I am torn out of my philosophical daydreaming about my place in the universe, and I grab the phone from my bag and check the time. Once again, I’ve completely lost track of time—a bad habit I forgot to leave behind in my home country.
Reluctantly, I get up, wipe the sand off my pants and jam the tumbler into my bag.
Still trying to catch my breath, I stumble into the kitchen to find myself right in the middle of hollering chefs and wait staff. No one notices me, and I quickly make my way through the crowd into the break room to change.
“Look who decided to show up today,” Renee yells in my ear.
“The dishes for the table outside are ready to go!” Martin yells.
“Those are Laurel’s,” Renee responds quickly.
“What? No!” I exclaim horrified. “The terrace is not even my area and…”
“Too bad for you. Tonight it is.”
I look at my bossy stepsister. One foot is sticking out of a dazzling high heel, probably to protect a painful blister. I wonder how on earth she manages to carry plates in heels like that—especially after falling off that stupid horse and breaking her vertebra last year. She still hasn’t recovered entirely, but as always, she looks stunning in an amazing dress and her nails painted the latest fashion color.
I look at my own sad outfit: worn-out boots, jeans, and an old frayed sweater with a thick scarf. Even without a mirror, I can imagine how my windblown braid must look. Not exactly what you call a pretty picture. The contrast between the two of us couldn’t be more pronounced, and I can’t even think about entering the dining room looking like this. I won’t get any tips, that’s for sure.
“Is Laurel finally there?” one of the hired staff shouts. He storms into the kitchen and spots me at the counter. “Table nine is getting impatient—steam is almost coming out of their ears. Your section.”
“Someone take these plates now!” Martin barks out his order. He glances our way. “Do I need to take these myself, or what? This place is not a damn hangout!”
My, can he ever look furious.
“Laurel will take them right now,” Renee says again, sending me a knowing look that tolerates no contradiction.
“I’ll be right there, just need to change.”
“I don’t think so!” Renee snatches the bag from my shoulder, throws it in a corner so no one can trip on it, and shoves four steamy-hot plates into my hands.
“Come on, Renee, I can’t go in looking like this.”
“It’s not like it’s fine dining around here, no one will notice.”
I’d like to ask her why she is dressed like she’s about to have diner in a Michelin star restaurant then, but I bite my tongue. I don’t like to confront her. I’m a coward that way—I’d rather walk away than start a fight. “Why do I have to wait on your table, anyway?”
“Because I’ll throw the food in his face, and Martin will fire me.”
“Whose face?”
“Not your concern. Well, how about it?” She pushes me to the door. “Go, before those steaks get cold. Martin is about to explode.”
“Which table did you say?” I ask weakly.
“You’ll see for yourself, there’s only one group sitting outside. Go!”
Using my hip, I open the swing door that separates the kitchen from the dining area and enter the noisy space. I can still taste the salt on my lips.
The room is completely packed, and the flames are dancing in the fireplace. Clumsily, I move between the tables and chairs and find my way across the squeaky floor to the double doors. Waiting tables is definitely a profession, and with two plates wedged between the fingers of my left hand, one balancing on the inside of my left arm, and another plate in my right hand, I am relieved that I make it to the terrace without tripping.
My eyes are drawn to something sitting under the table, and I freeze briefly. Under the table is an animal that suddenly lifts its head to me, making me take a step back with a little squeal. The plate with the fish slides off my arm and drops on top of the animal’s head. Unsettled, the animal gets up and I hold my breath almost paralyzed.
“You okay?” one of the four boys sitting at the table asks.
When the beast has retreated, I place the remaining plates with the steaks on the table. “I’m fine.” I’m too annoyed to apologize, and in my mind I’m cursing Renee for not warning me about the dog—or whatever that thing is, gobbling up the fish now. Then again, I probably haven’t told her about my phobia of big, dangerous dogs.
I bend over to pick up the fries. At the same time, I’m keeping an eye on the wild looking animal. “Is it normal to bring your wolf to restaurants around here?”
“I’m sorry if he scared you. He is actually very gentle.”
Still annoyed, I make eye contact with the guy I believe to be the owner of the animal. And look into the clearest eyes ever. “Well, he doesn’t look very gentle. Are you sure?”
Totally disgusted, I place pieces of mangled fries and fish on the plate, which is still in one piece thanks to a soft landing on a guitar case.
“I’m pretty sure,” he answers with a confidence that borders on arrogance. His voice is deep and slightly hoarse. Like he just got out of bed. Terrific.
With a wary glance, I look in his direction. He picks up the plate and helps me put the food back on it.
Again, I am mesmerized by his honey brown eyes, and I notice that there are golden flecks in his irises. I take the plate with the leftovers from him, and for a split second I feel a slight tingling as our fingers touch.
I get up quickly, which almost makes me trip again. He studies me curiously with a shameless stare like I am some sort of weird creature he has never seen before, and it makes me feel uncomfortable. “I’ll, ehm, be right back with a fresh plate,” I stumble, pushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I can feel grains of sand.
