by J. M. Adele
“Poor Cameron. My guess is he’s not used to the attentions of such a vibrant woman.”
“Vibrant? Yeah, that’s the perfect word. I’ll add eccentric to that.”
“Intimidating,” Chelsea offered.
“Sexually aggressive.”
They both dissolved into giggles, bumping shoulders.
“Hey, ladies. Wait up.”
Ryan’s voice found them through the crowd, and they both spun around to search for him. Dee spotted him first, as he jogged through the cluster of bodies in his gym gear. She scooted off to give him a hug. Chelsea stood back, hesitant to approach, even though he seemed overjoyed to see them.
To see Dee, she corrected herself.
“Hi there. Where ya headed?”
Straight white teeth flashed a huge smile. His gaze washed over Chelsea, the tightness around his eyes hinting at the tension between them.
She needed to sort this out. Now.
“Hey, Ryan. I apologize for jumping down your throat last night. I overreacted. You were drunk, I get it. But don’t go sayin’ shit like that to me. Ever. Ya hear?”
“I just wanted to have a game of darts with you, Chelsea. That’s all I meant.”
Her eyebrows shot up, and she searched his face for signs of a lie, finding none in the wide set of his ingenuous eyes. Either he was a talented actor or he was being honest. She hadn’t even considered that his comment was completely innocent. Oh, God. Now she really felt like a bitch. She’d judged him on first impression, and twisted his words to mean something she’d expect a player to say rather than a friendly challenge.
Who was the douche now?
“Oh, shit. Ryan, I’m so sorry. Me and my big mouth.” She clasped the strap of her messenger bag, cringing. “I have a real short temper. I tend to shoot my mouth off before I ask questions. I apologize, again.”
She glanced at Dakota, silently questioning if it was okay to invite him along. Dee’s smile stretched in approval. “Would you like to come for a coffee? We’re meeting with Hannah. My treat.”
Chelsea offered the olive branch, feeling a little sick in the stomach that she was making such a mess of things already. She thought she was a better judge of character than that.
Ryan tapped a finger on his chin, playfully looking to the heavens for the answer. “Hmm. Coffee with Ryan’s Angels. Sounds like heaven.” His arms swung around their shoulders, playfully nudging them in the direction of the train station.
“Ryan’s Angels? Your ego is bigger than the Super Bowl.” Chelsea scoffed.
“A man can dream.”
“Keep on dreaming; that’s all it will ever be.” She ducked out from his hold, striding out in front.
Things were still shaky between them. He was too familiar with her, even though she’d made it clear she didn’t feel comfortable with him yet.
She gnashed her teeth, contemplating her situation, until an unpleasant thought jolted through her. Her steps faltered as the blood drained from her face. Is that how she’d treated Greyson? Had her brash behavior turned him away?
She was the worst kind of hypocrite. She didn’t want to be treated like any man’s play thing, and yet, that’s how she’d been treating men for years. A whimper escaped her lips as she put a hand over her stomach. Her two companions, deep in conversation, obliviously followed behind.
Ryan had thrown a mirror in her face, and she didn’t like what she’d seen.
Lord. What happened to turning over a new leaf? Atoning for her sins? Setting herself up for the future wasn’t enough. She needed to grow the hell up before she ended this chapter of her life. How could she face her mother, or justify her mother’s sacrifices, if she was running all over town behaving like the man who’d ruined her mama’s life?
Her gut dropped to her feet. All of a sudden Alabama seemed like it was at the other end of the Earth from where she was standing.
Only one more year.
_____
Chelsea breathed in the rich scents of simmering sauces and food prep wafting from Abbiocco’s kitchen, an appreciative hum vibrating her throat. She’d worked here as a server for over three years. Outside these walls, she couldn’t help but feel like a stripper in church. Not that she was losing her clothing on the regular, although it would sure help pay the bills. She felt exposed here, like they all knew her sordid past, and that she was only pretending to fit in, and were laughing behind her back. But at Abbiocco, she was one of an eclectic mix of misfits—everyone so different—and yet, all the pieces fit perfectly. This place was her home away from home.
