Taylor groaned, remembered John had said something about the event weeks ago, before she’d promptly forgotten all about it. “That’s tonight?”
Beth nodded. “Yes. The next group will be here at four. It was testosterone overload.” Beth waved her left hand in front of her face. Gold flashed. “I tell you, if I wasn’t happily married …”
“I’m sure Todd’s grateful for that fact,” Taylor teased.
Beth put a hand seductively on her hip. “You bet he is. Every night. But I can still look at some mighty fine men, especially when they are our esteemed firefighters. It’s our duty to ogle, right?”
“Sure.” Taylor laughed. Beth and Todd had been married about three months and Taylor had photographed their wedding. “Let me check what tables I have.”
“And which firefighter. Should be a packed house tonight.”
“Don’t worry, a corporate sponsor is covering our tips. So we don’t lose out. Really, it’s all one big show. Hunky eye candy while we do the real work. Although they can carry a tray, if you’d like.”
“Good to know because I can’t afford missing any tips. I have a school loan payment due.”
She also had rent due and needed a new telephoto lens. While Virginia had paid a small retainer, Taylor had spent that money on supplies. The balance—the part she’d make as profit—would come when Taylor delivered the job. If she had a good shift, like she’d had last night, she could muddle through until then—no way was she taking her mother up on her offer and moving home. Better times had to be ahead, didn’t they?
“Speaking of grad school, how’s your final project going?”
“You mean my nonexistent project? The one I’ve so far failed to find?”
“That bad, huh?” Beth asked.
“I’ve submitted at least thirteen ideas, and my professor keeps turning them down. Who would have thought a master’s in Media Communication would be so difficult? It’s like he hates photography.”
“But that’s what you love.”
“Yeah, but so far I’m batting zero. I have to find something, and fast. I thought I’d be well on my way, yet here I am. I’m too late to even enter the juried show. I could have used that money toward a deposit on a storefront. Now I’m just trying to graduate.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ll figure something out and finish on time. You’re a great photographer. I have faith in you.”
“You might be the only one. Even my mother’s given up. She keeps asking when I’m moving home. Hey Libby. Where am I at?”
“You’ve got this section,” Libby, the hostess, pointed to the laminated layout of restaurant tables. Taylor nodded, pleased. She liked working the back room, as it was furthest from the band and the dance floor. While she’d still be busy, it meant less elbowing her way through the craziness. The people who sat in the back usually talked more, drank longer, and ordered food, all adding up to a better tip.
“Let’s get ourselves set up,” Beth said.
She and Taylor took seats in an empty booth and began rolling knives and forks inside paper napkins before sealing the lots with adhesive paper strips. Taylor had quite the stack of flatware by the time a prickle of awareness crept up her spine. Then she heard her manager John’s voice … and a bunch of others.
The firemen were here.
“Gather around, everyone,” John’s voice boomed. Standing with him were ten firefighters wearing jeans and neon pink shirts. The union logo was on the left sleeve, and a two-inch outline of a ribbon adorned the space over the heart. The back read “Station 31 Pink Out.” Clearly the chosen charity had something to do with breast cancer, which made sense as St. Louis’s Race for the Cure took place in June.
John began his pep talk. “Tonight we’re going to raise some funds.” Taylor half listened. She stood on the outside of the circle, looking around at everyone’s backside until a familiar head of wavy black hair had caught her attention. Elastic secured his hair at the nape of his neck, creating a one-inch poof. Trepidation stole over her.
With all the firehouses in the city, this couldn’t be Mr. September’s unit.
But as John finished his monologue, the firefighter pivoted, that blue-green gaze locked onto hers. Taylor’s stomach dropped. Joe. His wolf grin widened. “I’ll serve with her,” he told John, taking a step Taylor’s way.
Her manager shrugged. “Works for me. Taylor, this is your guy.” Then John began pairing everyone else up.
“Did you hear that?” Joe asked as he approached Taylor. Hypnotic eyes she hadn’t been able to forget twinkled, and her gaze fixed on his full lips. “It seems that I’m your guy.”