“Thank you. Judging by my dog, it must be very good.”
I turn around speechless and walk away.
“Excuse me, we…”
“Just a moment please, I’ll be with you in a minute,” I say, still confused over the intense look the guy outside gave me.
I push against the door and hurry down to Renee. “Another fish of the day,” I tell the sous chef in a commanding tone, tossing the dirty plate in the sink.
“Did you manage?” Renee wants to know. “You sure took your time.”
“No, I did not manage and you could have warned me.”
She smiles widely, showing her teeth. “And here you thought we only had loggers walking around in flannel shirts. Unfortunately, they are not to be trusted. They are arrogant, condescending and extremely bad-mannered. Consider yourself warned.”
“I’m talking about that wolf they brought in.”
“A wolf? It’s just a shepherd.”
“Whatever it is, it’s big and dangerous and I don’t like it.”
“Oh, well, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Which one did you want to throw food at, by the way?”
“The one with the wild curls and tough look.”
“You mean the big guy that looks like he’s a member of the local wrestling team? He’s cute. Tough, yeah, but cute.”
“They all are.”
“Tough or cute?”
“Wrestlers.”
Holy smokes, she knows all of them. “What happened between you two?” Not that I’m going to get an answer.
Irritated, Renee takes two coffees from under the espresso machine and places them on the tray with chocolates and cookies. “Do you really think we’re suddenly best friends, because you took a table for me?” With her head up high, she walks out of the kitchen.
“One sea bass…” someone yells from behind the counter. With a shrug, I take the hot plate and follow Renee, wondering if there will ever be a time when we will
share each other’s secrets. I hope so. I’m getting very curious about what the sexy, curly-haired guy has been up to.
“Is this the self-serve area or something?” The guy sitting at table nine that has stopped me before looks at me with eyes almost as black as his thick wavy hair.
“N-no, of course not,” I apologize. “I will be right with you. I just need to bring out this plate.”
The boy nods and I arrive at the table outside, this time prepared.
The only person without a plate in front of him is the guy with the dark blond longish hair and the incredible eyes. Not planning to be swept off my feet again by either the dog or its master, I place the striped fish in front of him.
“Here you go,” I say as casually as possible, while shifting my gaze to his dog under the table. This time, it stays there quietly.
“I’ll take him to the car,” he says in a rasping voice, pushing back his chair.
“No, it’s okay,” I say.
He lowers his eyebrows as though he just caught me in a lie, but then he sits back down in his seat.
A delicious smell reaches my nose, and I wonder if it’s him. It definitely isn’t the dog, it smells feral. “I hope the fatty food doesn’t make him sick.”
“If it does, it will be his own fault.”
His eyes shine brightly and I feel my cheeks blush. As sure as I am that my sweater is pale blue, I am every bit as sure that my cheeks are as red as that beetroot salad on his plate. When I catch myself staring at him, I quickly bend over to stare into the amber eyes of the beast. “What’s his name?”
“Storm.”
I swallow and wonder whether patting Storm on the head would be a smart move. Just like his name, he seems a little too intimidating to me, and I still cannot tell for sure if I’m dealing with a domesticated dog or a trained wolf.
“It’s okay to touch him. He really is a dog.”
Surprised that he guessed my thoughts, I look up at him and I can see the tough guy next to him roll his eyes.
“Hi, Storm. You sure like your fries, huh?” Hesitantly, I pet the animal on its dense sable coat as he makes soft growling noises.
I look up at his master, who is watching me. “I’m sorry about that. I’m just not very good at walking with the plates. I’m new here and I…” I’m starting to prattle on, which is something I do when I feel nervous. “I was late.” I give Storm one more pat and prepare to walk away.
“Did you stay on the beach too long?”
“Sorry?”
“You have sand on your cheek.”
“Oh.” I wipe my face with the back of my hand. “Finally some sun, it was hard to resist.”
I swallow when I find all these handsome strangers suddenly staring at me intently, somewhat amused. The macho type is a big turnoff for me, but this is a bizarre mix of manliness, handsomeness, and charm. As with the stares, I am also painfully aware of my thick accent, but by now, I thought my English was fluent enough for me to make myself understood, unless I’ve said something other than what I thought I said.
“D-did I say something weird?” I stammer.
For a short moment, everyone seems a bit embarrassed. Finally, one of the other guys breaks the silence.
“We get it, we are all sun worshippers. How do you like our school?”
I blink my eyes. We go to the same school? Why haven’t I seen them then? I’m positive I would have noticed them in the cafeteria. No way could I have missed them for all these months.
“You are the girl who rides her bike to school every day, right?”
“Oh, eh, yeah, I guess. I didn’t know we went to the same school.”
He smiles politely. “Well, you’re not in the gym very often, so you have no way of knowing.”
“We are keeping you from your work,” the dog owner says abruptly.
“Yeah, I should get going.”
I think about what Renee said earlier. Personally, I don’t think their manners are all that bad. Then my gaze is drawn to the leather guitar case, where a few ugly smudges have been left behind. “I will be right back to clean that.”
