With a sigh, I folded my clothes and placed them and my bag in a corner of the sofa. Returning to the kitchen, I found Polly and Molly efficiently working in tandem around the huge steaming pots. When she saw me, Polly indicated three plates.
“Take those to table three.”
“Which one is table three?”
She grabbed my hand and we both popped our heads through the swinging doors.
“That one where those three guys are sitting. The numbering starts from the table next to the window. They are one, two and three,” she explained, pointing, “then four, five and six, and beyond the isle from left to right are tables seven, eight and nine. And next to the other wall are the rest: ten, eleven, twelve. Got it?”
I nodded and returned to the plates. I carefully took one in each hand and stared helplessly at the third one, just as Carrie breezed in. We exchanged a look, then she took pity on me. She lifted the last plate and balanced it on my forearm.
“Make sure you don’t drop it. I just got the hang of it myself. With your luck, you probably won’t last the day, but who knows? I did ... Good luck.”
“Gee, thanks, sis. Your confidence in me is overwhelming.”
I scowled at her, and she stuck out her tongue. The only consolation was that the “olly” twins weren’t watching.
I don’t know how I reached table three with the plates intact. My hands shook, my heart hammered, but after a short mix up in who had ordered what, every plate was in front of its owner. I dashed back to the kitchen, thanking the God of restaurants for His aid and the fact that the place wasn’t crowded.
It didn’t take me long to realize that even a small number of customers could keep two waitresses busy. I understood why the break room looked unused. Between taking and delivering orders, refilling water glasses, providing cutlery and napkins, and any other of the dozens of things I was expected to do, I didn’t have time to sit even long enough to use the toilet. After working at a desk for most of the last two years, my body protested this torture. My feet ached, my leg muscles screamed in agony, and I didn’t even want to consider what my back would do to me later.
Carrie, on the other hand, was unruffled, cheerful, and as energetic as that damn battery bunny on television. She didn’t break stride when she entered the kitchen with a load of dirty plates and put them in the industrial sink. Then she turned to me.
“New customer at table seven. Go take his order. You can thank me later,” she added, winking.
“Thank you for what?” I asked puzzled, tucking the escaped strands of hair back into my ponytail.
“You’ll see. He’s total eye candy!”
I uttered a snorting sound on my way out. The only candy I was interested in right now was chocolate, which I dreamed of consuming as I lay in a cool bath. However, I still had two more hours until the end of this shift. As tired as I was, I hoped it wouldn’t be the last. I desperately needed this job.
Chapter Six
The man at table seven had his back to me, so I walked around the table.
“Hello. What can I get you?”
When he lifted his head and his eyes met mine, I felt as though someone had sucker punched me. I would’ve recognized those green eyes anywhere. With his sun tanned face, his cheeks and chin covered by sandy stubble, they were as bright as oncoming headlights on a dark night.
Carter Evans’s surprise was as great as mine. For a moment, he stared at me, his eyebrows raised, then he smiled. God, he had a beautiful mouth!
“Well, hi there … Camilla, isn’t it?”
I couldn’t believe he remembered my name. My tongue was numb as I tried to speak. This was the second time I’d seen the man, and here I was behaving like an idiotic schoolgirl with a crush on the captain of the football team. At least this time, while I smelled of onions and garlic, I wasn’t covered in dirt and grass.
I smiled at him, feigning nonchalance.
“You remembered. Carter, right? It’s nice to see you again.”
“Likewise,” he said. “I didn’t know you worked here.”
“Well, I don’t. At least not officially yet.” Realizing that probably made no sense, I amended. “This is my first day, a training day. Whether or not I get the job depends on how well I do.”
He grinned, his teeth straight and white in the dim light. “I have no doubt you’ll get it.”
I stood, mesmerized by his gaze, until I remembered why I was there.
“So, what can I get you?” I asked once more.
“Grilled chicken, fries, and a green salad. That’s my usual order.”
“So you come here often?”
“Nearly every day.”
My heart double pumped at his words. I couldn’t believe it. Maybe I’d gotten all the bad karma out of my system. Here I was, all depressed after my third fall from grace, when the man of my dreams steps in and saves the day.
“I hope I’ll be here long enough to remember your preferences,” I said, trying to temper my excitement. “What would you like to drink?”
“Mineral water, please.”
“Coming right up!”
I walked back to the kitchen as gracefully as I could, ignoring the other customers who wondered at my silly grin and flushed face. I gave Polly the order, took a bottle of mineral water out of the fridge, and placed it on a tray along with a tall glass filled with ice.
“See? Told you he was gorgeous,” Carrie whispered as she walked past me to deliver an order.
I smiled. Maybe it was time to bury the hatchet.
“You know what? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you were right. Furthermore,” I added, feeling blissfully generous, “since we’re going to be working here together, why don’t we call a truce?”
Her carefully penciled eyebrows lifted and the tip of her tongue made her cheek bulge.
“My, my! You really must like the guy.”
“Oh, it has nothing to do with that,” I replied airily, lifting the tray and heading toward the door. “It’s just that we’re both adults now, and we are sisters after all. We should try to get along—like they do.” I indicated Molly and Polly.