Taylor’s best defense was always offense, so she puckered her lips as if she’d sucked on one of the lemons from the garnish dish on the bar. “Ha. Funny. You don’t have what it takes be my guy.”
His grin never wavered and his deep voice went even lower. “Remember, I like challenges.”
Her body reacted, drawn to his like a magnet. Must … regain … control.
“Well, you failed the challenge of dialing a phone.” Taylor added a toss of her head, and her ponytail swished. “Whatever you needed to talk to me about, it clearly wasn’t important.”
He put his hand on his chest, acting astonished. “What, were you waiting with bated breath?”
“Hell no,” she retorted, irritated at how easily he’d already gotten her riled and crawling under her skin. So much for control. And, darn him, she had thought of him often, wondered what he’d wanted. Clearly it—she?—hadn’t been important. “I’m a busy person, and I assumed you’d call as you seemed so insistent. So whatever your project is, it’ll have to wait. I’m booked.”
She wasn’t, but pride demanded she pretend.
He glanced around, absorbed in the surroundings. “So this is your day job.”
“Don’t say it as if I’m a failure.”
Those blue-greens drilled into her, and his tone sharpened. “Did you hear me say that?”
No, but like everyone else, he’d probably thought it. “I am a photographer,” Taylor emphasized. “But this helps pay the bills.”
“I didn’t insinuate anything.” He thrust his hands into front jeans pockets, making his arms tense. Muscles bulged.
“We need to get started.” She made her way over to the rolled flatware, indicated he should grab some. “These need to be placed on all the tables.” She pointed. “Those are our tables. So put one in front of every chair.”
“Will do.” He began placing silverware. “And I didn’t mean any offense. I saw your pictures. You’re not a failure. Hardly.”
“Well, my work doesn’t yet pay all the bills. It’s a competitive field. You missed a table.”
“Oh.” He went back. “So how old are you?”
Her chin jutted slightly. “Twenty-six.”
“I’ve got eight years on you. You have plenty of time to make it.” He’d finished the silverware. “That means you can take more risks.”
“Not if I want to eat. Speaking of eating …” Taylor grabbed a menu off a serving station and handed it to him. “You might want to look the menu over. Tonight’s specials are written on that photocopied insert. The chef bought too much tilapia, so we need to push that.”
He opened the menu, glanced over everything. “Fine. Tilapia it is.” He handed the menu back.
“You don’t need to study it more?”
“Been here before. And really, it’s not much different from any other place. Just locally owned and known for the night life.”
“True,” she conceded. The hostess came by, leading a family of four. “Looks like we have our first table.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Excellent.”
She held out the order pad. “You’ll need this. We don’t have to memorize things here.”
“Even better.” Their fingers touched as he took the pad of paper, the pink T-shirt accentuating his tanned skin. Real men really did wear pink. Joe wore it even better.
&nb
sp; From the bios she had on all the calendar men, she knew he was thirty-four, had been involved in some aspect of becoming a firefighter since he’d done Explorers in high school.
Perhaps that’s why he strode up to their first table with complete confidence. “Hi, I’m Joe from Station 31 and I’ll be your server, along with Taylor here. I’m a bit out of my element, so please be patient. What can I get you to drink? A portion of everything goes to charity, so I hope you’re hungry.”
The couple laughed, as did their teenage kids. Taylor stood behind, ready to assist, but she wasn’t needed. Joe wrote down the family’s drink order and handed it to her. The firefighters wouldn’t do the computer entry or enter the kitchen. Presley’s staff would do that part.
Their tables filled up quickly, which thankfully kept their conversation to the bare necessities of serving food. That left her time to observe. Like he’d been on the day of the photo shoot, Joe was incredibly charming. His gorgeous smile and teasing style had people buying extra drinks. He sold multiple tilapia specials. He got customers to eat dessert, even when they insisted they were too full. She and Joe had a steady crowd all night—every server did.
“So, how’s your hunk doing?” Beth asked as they stood next to the computer touch screens while the media interviewed several of the firefighters.
