by Julia London
Dax gave her a slow, droll smile. He rose up, reached for her hand, and pulled her up.
The help was much appreciated.
“Can I ask you something?” he asked.
She noticed he was still holding her hand. “Yes.” Ask me if I’m single. Ask me to come inside. Ask me anything.
“Are you flirting with me?”
Kyra’s eyes widened. Except that. What was that old saying? If you have to ask . . . Heat flooded her cheeks almost instantly. Good God, she was so bad at this. She deflated. She sighed. “Sort of.”
Now he smiled fully at her, and it was surprisingly warm. He let go of her hand and tucked a bit of her hair behind her ear. His gaze flicked down the length of her and up again. “I’m flattered,” he said. But that was all.
Oh Jesus, how embarrassing.
“Thanks for the beer. I need to pick up around here. I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
Mortifying! She’d tried to flirt, she’d been called on it, and now she was being sent home like Ruby, like a little girl who had crawled over the fence when she wasn’t supposed to. Her face was on fire with humiliation, but somehow Kyra smiled and said, “You can’t fault a girl for trying.”
“Nope,” he agreed, smiling fondly at her now, as if she were someone’s pesky little sister.
She reached for his bottle.
“I’ve got it,” he said.
“I wouldn’t dream of leaving this here. I recycle.”
I recycle? God, Kyra, go home and go to bed.
“Good job,” he said, and handed her the bottle.
He really did have a nice smile, the kind that could make you all melty on the inside. She began to move away from him, walking backward, not ready to lose sight of that smile quite yet. How come she’d never noticed it before? Oh, right—because he hadn’t used it. “Okay, well,” she said, her gaze still on his mouth. “See you around.” She gave him a funny little wave that was totally unnecessary and kept moving backward, the dog escorting her as if to make sure she removed herself from the property.
“Kyra?”
“Yep?” she asked, hopeful that maybe he’d changed his mind.
“You’re about to—”
She hit the fence and scraped the back of her leg. “Got it,” she said. She climbed over and walked forward, trying her damnedest not to sprint back to Number Three in complete humiliation.
Chapter Eight
“Can you work a double?” Randa Lassiter asked when Kyra showed up for her shift Friday.
“Yes!” Kyra said instantly. “Well, I think—let me call my babysitter.”
“Okay, but do it quick. If you can’t, I have to find someone to cover Nyree’s shift tonight,” Randa said as she returned her gaze to some paperwork she had spread on the bar.
“I’ll be back in two shakes,” Kyra said and hurried back to the area where the staff stored their things during their shifts.
Deenie was there, primping before the mirror. “Hey,” she said.
“Randa asked me if I could work a double!” Kyra almost squealed. “I just have to convince Mrs. Miller to agree.” She dug her phone out of her purse and held up two crossed fingers to Deenie.
Deenie responded by crossing her fingers, too.
Mrs. Miller answered after the first ring. Kyra could hear the TV blaring in the background. The day started with Good Morning America, then slid into soap operas, then the Judge Judy–type shows, and of course Dr. Phil, and then the news. Kyra imagined that a big bowl of oatmeal mush resided in Mrs. Miller’s head with all the television she watched. “Hi, Mrs. Miller! Listen, my boss asked me if I could work a double—”
“No,” Mrs. Miller said curtly before Kyra could get the question out.
“Please,” Kyra begged her. “I need this. I could make some serious extra money.”
“I don’t care. Six o’clock is my quitting time. I already told you my husband likes his dinner on the table.”
“If I can work this shift, I can get the TV fixed,” Kyra said hopefully.
“You can’t get that TV fixed, that thing is damn near as old as me. What you need is a new TV, and you ain’t gonna make that in one night’s tips.”
Kyra closed her eyes. She had to think—she really needed this extra shift. Deenie touched her arm, and Kyra glanced up at her friend. Deenie pointed to herself.
Kyra held up a finger to indicate she’d be a moment. “Mrs. Miller, I’m begging you.”
“Beg away, but it still ain’t gonna happen. I leave at six.” She hung up on Kyra.
Kyra stared at her phone. “I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed angrily. “She hung up on me!”