Stopping at one of the tables, she looked around the deserted room, feeling emotions swell and clog her throat. Basking in the familiar inviting atmosphere, she was suddenly in danger of tipping over the edge she’d teetered on since she left home—since the diner, and everything that had happened with Ryan.
Pulling out a chair, she sat her ass down. Swiping her moist eyes with the back of her hand, she felt stupid for having a weak moment. But she bowed her head and let the tears drip, anyways. She deserved a break, damn it.
Rifling through her pocketbook, she yanked out a Kleenex, and tried to clean herself up before anyone saw her.
Girl, pull your shit together, pronto.
On the far side of the room, Chelsea could see the cooks working through the kitchen window. Could see their mouths moving, but couldn’t quite make out what they were saying above the clash of metal utensils and equipment. She ran a hand over the crisp white linen covering the wooden table, mentally listing all the things she had to do before dinner service.
Chelsea stood, slinging her pocketbook over her shoulder, as she weaved through the room. The spread of tables, broken up by an occasional potted tree, their branches bare but for a string of lights. Pendant lights hung low, casting muted light throughout the room. Exposed brick walls lined the space in a darkened earthy tone, while a pyramid of glass in the center of the ceiling invited a view of the heavens. The effect was a cozy, magical atmosphere, despite the large space.
She’d been told Abbiocco was an Italian term used to describe the drowsiness you experienced after a large meal. That was kinda how she felt after each shift. Content and fulfilled. Definitely tired.
The kitchen door busted open as Dane, the restaurant’s host, made his way over. “Babe! I thought that was you.” He enveloped her in a warm hug before grabbing her arms and pulling back to inspect her face, his manicured brow drawn low. “What’s going on. Why have you been crying?”
“Dane.” His name squeezed through a tight throat.
“You’re not gonna quit, are you?”
“Dane,” she said more firmly.
“Aren’t you happy to see me?”
She rolled her eyes. Such a drama queen. “Dane! Take a breath and lay off the grip. You’re hurtin’ my arms.”
“Oops! Sorry, babe.” He let her go. “I’m just so happy to have you back. You know there’s nobody that works the front of house like you … And that awful bitch, Sonja …” He snarled and held up a finger. “Do you know what she did? She served dishes to the wrong party, and one of the guys there was allergic to egg. Luckily, they realized it wasn’t what they had ordered. We had to comp their desserts and his meal. She didn’t bother to water her tables, and then she skated at the end of the night.”
Jamming his hands on his hips, he glared at Chelsea. The diamond studs in his ears caught the light, mocking the fierce expression on his face. Dane may be man-scaped and moisturized to within an inch of his life, but he was scary when he wanted to be. She almost felt sorry for Sonja. Almost. If there was one thing Chelsea couldn’t tolerate, it was lazy, selfish, careless people. Dane was none of those things.
“Did you tell her the shakers weren’t going to fill themselves?”
“No, I told her not to come back. She smirked and said I had no authority to make that decision.”
Chelsea’s mouth flattened, unimpressed that they were still saddled with the peach.
“Beau sorted her out for me.” Dane’s eyes scanned the bar wistfully.
It was no secret that he had a crush on the bartender. She didn’t blame him. Beau was hot. With brown hair and eyes to match, and a chiseled jaw covered in scruff. He was comforting and formidable at the same time.
“That man is my hero. Pity he’s married. I’d be his bar-back any day.”
“Married and super straight. Never mind, honey, there’s a man out there for you.”
“Hmm. He’s probably still hiding in the closet.” Dane turned back to Chelsea. “What about you? Did you snag yourself some hot Alabama tail while you were there?”
“Nope. I’ve decided to retire from the dating scene for a while.”
Dane laughed for a solid minute before he realized she wasn’t laughing with him.
“Wait. You’re serious?” Those plucked eyebrows danced up his forehead.
“Yeah. I am.”
“What? Why? One of us has to get some. How can we talk about sex if we’re both in a man drought?”
“There’s plenty more to life than men, Dane.”