Carrie pursed her lips.
“Sure. Why not? We could do that. By the way, can I stop by your place tonight to pick up your black dress? I have a date.”
“Don’t push it,” I growled. “I don’t feel that generous.”
When I stopped at Carter’s table, he was texting on his phone.
“Taking notes for an article?” I asked, putting the tray down. I uncapped the water bottle and filled the glass.
“Sort of.” He glanced up and gave me a quick smile that sent my heart into overdrive again.
“What kind of articles do you write?”
“Well, I’m in charge of the investigative section. I research crime, kidnappings, disappearances, that kind of thing.”
“It sounds fascinating,” I said, truly impressed. “You’re like a detective.”
He gazed at me for a moment, and I sensed his slight hesitation before he made up his mind.
“I could tell you all about it if you joined me for a drink.”
I was just rearranging the salt and pepper shakers on the table when my brain made sense of what he’d said. My hand jerked involuntarily and bumped the water glass. It promptly spilled, shedding water and ice all over the table and straight into Carter’s lap. So much for my belief in a respite from the gods of ill luck.
“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed, mortified.
I grabbed a handful of paper napkins and started rubbing at his wet shirt. As if my blunder hadn’t been enough, feeling his hard chest and abdomen muscles under my hands made me dizzy. I was so absorbed in my unexpected exploration that I barely stopped my hand before it moved down to his wet crotch.
“It’s okay.” Carter said, reaching for my frozen hand. “It’s just water, it won’t stain, and even if it did, these jeans are older than dirt. No loss.”
“I’m really, really
sorry.”
My cheeks flamed as I watched him dab at the damp denim.
“Don’t worry about it. It’ll be dry by the time I finish eating.”
“I’ll get you a cloth napkin,” I said, desperate to escape and dashed toward the kitchen, mentally cursing my clumsiness.
There was no doubt about it now. I was the biggest klutz in the history of humanity. Why, oh why couldn’t I be the person I thought myself to be? The smart, confident, successful woman I used to think I was? When had my life plummeted to these dismal depths?
Near tears I asked Molly for a cloth napkin. She didn’t seem to notice when she also handed me Carter’s plates of food. I arranged them on a tray and, taking a deep breath, returned to his table.
I was ashamed to face him, but despite my cowardice—and since I had no choice—I scraped together what little professionalism I had left.
“I do apologize for the accident,” I said, placing the food in front of him and wiping off the remaining water on the table. “I’m not usually like this ... It’s been a rough week.”
“Please, don’t worry about it, Camilla. There’s no damage done. Let’s just forget about it.” After a short pause he added, “You didn’t answer my question earlier.”
“What? Oh …” I said faintly, hoping I wasn’t as red as my cheeks felt. “I’m sorry, but I’m not allowed to join customers during work hours.”
“Right.” Part of me thrilled that he seemed crestfallen. “Then, when do you finish work?”
My lips parted in surprise, and I nervously fidgeted with the hem of my skirt.
“In about an hour, I think.”
“Good. If you want, we can go someplace else.”
God, that combination of serious and playful that sparkled in his eyes was lethal—to my libido anyway. I swallowed and nodded.
“Okay. Sure. That would be nice.”
“I’ll be waiting. Thanks for the food.”
“You’re welcome.” I handed him the cloth napkin. “Here, maybe you need this to ... repair the damage,” I said, throwing a quick glance at his lap before rushing away.
I was taking a calming breath as I stepped into the kitchen and came nose to nose with the owner, the great Fredo himself.
“Are you the new girl?” His deep voice had an unmistakable Italian accent.
“Yes, sir,” I answered, as his gaze raked me from head to toe, not an entirely pleasant experience. “My name is Camilla Jackson.”
“Camilla. Pretty name. I’m Alfredo Romano, the owner of Fredo’s. So, you want to work here?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I’ll tell you upfront, we don’t tolerate laziness,” he said, frowning. His thick black eyebrows were the only patches of hair in his otherwise bald skull. He was so short I could see the top of his head, reminding me of a Danny DeVito knockoff.
“No, of course not,” I said, hoping I sounded sincere.
He questioned me about my past work experience, then asked Molly and Polly how I’d been doing.
“She’s a bit scatter-brained,” Polly said, “but she hasn’t broken a single plate so far, and only mixed up a couple of orders. I would say she’s a keeper.”
The grin that brightened her face took me by surprise, and I found myself smiling in gratitude.
Romano rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Okay. We’ll give it a try.”
He explained the work hours, salary, and other benefits, which included a free meal and three soft drinks per shift. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but given my current situation, I couldn’t afford to be choosy.
I nodded and shook his hand.
“Thank you, Mister Romano. You won’t be disappointed.”
“I hope not. I hired another young thing the other day and so far she’s cost me more than her first salary. But she’s got nice legs and other ... attributes the customers seem to like...” He trailed off, shrugging.
“She’s my sister,” I informed him.
“Really?” He gazed down skeptically at my obviously more subtle attributes. “Well, that’s good. At least you’ll get along.” He glanced at the watch encircling his hairy forearm. “You can get going now. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight sharp.”