“I’ll do it,” Deenie said.
“Do what?” Kyra asked, distracted.
“I’ll keep Ruby tonight.”
Kyra gasped. “You will? Are you kidding? Don’t kid me, Deenie!”
“Not at all. I love that kid. I can take her over to Megan’s. She invited me over, anyway.”
Kyra suppressed the tiny part of her that took note she had not been invited to Megan’s. Or that she really didn’t want Ruby anywhere near Megan, especially when she wasn’t there to protect her from vegetables and judgments. But on the other hand, she couldn’t pass up this opportunity. She threw her arms around Deenie. “Thank you so much! I really need the money.”
“I know,” Deenie said with a laugh.
“I’ll call Mrs. Miller and tell her,” Kyra said.
It was settled—Kyra was getting her first night shift at the bistro, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. The last few days had been a real snoozefest, and tips had not been great. But today they were slammed. It was a surprise, too—Randa had only scheduled Kyra and Deenie to work the floor, and the two of them kept bumping into each other at the wait station. “This is so crazy,” Deenie said at one such bumping. “Did a bus pull into town or something? I don’t care if they did, I am making some great tips today. A guy at a one-top left me twenty.” She picked up her wait tray. “Can you grab table fourteen?” she asked. “A two-top. Randa just sat them, but I’m swamped.”
She ran off before Kyra could tell her she was swamped, too. Kyra picked up her tray, delivered drinks to table three, then hurried to the front of the bistro and table fourteen. She was reaching for the pen behind her ear when she noticed who was sitting at table fourteen. Her heart dropped and her cheeks flooded with embarrassment all over again.
No wonder Dax wasn’t into her—he was seeing someone.
He hadn’t noticed her yet—he was studying the menu as if it were a treasure map. But the woman he was with smiled up at her. “Hi,” she said perkily.
She was pretty, with honey-blonde hair that hung like a silky sheet, and green eyes. She was wearing a blue shirt tucked into a dark skirt and high heels. Kyra tried to remember the last time she’d worn high heels. “Hi,” she said. “Can I, ah . . . can I get you something to drink while you look at the menu?”
“I don’t know,” the woman said. “Dax? What are you having?”
“Water,” he said and glanced up. He started when he saw Kyra, physically shifting in his seat. His glanced around her, almost as if he thought it was some kind of joke and someone was going to jump out and tell him he’d been punked. “Ah . . . hi,” he said carefully.
“Hi,” Kyra said. She waited for him to say something. Maybe, “Hey, cute date, this is my neighbor.” But he didn’t say anything. He seemed to be actually avoiding her gaze.
Kyra looked at his date. “For you, ma’am?”
“I’ll have iced tea,” she said. “Unsweetened.”
“Be right back,” Kyra said and whirled away, hurrying through the crowded restaurant with her heart beating wildly with embarrassment. What was that? Jesus, she couldn’t believe she’d tried to flirt with him last night! She couldn’t believe she’d been hoping to kiss him and maybe even have sex. And really, why had she been hoping that with some guy she hadn’t even liked until a day or two ago, and did it re
ally matter? Because here was Supergrump, ordering water (buzzkill), on a date with a very pretty, bubbly woman (he didn’t deserve).
The exact opposite of Kyra Kokinos. “I am such an idiot,” she whispered under her breath.
She grabbed their drinks, picked up an order from the kitchen that was ready to go out, and returned to the floor, delivering the food first and then reluctantly lugging the drinks to table fourteen.
Dax didn’t look up when she set the drinks down. He seemed a little antsy. Was he embarrassed of her? Why else would he not acknowledge her? Should she say something? Maybe she’d mention last night. “Hey, Dax, last night was sort of weird, huh?” Why was he embarrassed, anyway? She was the one who ought to be embarrassed, which she was, thank you—but why him? Was it because she was a waitress? Because she’d tried to hit on him last night? Supergrump was all dressed up, wasn’t he? His hair was combed, he was clean-shaven, and he was wearing a pressed, white-collared shirt tucked into jeans that looked almost new.
