Really, really bad.
“Are you going to say something to him?” She flicked her chin, gesturing to the cozy couple.
“Probably not.” I didn’t care to relive senior prom all over again.
I closed my eyes in the hopes that when I opened them again, this all would turn out to have been a dream. Unfortunately, I didn’t have that much luck, because when I opened my eyes, Jason still sat at the table with some smoking-hot blonde.
And I still cowered in a corner.
“Are you kidding me?” She didn’t just toss discretion out the window; she chucked it like an open container of absinthe while being chased by cops. “You’re seriously going to let him waltz into your restaurant with another woman and get away with it?”
“Carrie, shhh.” I glanced around, hoping no one had noticed the scene unfolding in the back corner. “Of course I’m not going to let him get away with it. But don’t you think this is a private matter that should be dealt with at home—not in front of a bunch of strangers?”
“No. Not at all.” She narrowed her gaze, and for some odd reason, she appeared to be offended. At what, I wasn’t sure. “He clearly doesn’t give a rat’s ass about privacy. If he did, he wouldn’t parade his sidepiece at your place of employment.”
“Fair enough, but I can’t go over there and cause a scene. I’d get fired.”
“You don’t have to. Just walk up to them and ask if they enjoyed their meal. The bastard will know he’s caught. Then smile and walk away; let him explain to the bimbo who you are.”
“Yeah . . . that won’t end well.” Just not for the reasons she thought. “I think I’ll save that conversation for another time, like later tonight. Or tomorrow.” Or never.
“If that’s what you want.” Then she mumbled, “He won’t be leaving me a tip tonight.”
I was too caught up in the tailspin of my lies to realize Carrie had started to walk away. In the direction of Jason. Had it been any other waitress, I wouldn’t have worried. However, nothing was safe with Carrie.
My heart hammered out the tune to Jaws. I had to do something to keep Carrie from ruining my life—slightly melodramatic but true. I raced into the kitchen in search of help, and as luck would have it, the answer to my prayers shone like a beacon of light from a shiny white saucer. I grabbed it and slipped back into the dining room.
Holding the plate of chocolate cake gave me courage—false courage, but I was in no position to be greedy. I gripped it tighter with each step toward the front of the room, my sight locked on Jason. I should’ve been looking out for Carrie, but panic had this magical way of making me stupid, so I didn’t. I was too worried that Jason would glance up and recognize me to focus on anything else.
Absurd, I know, considering I walked toward him with a plate of dessert.
I was about ten feet away when I noticed frantic movement to my left, and when I shifted my sight from Jason to the flailing arms coming from the hostess stand, I found Amanda waving. Carrie stood next to her, watching me with her elbow propped on the podium and her chin resting on her fist. Amanda frantically mouthed something to me while attempting sign language.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t read her lips and understand her gestures at the same time. It was one or the other. Honestly, she’d make the worst charades partner. I glanced to my right, relieved when I realized Jason hadn’t seen me, and then I put one foot behind the other to sneak off—until someone standing in the way foiled my subtle retreat.
Fun fact: Walking backward never ends well.
I almost made it.
Until his eyes met mine.
Recognition danced on his face.
So, I did the only thing I could think of . . .
“Happy birthday to you.” I turned to the couple at my right and began to sing. All by myself. Halfway through, I sang louder, hoping someone would join in.
No one did.
When I finished the song, the man and woman I’d serenaded stared at each other, then at the cake in front of them, and then at me. I should’ve bowed out and scurried away, leaving these fine people with a free dessert. Somehow, I never seemed to do what should’ve been done.
At some point between grabbing the cake and belting out the last verse, I realized my thought process had taken a wrong turn. I understood that I’d just made a fool of myself, but I couldn’t stop while I was ahead, because my insecurity overrode rationality and made me believe I could fix this.
I quickly snagged the battery-operated candle from the center of their table and stuck it in the middle of the chocolate frosting. At the time, I thought that would appease the couple’s disposition. Except their confusion didn’t wane—which couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with me staring at them like they were baby gazelles at a zoo.