“He’s not my hunk. And he’s doing fine.”
Their manager, John, caught the last part and paused on his way to the kitchen. “Fine? So far Joe’s our top seller. The man is a money-making machine. Heck, I’d hire him if he wanted a job.”
“Yes, well … I only meant …” Taylor gave up. Joe could clearly do no wrong. The monitor flashed. “My food’s ready.”
She escaped into the kitchen. When she returned, Joe stood waiting and easily took the heavy tray from her. He served a table of six while the busboy cleaned one of the four-tops in their section. Libby soon appeared carrying menus, leading the way for two men and two women. Recognizing one of the men, Taylor froze and subconsciously receded from view.
Owen.
Two years wasn’t enough time. No amount of escapist reading had let her forget. Bad memories rushed through open floodwalls and, fingers trembling, she made a beeline for the wait station. “I need you to take table fifteen,” she told Beth. “It’s my ex.”
“Oh.” Beth’s eyes widened, understanding even though Taylor had never shared the full story. “Of course. I’ll take it. Uh-oh.”
Taylor turned to see Joe already greeting them. “Just don’t go over there,” Beth said. “I’ll do it.”
Joe took the order, glanced around and frowned. Locating Taylor, he walked over with the drink order. “Why’d you disappear?”
“Because you’re doing great on your own,” she said, which wasn’t an outright lie. “I think you’ve got it from here. There’s only an hour left. How about you handle that table by yourself?”
“Yeah, I can, but I thought you were supposed to—”
“What did they order?” Beth interrupted, taking the pad out of his hands. “I’ll enter it for you.”
“A bucket of beer and hot wings,” Joe told her.
“Great.” Beth’s fingers tapped on the touch screen. “Done.”
“So what’s the problem?” Joe asked, turning to Taylor. “Something’s changed. I’m not moving until you tell me what’s wrong.”
He’d already reinforced how much he liked challenges, and Taylor didn’t need him prying even further into her life. She doled out a crumb, enough information to get him to leave her along. “It’s that last table. The hot wings one. See the guy?”
Joe craned his neck. “There are two.”
“One’s my ex.”
He scowled. “Which? The blond?”
He’d guessed correctly, but she said, “It doesn’t matter. Listen, just do me a favor. I’m going to switch tables with Beth for a few. Hang back here.”
Beth smiled at Joe, who didn’t seem pleased with the new arrangement. “Fine. If that’s what you want. It’s clear it must not have ended well.”
Taylor’s lips thinned. The breakup had been an absolute nightmare. “Which is why it’s best I’m not seen.”
“Well, I’d never have pictured you being the run-from-your-problems type.”
He studied her while Taylor folded her arms defensively. “Seriously? Do you have to be so offensive?”
“See, there’s the backbone I’ve come to know. And again with the questions. Seriously, I’m not trying to offend you. If you’d just tell me the whole story, maybe I could help. That’s what I do. Help.”
She bristled. “My personal life is none of your business and I do not need a knight in shining armor. Just do me this favor and we’ll get through tonight, go our separate ways. One favor. That’s all I ask.”
Those all-knowing blue-gray-greens that defied description saw straight through her as she withered under his superior scrutiny. “Look, there were mitigating circumstances, and it was two years ago, but for the sake of everyone, including his date, Beth’s on point for that table.”
Beth had already moved off to serve one of her tables. Joe folded his arms, which unintentionally emphasized his broad chest. “Fine, but the fact remains you and I still need to talk. So be forewarned, I’m planning on cashing in on the favor you just asked.”
His words created an illicit thrill that combined with momentary panic. “We do not need to talk.”
Ignoring her, he shook his head, grabbed the bucket of beer the bartender was handing over, and walked away.
Taylor fumed as she watched him go. He didn’t know the whole story—the nightmare that had been her life or the restraining order that had expired a year ago. She didn’t scare easily. But in Owen’s case, playing it safe was always better than being sorry. Who knew how he’d react to seeing her?
