and guys like that.
“I’m twenty pounds away from hot.”
“Callie, I’m going to hit you if you say that again,” I say, throwing the empty corn chip bag in her direction.
“I was supposed to work on my summer body in the winter. I failed!” Callie looks down at her belly and tries to grab fat, but she has none. She likes to joke about her weight even though she's always been small and petite.
I shake my head and roll my eyes.
“Anyway, you’ve got to find this guy and ask him out,” Callie says matter-of-factly, plopping back into the couch with her cold beer.
I laugh at her. “Callie, it's not going to happen. He's lived here for God knows how long and I've never seen him before. What makes you think he's going to come back into the café again?”
“I don’t know,” Callie says, looking at the Christmas lights and becoming introspective. “Because he met you and probably realizes what he’s missing.”
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Kelsey King loves hot coffee, wearing a top knot, and writing possessive alpha males. Reading and writing has been a part of her life for as long as she can remember. For the last few years, Kelsey has been writing short stories that have been stored away on her hard drive collecting dust. With a little courage and a push from friends, she decided to finally start sharing them. Happily ever afters and sexy scenes are an absolute must!
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> UPCOMING AND PUBLISHED BOOKS BY KELSEY KING
Co-Written titles with Jenika Snow
Ruthless Mountain Man
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Mountain Man’s Nanny
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Mountain Man’s Stranded Virgin
Mountain Man’s Baby Plan
Mountain Man’s Stepsister
Mountain Man’s Runaway Bride
Mountain Man’s Royal Princess
FORBIDDEN LOVE SERIES
Sinful Temptations
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Scandalous Temptations
Flirting with Temptation
His Ultimate Temptation
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A BROTHER’S BEST FRIEND ROMANCE
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