My heart rate climbed to potentially dangerous levels, warning me to run away before I patted one of them on the head. But I couldn’t move. I remained paralyzed by fear, and the extreme levels of discomfort I felt from having everyone’s eyes on me only fueled my desire to make it right. I genuinely believed I could convince them that I had the situation under control . . . as long as I kept going.
In my head, blowing out the candle for them made sense. In reality, it was battery operated.
Tears pricked the backs of my eyes when I realized how ridiculous I looked. So, I picked up the candle, turned it over, and flipped the switch. Unsure of what to do with the chocolate-covered centerpiece, I set it back into the small red dish I’d gotten it from . . . rather than, you know, taking it to the kitchen or cleaning it off.
“Umm . . .” The man hummed while regarding his wife with a furrowed brow—her reaction just as confused, though holding slightly more humor than his. “It’s not our birthday.”
“Oh.” Slapping my hand over my chest, I inwardly celebrated the small victory. This was my out, the excuse I needed to justify my actions—getting the tables mixed up. “My apologies. I must’ve misunderstood the waitress.” I slid the mangled dessert closer. “Well, here; have a slice of our famous chocolate cake. On the house.”
“I’m not quite sure that’s safe to eat.” He studied the plate without touching it and mumbled, “I think you spit on it while trying to blow out the candle.”
As soon as I’d thought I was in the clear, the rug was ripped out from beneath me. My chest tightened again, the stabbing behind my eyes returned, and dangerously high blood pressure caused my face to burn.
Still, I told myself it wasn’t too late to salvage my reputation.
Because by now, I’d lost the option to walk away.
I had no other choice but to make it right.
“Not a problem.” I reached to the right, grabbed a fork from the empty table, and began to scrape off the frosting. In my mind, that would take care of the issue. “It’ll be like brand new.”
Thank God Carrie decided to put me out of my misery. She took me by the arm and led me to the kitchen, far away from the scene of the crime—as well as the countless people who had witnessed the single most embarrassing moment of my life. I’d made it two steps past the swinging door when the dust settled enough that I could understand the severity of what had just happened.
I had sung to a customer.
Which would’ve been a fantastic gesture worthy of praise if I had any sort of talent, or at the very least, was capable of carrying somewhat of a tune. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Then there was the issue with the candle, the spit, and mutilating the cake even more by removing the icing with a used fork.
“Please tell me no one saw that,” I quietly begged.
“If they didn’t, I’m sure they can catch it on social media later. I wouldn’t be surprised if it goes viral.” She ignored my protesting groan and escorted me into the hallway that led to the front door—my escape route. “Just promise me that if you get a call from Ellen, you’ll let me go with you.”
I didn’t get a chance to answer before Michael stepped into the corridor from the hostess
area. He took one look at me and charged us both, his heavy footsteps resounding in the small space. This was it. I was about to lose my job.
Which sucked because I would’ve made a fantastic sous chef.
Although . . . after tonight, I wasn’t sure anyone else would agree. I couldn’t seem to manage myself, let alone the operation of an entire kitchen.
“Don’t leave me,” I whispered over my shoulder, only to be met with silence. It was enough to know I was alone. Carrie had taken off and left me to fend for myself. There was absolutely no coming back from this.
“Come with me.” Michael’s low tone surprised me. He should’ve been yelling, screaming, red faced while shaking angry fists in the air. But he wasn’t. Instead, I was reminded of his compassion—one of the reasons I’d fallen for him in the first place.
With a gentle hand on the small of my back, he led me down the hall to his office.
“What happened?” he asked once he had the door closed.
His cologne seemed stronger in here than it did anywhere else in the restaurant. And even though I’d always loved the smell of it, I couldn’t help but compare it to the balsam-and-clove scent Jason wore. Where Michael’s reminded me of tender moments and calming heartbeats, Jason’s made me think of passion and breathless nights, two people unable to get enough of each other.