“Yeah, but none of it is as much fun.”
“Shoes are fun. Ice cream is fun. Shopping and dancing are fun.”
“None of those things will keep you warm at night, or make your toes curl in pleasure. Oh, babe. No, no, no. You’ve gone and lost your mojo.”
His pitying expression pissed her off. “My mojo is right where I left it.” In a diner in Alabama. “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need your pity. And I don’t need a man.” Chelsea raised a brow, and started to make her way to the kitchen.
“Three months.” He called out after her.
She spun around, trying to taper back her annoyance. “Three months, for what?”
“I’ll give you three months before you give in to temptation. If you can’t make it that long, then you owe me a day at the spa.”
“And if I prove you wrong?”
“I’ll buy you those Manolo Blahniks you’ve been drooling over.”
She sucked in a breath. “The boots?”
“The boots.”
She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m offended that you think me so weak and so easily bought.”
“I’m preying on your weaknesses for my own sick pleasure. It’s true. You should be offended.”
“You’re going to be broke by Christmas, so you’re the one who’ll suffer, ultimately. It’s a win for me and a loss for you. Why not? You’re on.”
She breezed past him into the kitchen to say hello to everyone and pack away her things, already imagining the suede beauties on her feet.
Piece of cake.
What The?
“Jenna, honey! How’ve you been?” Chelsea flung her arms around her petite friend, feeling the scratch of Jenna’s raven bun, rock hard with hairspray, just under her chin.
Catching up with the dinner service team at the Host’s Station after hugging her way through the population of the building, she swore the smile was tattooed to her face. She soaked in the love, feeling like she’d been gone for a year, rather than just over a month.
“I’m doing fine. It’s so good to have you back.” Jenna slapped a no-nonsense hand on Chelsea’s back, and stepped out of the embrace.
Jenna was a ball of muscle, reminding Chelsea of a gymnast, although it wasn’t the gym that sculpted her body. It was yoga, and loads of discipline. She’d never seen Jenna’s hair down in the three years they’d been working together. Not even when they caught up outside of work.
“Got your tip jar ready?” Chelsea gave the bun a playful tap, half expecting to hear a wooden sound.
The tiny dynamo’s hand snapped up, quick to straighten things out where they belonged. A total waste of time. There was no way anything was getting through the solid crust of hairspray fortifying that up-do. Still, Chelsea couldn’t help wondering if anything was hidden under there, and she loved teasing Jenna about it.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, stop wasting time. What’re we in for, Dane?” Jenna barked, getting down to business, her tilted eyes zoning in on the restaurant’s host.
“We’re fully booked tonight. We’ve got an eight-top in your section.” Dane cocked a brow in Chelsea’s direction. “Business meeting. It’s Mr. Clermont, and his party. He asked to be served by you.”
The hair rose on the back of Chelsea’s neck, as unease and excitement warred for the top emotional spot. Mr. Clermont was a frequent customer, and she’d worked hard to build a rapport with him, knowing that it would secure her a regular source of good tips. But the man had grabby hands. So far, he’d only brushed her arm, or her knee, ‘accidentally.’ But when the alcohol started flowing, he got this look in his eye, like he was mentally stripping her naked and throwing her on the table.
Chelsea propped her hands on her hips, ready for battle. “Okay, anything else I need to know before I study the menu?”
“The chicken manicotti is to die for. We’ve had to eighty-six the fettucine with truffle because of some hold up with the supplier. Oh, and there’s a new apprentice chef starting sometime soon. Not sure when.”
“Apprentice? Seriously?”
“Yeah. Surprise!”
“Okay. Thanks, Dane. We’d better get our asses moving.”
Chelsea darted around, setting up for service, slowly getting her rhythm back with a few more pieces of home clicking into place. As a sophomore, she’d worked with her mama in the little bakery and café in town. Maybe that was why this place had a special place in her heart. It evoked memories of home. A slice of pie, and a cold, sweet tea enjoyed for a fleeting moment.
Damn it.