She managed to avoid Owen during the hour it took his party to eat, pay, and leave. During that time, she’d hardly talked to Joe, which was probably safer as well. The fundraising event was nearly over, and soon the over-twenty-one crowd would take over. That meant the firefighters would leave.
She picked up the leather bill folder off a vacated table and carried it to the computer station. The table had left a twenty-five percent tip. “So, do you have a few minutes to talk?” Joe asked, appearing at her side.
Every time he came near her, she jumped. She forced her heart to slow, struggled for calm. “I’m really busy right now. It’ll only get worse.”
“When do you get off?”
He was persistent, she had to give him that. Dog-with-bone determined. She told him the truth, something he could easily find out if he asked her boss. “I’m off at three.”
He frowned. “Three?”
She entered the tip into the computer. “Yes. Three. I’m closing. This is the Landing, you know.”
“I thought my hours were crazy. I guess it’s better than the East Side.” He passed over another bill sleeve. “So can you spare a few minutes now? I’d like to talk before I go.”
“I’m—” The phone in her apron pocket vibrated. Only three people ever called this late, and none meant good news. She swiped unlock, put the phone to one ear and a finger in the other in an attempt to block out excess noise. “This is Taylor.”
“Hi, Taylor.” It was Linda, a nurse at a local hospital Taylor knew. “Triplets. One arrived stillborn. Are you available?”
Taylor’s grip tightened on the phone as her heart broke. “Yes. I’ll be right there. About twenty minutes.”
“Thank you.” She could hear the relief in Linda’s voice. “I’ll let the family know.”
Taylor ended the call by hitting the power button. Luckily her manager walked by. “John, I’ve got to go. Emergency.”
John’s face fell. “Another one?”
Taylor nodded. She’d worked for John for three years now, and he understood why she had to leave and what she needed to go do. He had three kids of his own. “I know I’m leaving you short. I’ll be b
ack as soon as I can.”
He waved her onward. “Go. We’ll handle it.”
“Great.” Taylor took off her apron.
Deep creases formed on Joe’s sexy forehead. His jaw ticked. “Hey, I thought we were going to talk. Why are you leaving?”
Her thoughts already on the family she was about to meet, Taylor said, “I have an emergency. I don’t have time to lose or to talk.”
“I’m an emergency expert. Let me help.” His whole demeanor changed. Standing before her was a man who dealt with multiple crises on a daily basis. His voice contained a quiet authority that soothed and calmed. Shaken by seeing Owen earlier, she wavered. “Not really, but thanks for offering.”
Joe planted his hands on his hips, took charge. “Don’t be stubborn. Your hands are trembling. Your heart rate is up. I’ll come with you. We can talk on the way. Kill two birds with one stone.”
Taylor stared at Joe. How dare he. Yet knowing the strength she’d need over the next hour, and after seeing Owen, she didn’t have any more energy to expend fighting with him.
“Let me help, Taylor. Whatever it is, I can handle it.” His assurance swayed her; he clearly exhibited leadership in a crisis. And she did have to come back here anyway, so it wasn’t like he couldn’t retrieve his car. Maybe some company—even his—might be welcome, considering the circumstances. “Fine. You can ride with me. Let me clock out. And we’ll go.”
* * *
As Taylor disappeared into the kitchen, Joe motioned for Reid’s attention. His entire crew had been assigned this particular charity shift, and Joe had been surprised when he’d seen Taylor. He’d had no clue she wasn’t a full-time photographer. “Something came up and I’m going to cut out early,” he told Reid. If Reid thought the request odd, he rolled with it, made a joke.
“Yeah, I saw the hot blonde. I’d cut out early too.”
Joe scowled. “Can you just take over without the crass commentary? She was the photographer from the calendar shoot. She’s not a hook-up.”
Reid shrugged. “Hey, sorry. I’ll keep the guys in check. We’re just serving food. How hard can it be? I got this.”
“Great. Thanks. See you.” Having just finished a forty-eight-hour shift, Joe and his crew were off for the next ninety-six hours. Taylor reappeared, walking so fast that Joe quickened his step to catch up.
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