I had to shake off those thoughts—if one kiss led me to imagine all that, I didn’t want to think about how perverse my thoughts would be if Jason ever took it further. “I would love to explain, but the problem is . . . I’m not a hundred percent sure.”
He stood in front of me and nodded, unconvinced yet not at all angry. “Care to tell me why you took a plate of cake to a table when you’re not a server?” Oddly enough, he accepted it when I shook my head. “How about why you sang?” Again, his head slowly bobbed up and down when mine moved side to side. “Any chance you have an answer about anything that happened out there?”
“I’m gonna go with . . . no.” I wasn’t intentionally being defiant. I just wasn’t sure how to tell him what had gone down over the last hour or so when I wasn’t entirely clear on it myself.
He sighed and dropped his chin. “Rebecca told me your boyfriend’s here.”
“Well, she has a big mouth.”
“So it’s true? He’s here with someone else?” Concern drifted through his voice like a strong wind, threatening to take me away if I closed my eyes and let go. Both of which I refused to let happen.
Humiliation settled in my gut, twisting my stomach into knots until bile burned the back of my throat. It wasn’t that I worried about this mishap ruining any possible chance I had with Jason—I was well aware that our kiss, no matter how amazing I thought it had been, hadn’t meant anything, and his date tonight proved it. The problem was, I’d have to see him again at some point, unless I stopped going to the Petersons’ house.
And to add insult to injury, everyone I worked with was now under the impression that my boyfriend had cheated on me.
My relationship reputation around here kept getting better and better. Any day now, they’d have a profile for me on one of those dating sites.
“It is what it is.”
He shook his head and stepped closer to take my hand in his. “You, of all people, don’t deserve that—having a guy embarrass you the way he did.”
Ironically, he’d done the same thing not too long ago. No, he hadn’t broken up with me at work, but having everyone know about our split and then watch as his new girlfriend paraded around the kitchen hadn’t been much better. Reminding myself of that was enough to keep me from finding comfort in his familiar touch like I’d done so many times before. Regardless of how easy it would’ve been to melt into his embrace and pretend the last six months had never happened, I couldn’t. He wasn’t mine anymore . . . no matter how often I still wished he was.
“You’re not going to take this guy back, are you?”
“I can’t answer that right now. Hell, I haven’t even talked to him yet. My mind’s all over the place.”
He nodded, clearly unhappy with my answer. Letting go of my hand, he took a step away and said, “I get it. Go finish your shift; maybe we can talk after we close up.”
“No . . . I mean I have to get out of this entire place. I need to go home. I can’t think straight, which could be hazardous in front of a stove.”
“Tatum . . .” His posture slumped, and I could tell by his elongated exhale that he wouldn’t argue with me about this. He attempted a smile and added, “Have a good night; I’ll see you tomorrow.”
7
Jason
Ever since our waitress had pulled Tatum away from her table-side performance, I hadn’t been able to pay attention to Beth—or anything else for that matter. I couldn’t stop picturing her eyes when she’d seen me. The panic that had widened them, the embarrassment glistening along her lower lashes, and the fear that had seemed to prevent her from blinking. It’d taken everything in me to nod along as Beth spoke, hoping she hadn’t asked me a question I wouldn’t be able to answer.
She must’ve sensed my distraction, though. Because she reached out, placed her hand on top of mine, and asked, “Do you know that girl?” Had she not grabbed my attention first, I would’ve missed the question.
“Yeah. She’s my cousin’s roommate.” Even though that was technically the truth, my reference to Tatum as if she were nothing more than the person who lived with a family member tasted sour on my tongue.
The fabric of my pants caused my palms to heat up as I ran my hands up and down my thighs. I’d hoped the friction would create some sort of distraction in my mind or, at the very least, ease the unfamiliar worry in my gut.