“Don’t worry about it,” the dark blond one says kindly. “One of these days, that thing will fall apart anyway. Storm likes to chew on it, unless there are tasty fries around, of course.”
And then a strange thing happens—our gazes lock.
“I asked you to bring out a few plates, not to share your life story. So, if you think you’ll be able to tear yourself away from this table sometime today, please do. Table nine would also like to eat at some point.”
Renee! Like her mom, she is never very tactful, not even in front of guests. I would have loved to come up with a clever comeback, but in front of these guys, nothing comes to mind.
“Enjoy your meal,” I say embarrassed and walk inside.
When I return a little later to the empty table, the tip left behind by the guys surprises me. The breadbasket is untouched. Weird. I can’t remember ever having to return a full basket to the kitchen. Martin’s homemade breads are always eaten down to the last crumb.
With a towel and a cleaning bottle, I return to clean the tables and set them again for the next day. Afterwards, I find my bag, say goodbye to Martin, and leave for the house next door.
By now, it is rather chilly outside and I wrap my scarf around me. I rub my arms to dispel the evening cold and wonder in all seriousness how long I will make it on this rugged island with its rainstorms and wind gusts. Today, at least, I have had a taste of spring.
By the light of the patio lamps, I walk on quickly, thinking about the upcoming week at school. I stop abruptly. Suddenly, I feel a shiver going down my spine—it feels as though I’m being watched. “You’re crazy,” I tell myself and run home.
When I arrive in my bedroom, I collect the books I need for the next day and check if I have done all my homework, but my thoughts inevitably keep shifting to the guy with the scary dog. I simply can’t believe we go to the same school. My mood sobers. The chance of him starting a conversation with me again at school is negligible. Not when you flip a plateful of food upside-down on top of his dog.
3
laurel
I’m sitting on the lawn daydreaming about the amazing eyes of the guy from the restaurant and wondering where he is right now. In the gym? I’m halfway through my apple when the buzzer goes off. With a sigh, I return to reality and get to my feet. I’m really excited about art class. It is a new subject, and Ava and Maude will be there as well.
While walking back to the main building, I realize that I have no idea what room I’m supposed to be in, so I reach for the timetable in my bag. art class, room 37, 12.55 pm. The buzzer goes off again, and I enter the main building as fast as I can, only to discover that room 37 is not there. The hallways and the cafeteria are all deserted and feeling a little desperate, I go back outside in hopes of spotting someone.
I reach an outbuilding and suddenly remember the map folded up in my bag. Still chewing on my apple, I study the map. I look up from the map to the outbuildings and back again. Yet again, my sense of direction is letting me down completely.
“You might want to turn the map sideways.”
I don’t have to look up to recognize that deep voice. I swallow a piece of fruit. “Oh, hi,” my voice sounds scratchy.
His brown eyes light up brightly. They alone are worth the miserable move to this island. Even if I never see him again, this moment will stay with me forever. I’m as sure of that as I am of my own name.
He looks at the campus map and some mysterious scent tickles my nose. “Try it like this.”
My mouth feels dry and the blood rushes through my head. With his gym bag hanging off his shoulder, he looks at me. He is casually dressed in jeans and a beige cashmere sweater. He seems to know what colors match his skin and eyes, although I’m sure a purple s
weater with orange dots would still look amazing on him.
“I think it’ll be quicker if you just tell me where you need to go.”
I nod and bite my lip. I’m completely flummoxed and dumbstruck.
“Where do you need to go?” he asks earnestly.
I quickly glance at the map. “Room 37.”
He narrows his eyes. “You mean art class?”
“Yes,” I say, relieved. “Is that where you are going too?”
“If I was, I would have been there already. Come on, you are on the wrong side.” He starts to walk away from me. “But that’s what happens when you try to read a map upside down.”
He looks at me with a smile, and I can’t tell if it is a mocking smile. It slowly enters my mind that I can forget all about art class today, if I’m just going to stand here swooning. I have a hard time catching up to him. Is he on his way to my class?
“Most teachers aren’t too bad, but take it from me, you don’t want to be late with Thomas.”
His voice sounds lazy and I have absolutely no clue what he is talking about. “Thomas?”
He studies me with a doubtful look. “Are you even listening to me?”
“I am.”
“My friend knows him and she told me all about his make-up work. He takes attendance very seriously.”
She? Stupid me… I should have known. Of course he has a girlfriend.
He looks at me over his shoulder. “Am I walking too fast for you?”
“You call this walking?” I’m barely keeping up, but he isn’t slowing down.
“You’ve made some friends, I noticed.”
“You’re very observant.”
He shrugs indifferently. “I’ve seen you around.”
Mortified, I feel my stomach contract. Has he seen me, hauling my tray around, all pathetic? “I guess I’m not as popular as I had hoped to be.”
“Is that important to you?”
“It seems like a big deal around here,” I say, panting as I finally catch up with him.
“I don’t think you belong at that popular table.”
“Oh. And which table would be mine, then? The lame one?” I ask a bit sarcastically.
House of Guardians Page 2