She shoved a table into place, wondering why the moments she was so desperate to forget are what often replayed in her idle mind. Why did her brain fixate on the men she didn’t want, or that didn’t want her? Not all men were bad. Dane was a good guy. Gay. So was Beau. Married. Hank was a phenomenal human being. Old and, ew, Angel’s father.
She bolted up straight as the realization struck.
Well, shit. I’m lonely.
Years of meaningless liaisons, proving to herself that she didn’t need anything more. That she was the one with the power. And now, her heart decided to slap her upside the head and tell her it’s all bullshit.
Greyson Stranger, you are a sonofabitch.
Jenna grabbed another table, sliding it beside Chelsea’s. “Hey, are you okay?”
Her shoulders sagged. “Yeah, I’m just …” Chelsea searched the glass ceiling for an answer. “Going through some sort of quarter-life crisis, or somethin’.” She shrugged and went back to her task. “I’ve been here for three years. I’m home sick. It’s hitting me hard, I guess. Plus, I’ve moved in with a bunch of horny crazies.”
“Sounds like the perfect place for you.”
“Hey, watch it.” Jenna merely raised a brow, staring Chelsea down. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. But I’m changing my ways. I’ve sworn off men.”
Jenna’s jaw dropped in exaggerated disbelief before a thoughtful look changed her expression. “Are you swapping sides?”
They grabbed a tray of flatware, setting the tables as they spoke.
“What?” Chelsea’s brow creased in confusion, before it hitched up again as Jenna’s meaning sank in. “Oh, no. I’m off the dating scene altogether.”
Jenna shot an accusing finger in Chelsea’s direction. “Right. Who are you? Is the real Chelsea stuck in the trunk of a car somewhere?”
“The real Chelsea is under construction. We’re sorry for the inconvenience. Please wear protective clothing while in the vicinity. Thank you for your patience.”
“Oh my God. You’re serious.” Jenna stood with a centerpiece poised in midair, her jaw slack, even if her bun wasn’t.
Dane sidled up beside Jenna, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “She’s deadly serious. We have a little wager riding on her willpower. She thinks she’s getting the boots, but I’ll be enjoying a
day at the spa by the end of this month. Care to join?”
“Nuh uh. I’m staying out of this one. I’m too worried about her mental state to take advantage like that.” Jenna stepped forward, dislodging Dane’s arm from its perch.
Dane didn’t seem offended. He was used to Jenna’s aversion to physical contact. “Oh, Jenna. So serious. What’s wrong with making the most of an opportunity when you see one?”
“Said the wolf to the lamb. You have no shame.”
“Shame is for fools.”
“You should have plenty to go around, then.”
Chelsea threw up her hands. “Children! No fighting before dinner service. I’ll prove you both wrong. End of discussion. Let’s get to work.”
How could she be lonely when she had friends like these?
She made her way to the server’s station, bracing herself for the onslaught. Mr. Grabby Hands would be coming in soon. If things went her way she’d have a nice bit of cash tucked away by the end of the night. She just hoped she could keep Mr. Clermont in check.
Lord, spare me from assholes.
_____
Chelsea worked around the room like a pro. Her feet throbbed as she refilled drink orders and changed carafes of water. Being back here was like slipping on her favorite pair of shoes. Molded to perfection, comfortable, familiar, and loved. She liked to think they would be sparkly and red.
The energy in the room buzzed along her skin more than it ever had. She couldn’t explain what was different. Jenna was in sync with her, as usual. Dane was his entertaining self. Maybe it was the fact that her section seemed to have attracted the rabble tonight. She’d done more trips to the bar than she could count, having to cut off two tables from the alcohol supply already, and she had yet to serve dessert. Abbiocco wasn’t normally that kind of place, but maybe their customers were on a sports high or something. This was Boston. Sports ruled around here.
Clermont’s table pumped out the decibels, mostly due to his own flapping gums. Drunk off his ass, the tentacled touch from Clermont’s hands paired with his nasal laugh had Chelsea’s patience fraying rapidly. She barely managed to keep a firm hold on her server’s smile with each slimy caress.