“What would you like for lunch?” she asked brightly, looking right at him, silently daring him to pretend he didn’t know her.
His date, who was cheerfully perusing the menu, said, “I can’t decide between the roasted beet salad and the spinach salad with the duck confit. What do you recommend?” She looked up at Kyra.
“Either of those choices is excellent, but the duck confit is one of our signature plates.” It was also the most expensive.
“Hmm,” she said and tapped a fingernail against her lip. “What are you having, Dax?” she asked.
“Burger.”
Of course. A meal he could get anywhere, along with that glass of water. What a great date! Kyra was actually beginning to feel sorry for the pretty girl.
But the pretty girl laughed and closed her menu. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll have the same.”
Pretty, cheerful, and agreeable. Here was a woman who knew how to date properly. Kyra was impressed.
“Cooked medium? Does that sound good to everyone?” she asked.
“Sounds perfect!” the date chirped.
“Yep,” Supergrump said and carefully straightened the silverware at his elbow.
“Coming right up,” Kyra said and walked away. Maybe he was worried that she might say something to his date. What would she say? “I tried to hit on Dax last night and failed miserably. Would you like some fries with that burger?” Well, whatever the reason, she was going to make sure she gave them the white-glove service. In other words, she was going to drop by more than was reasonable.
She put in their order, bused a table, returned a man’s pasta because the sauce was “too salty,” then went back to Dax with a pitcher of water in one hand, a pitcher of tea in the other. “Refills?” she asked brightly.
Pretty Girl had hardly touched hers. “I’m good,” she said.
Dax’s glass was almost empty. Kyra reached across him and tried to make eye contact, but he wasn’t having it. She filled up the glass and set it down right in front of him. “Just let me know if you need anything else. Condiments. Extra napkins. A side dish or two.”
Pretty Girl laughed again. “I think we’re all set, don’t you, Dax?”
“Yep.”
Pretty Girl was probably counting down the minutes until she could get the hell out of here. She probably wasn’t used to talking to a wall, which was essentially what she was doing. Well, Kyra was going to help her out. She was going to get those burgers out to them pronto so they could end this lunch.
When the burgers were ready, Kyra garnished them—big pickle for Pretty Girl, gherkin for Supergrump—and returned to table fourteen. “Look, I’m back!” she said loudly, and carefully placed a burger before Pretty Girl before slapping the other down in front of Dax. “Now, what can I get you? Mustard? Ketchup?”
“None for me, thanks,” Dax said, looking at his burger.
“I’ll have some mustard, please,” Pretty Girl said as she began to doctor her burger.
Kyra leaned to her right, took the mustard from an empty table, and placed it in front of Pretty Girl. “What about steak sauce? Our sous chef makes the steak sauce, and it’s delicious.”
“Oh, that sounds really good,” Pretty Girl said, looking at Dax.
He slowly lifted his gaze to Kyra. His eyes were dark. “No, thank you,” he said carefully.
“Suit yourself,” Kyra said with a shrug, and glared right back. “I’ll be back to check on you.”
She waited what felt like an uncomfortably long time before she returned to their table. Pretty Girl had, predictably, eaten only half of her burger. She was telling Dax something that was making her giggle. Dax was listening politely, his mouth cocked up into a half smile, the sort she’d seem him cast in Ruby’s direction. His plate was clean. He might have even licked it.
“How are we doing?” she asked. “Box this up for you?”
“No, thank you,” Pretty Girl said. “It was delicious, but I just couldn’t take another bite.”
“I know, they’re huge,” Kyra said in girl-on-a-date unity. “Looks like you had no problem polishing it off,” she cheerfully remarked to Dax.
He folded his arms across his chest. “Nope.”
Kyra picked up their plates. “So did you two lovebirds leave room for dessert?”
Pretty Girl squealed with laughter, her face flushing. “We’ve only just met!”
“No way!” Kyra said. “You look like you’ve been together a long time.”
Pretty Girl laughed again, her gaze sliding to Dax. “Well, I hope we know each other a long time.”
“I guess we’ll take the check,” Dax said.
“Really? I wouldn’t mind coffee and a dessert,” Pretty Girl said. “That is, if you have the time.”