I’d only been around Tatum a few times, though it had been enough to recognize that she handled situations differently than most. Rather than shut down or hide in a corner, it was as though she attempted to ease the discomfort by reacting . . . and then overreacting when her first attempt didn’t work. Based on her solo with the cake, I assumed the objective was to smooth something over.
I only wished I knew what that something was.
“Well, I hope she’s okay.” Beth’s sincerity echoed in her soft tone.
As if the scene had been orchestrated by a higher power, I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see Tatum rush past the hostess stand toward the front door. Anxiety hardened her features, her expression pinched by terror. And without thinking twice, I pushed my chair away from the table.
Meeting Beth’s worried stare, I said, “I’m so sorry, but I—”
“Go. The bill’s already taken care of.”
I didn’t make her tell me twice. I pulled myself to my feet and didn’t slow until I’d made it outside. I spotted the back of Tatum’s white coat about twenty feet away.
“Tatum! Tatum, wait!” I ignored the unrestrained demand in my voice, as well as the frantic decibel I’d used when calling her name. It didn’t matter how it had sounded, because it worked. When her steps halted and she twisted at her waist, seeing me, the tension in my chest eased enough to take a full breath. My heart slowed, no longer slamming against my ribs and beating in my ears. Nevertheless, adrenaline continued to course through my veins, refusing to relent until I could verify she was all right.
The second we stood with less than two feet between us, Beth called my name. Tatum’s eyes moved beyond me toward the front of the restaurant, and in an instant, her body became rigid.
I turned slightly and gestured to my now perhaps not-future boss to give me a second. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” The last thing I wanted was to walk away from Tatum, but I knew it would be brief. I only hoped she would stay so I could talk to her, make sure she was okay after . . . whatever had happened inside.
“I’m sorry, but I wanted to catch you before you left.” Beth rummaged through her oversized bag—which, as it turned out, doubled as a briefcase. “I just need to give you some paperwork to fill out. Bring this to the office before F
riday, and you should be ready to start on Monday.”
I took the folder she offered, torn between excitement over the job and concern for Tatum. “Thank you. I really appreciate it. And again, I’m so sorry for leaving like that. I’m not normally the dine-and-dash kind of guy.”
She waved me off. “No worries. We were basically done anyway. It’s not like this was a real interview—Daddy had his mind made up about you before we even got here. It was just formalities. Well, an informal formality.”
“Either way, I appreciate it. And I’ll have these back to the office by the end of the week.”
“Good, then I’ll see you there. Plus, you’ll get to actually meet my father.”
I nodded with a smile, grateful for the opportunity the Wisemans had offered. “It was nice meeting you, Beth. Thank you for dinner, and please, thank your dad for me. I’ll make sure to tell him how much I appreciate this when I stop by, too.”
“Take care, Jason.”
I held the folder in one hand and leaned forward to return her half hug. When she stepped off the curb, I moved away, but then I stopped. “Would you like me to walk you to your car?”
“Oh, no.” Soft laughter lifted her shoulders. “I’m literally right here.”
Beth pointed to the row of parked vehicles directly in front of the building. The giant sign over the door was bright enough to light up the entire area.
“I think I’ll be fine, but thank you. You should get back to . . . umm . . .”
When her brow creased, her sight dancing in the distance behind me, I twisted around to follow her gaze. Tatum hadn’t waited. Not that I’d expected her to, but I guess a part of me had hoped she would.
“Thank you again, Beth. I’ll see you again before Friday.” I stepped away and headed toward my car with my mind all over the place.
Wiseman had offered me exactly what I’d wanted since I had completed my master’s degree. Had they hired me years ago, I would’ve moved home and accepted the offer—instead, I’d moved to Nevada. So getting this opportunity now, after I’d believed it wasn’t a possibility, should’ve left me ready to celebrate. Except I couldn’t, because my thoughts were stuck on Tatum . . . and her impromptu karaoke at dinner.
The (Half) Truth Page 9