I found Carrie in the break room, finishing a soda and stretching her bare toes, her high heels discarded next to her.
“So, are you hired?” she asked.
“For the time being,” I said, starting to undress. “Oh, no,” I groaned, looking disdainfully at my jeans and simple shirt. My eyes darted toward my sister. “Where are your clothes?” I asked.
“What? Why?”
“I have a date. I can’t go looking like this. I thought you might have something better.”
She grinned. “I do, but I doubt it will fit you.”
She stood and walked barefoot to a wall hook I hadn’t noticed earlier. She took down a white sundress and held it against her. I stared dubiously at the tight, strapless shape, with a wavy knee-length skirt.
“It’s going to hang off me.”
“Maybe not. It’s elastic. Here, try it on,” she said, but snatched the dress away at the last moment. “Say pretty please.”
“Can I get an epidural first?”
“Nope. And you have to lend me your black dress.”
“Say what?”
“Or else no deal. I’ll have to walk home in this uniform, since there’s no way in hell I’ll wear those.” She indicated my jeans and shirt. “Take it or leave it.”
I pursed my lips and snatched the dress from her grasp. “All right, all right. Geez, who would believe my own sister would drive such a hard bargain?”
“I learned from the best,” she said, plopping back onto the couch. “So, who’s the unlucky guy?”
“The blond from table seven,” I said, slipping out of my uniform and into Carrie’s dress.
“Fast work!”
“Actually, I met him once before, briefly. Can you zip this up for me?”
She slid the zipper up and, after some adjusting, the dress gloved my body quite nicely.
“Not bad,” Carrie remarked, tightening the bow at my waist. “Thank God you’re wearing black sandals and have a matching handbag. Here, take my pearl earrings. They fit better with the dress.”
My eyebrows shot up as she unfastened the earrings and clasped them on my unadorned ears.
“When did you become so generous?”
She shrugged again. “It’s nice to have you owe me a favor. Okay, here you are. Go get him!”
I looked at her blue-gray eyes and pretty doll face, marveling at the resemblance between us. We hadn’t been close since I’d moved out two years ago, when she was an insufferable teenage brat. Maybe now that she was more mature, that could change.
“Just one more thing to do,” I said before I became too schmaltzy. I moved quickly toward the small bathroom where I redid my makeup, added more eyeliner, mascara and lipstick, then brushed my hair and let it fall over my shoulders. The dress really looked good on me, making my skin look tanned and my eyes brilliant. Maybe I was flattering myself, but I felt like a model from a glamorous magazine.
“I really do owe you,” I admitted, coming out of the bathroom. “Thanks, sis. I’ll bring the dress tomorrow.”
As I walked toward Carter’s table, I was more confident than ever. He looked up slowly, taking in every inch of me, starting with my feet and working his way up to my face. I could drown in those emerald eyes.
“You look lovely.” His voice was husky and low. I could swear its vibration caressed my skin, making my stomach flutter.
“Thank you,” I replied softly. “Are you ready?”
“Definitely.”
At Carter’s suggestion, we walked to a nearby outdoor cafe. The wooden tables and chairs were scattered over a large deck, surrounded by evergreens. Each table had its own purple umbrella providing shade for the lavender-colored tables. A small artesian fountain filled the air with the bubbling sound of water.
We chose a table and Carter pulled out a chair for me before sitting on the opposite side. A young waitress materialized to take our orders. I asked for a soda, and Carter ordered a beer.
“What is it?” Carter asked, noticing that my mouth had twitched into an envious smile.
“Nothing. I was thinking I would kill for a beer in this heat.”
He laughed. “Then why didn’t you order one?”
“My mom claims it’s gauche for a lady to drink beer in public,” I muttered, cursing Mom’s attempts to make a lady out of me.
“You can have some of mine. You don’t have to be formal with me, Camilla. I’m not into society etiquette and all that.”
He smiled, propping his elbows on the table, no doubt to prove his point. I couldn’t help noticing his toned, tanned forearms sprinkled with blond hair, revealed by the rolled up sleeves of his shirt.
“But don’t you need impeccable manners in your line of work? An investigative reporter must rub elbows with all kinds of people, including celebrities,” I said.
He made a slight snorting sound. “Not too often, thank God. Actually, my job is behind the scenes, so to speak. I do interview a lot of people, but not at social events. I like to work incognito.”
I was so fascinated I barely noticed the girl who brought our drinks. I didn’t know anything about journalism per se, beyond the fact that it entailed precise, factual accounts of events, but I assumed an investigative reporter was more like Colombo, searching for clues and running after leads.
“What exactly do you do? Does your job involve pulling the clues together and solving mysteries?”
I must have sounded stupid because he laughed out loud. The indulgent, amused look he gave me suggested he found me entertaining, not annoyingly nosy.
“Nothing that exciting,” he assured me. “The police usually get to have all that fun. I cover high profile cases, but do write about the occasional robbery or something equally boring. There’s a lot of crime in Jersey City, but it’s not always important enough to make the news.”
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