“Oh, I bet he does,” Kyra said. “We have apple pie with ice cream, a peanut butter cheesecake, and the house favorite, molten lava cake.”
“Molten lava cake!” Pretty Girl exclaimed. “What’s that?”
“It’s a cake with a gooey chocolate center. They put it in the oven until the chocolate oozes out of it. Like lava.” Dax actually grimaced, but Pretty Girl clapped her hands. “Wonderful!”
Kyra winked at her. “Two spoons?” she asked, waggling two fingers in Dax’s face. “Two coffees?”
Dax leaned away from her fingers. “Sure,” he said and shot a look at her.
Kyra returned a few minutes later with the dessert, which was the size of a small dinner plate, and the coffees. By now the lunch crowd had started to thin. Kyra cleaned off a few tables and straightened things in the wait station, then joined Deenie at the bar. Dax and Pretty Girl were bowed over their shared dessert. Pretty Girl was laughing.
“They look happy,” Deenie said idly.
“You know what? That’s my neighbor,” Kyra said. “The one I was telling you about.”
Deenie gasped and punched her in the arm. “Get out! That gorgeous hunk of man is the asshole? And he’s in here with Heather Patterson?”
“You know her?”
“She works at the library. I’ve met her a couple of times at the Green Bean. But what is she doing with that guy? Girl, if he’s your neighbor, you need to get on that,” Deenie said and punched Kyra again.
Kyra grimaced and rubbed her arm. “He’s obviously unavailable, Deenie. Plus he’s not the friendliest guy in town.”
“Then maybe you really need to go out with my friend Phil,” Deenie said. “He’s a great guy.”
This was a running theme between the two of them of late, Deenie mentioning Phil every other day. Kyra had resisted—she had Ruby, it wasn’t as if she could date. But seeing Dax in here with Heather Patterson had convinced her. If he could get a date, surely she could. “You know what? Okay,” she said.
Deenie actually gasped with delight. “You will? I’m texting him after our shift is up. Hey, keep an eye on Farmer Jones over there for me, will you? I’m going to take these glasses into the kitchen.” She picked up a tray and disappeared through
a swinging door.
Wait—what had she done? Kyra didn’t know if she was ready to go out on a date or not. She glanced at the lovebirds at table fourteen. Dax was holding up a finger in the international sign of bring the check.
Kyra pulled out the check and placed it on a silver tray, then sashayed across the room. She laid it down squarely in front of Dax, lest Pretty Girl have any doubts about who should pick up the tab.
But Pretty Girl knew what she was doing. She made no move for it. She smiled at Kyra and ignored the check entirely. “Thank you so much! It was really good.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” Kyra said sweetly. “I hope to see you two again. By the way, you make a great couple.” The moment she said it, she felt a strong bump against her foot. Had Dax just kicked her?
“Thank you,” Pretty Girl said. She was putting on lipstick now as Dax reached into his back pocket for his wallet. Kyra wondered what had happened to her and lipstick. She used to wear it—when had she stopped?
Dax picked up the silver tray, threw down a card, and shoved it at Kyra.
“Be right back!” she said with great cheer.
She returned the processed bill to Dax and Pretty Girl, who were now the only people in the restaurant. “It was great having you here,” she said to him and smiled serenely at Pretty Girl. “You two ought to walk down to the lake. It’s so pretty today, isn’t it? I would if I could.”
“You know, she has a point,” Pretty Girl said hopefully to Dax.
“Thanks again,” Kyra said and walked away, smiling smugly to herself.
She joined Deenie in the closing out of the lunch rush, made sure Deenie had thirty dollars to give Mrs. Miller, then went out to collect the bill from table fourteen. She looked out the window—there was no sign of Dax’s truck or anyone on the street. She wondered where the two lovebirds had gone. She turned around and headed for the wait station and happened to glance down at the bill, realizing that Dax had probably tipped her. She would be furious if he hadn’t, embarrassed if he had. Lord, but she was a mess.
But what she saw made her stop cold.
Dax had left her a hundred-dollar tip. Like some damn charity, he’d left her one hundred dollars.
