by Maggie Wells
When Darla’d been the girl’s age, she’d had stretch marks, shirts striped with kid goo, and a full set of worry lines.
Worse, the chickie had an air of confidence about her that rankled.
Zelda Jo crossed her line of vision carrying two tumblers of iced tea. Darla would have had to be blind to miss the pointed ‘I told you so’ glare her friend shot at her, but that didn’t mean she had to react. Ducking her head, she wove through the tables, forcing herself to concentrate on the tasks at hand.
Sweet tea. Pork platter to-go. For God’s sake, don’t look at Jake. Remember extra wet wipes for table nine.
“You okay?” Bubba asked, startling her from her thoughts.
“Fine.” The response was automatic. So was the look of patient sympathy on Bubba’s worn face. “Really, I’m okay.”
Bubba wiped his hands on the splattered towel tucked into his belt. “Jake’s a good guy.”
She raised an eyebrow, stunned by the unexpected commentary. “He is.”
He waved a scarred and stained hand toward the dining room. “I doubt it’s anything like Z.J. is thinking.”
As if he’d conjured her by saying her name, Zelda Jo rushed into the kitchen, her face alight with barely contained excitement. “Well, if that don’t beat all,” she said, tossing her order pad onto the counter.
Bubba shot Darla one last commiserating look, then turned back to his work. Darla didn’t even pretend to play it coy. She scooped the other woman’s order pad from the counter and handed his back. “What?”
Zelda Jo smiled and tucked her favorite prop back into the pocket of her apron. “The girl John-John has in here?” Dropping her voice to a loud whisper, she leaned in. “She doesn’t eat meat!”
She sounded so affronted, Darla had to laugh out loud.
“I bet she’s one of them vee-gans like Gwyneth Paltrow.” Tipping her chin up, she gave a sniff of disdain. “I hear they don’t even eat eggs.”
“No,” Darla said, both mocking and confirming in one neat word.
“Or drink milk. Or eat cheese,” Zelda added, going in for the kill.
Clapping her hands to her cheeks Darla gasped in horror. “Heaven forbid!”
Zelda smirked, then turned her attention to the baskets Bubba was lining up along the pick-up counter. “Mock away, smartypants, but you’re missin’ the bigger picture here.”
“Bigger picture?”
Rolling her eyes as if the answer should have been obvious, Zelda Jo began loading a tray. “There’s no way in Hades a fella like Jake Dalton is gonna hook himself up with some woman who doesn’t eat meat. It isn’t natural,” she added, as if she’d provided all the explanation needed.
“True,” Bubba confirmed.
Both amused and oddly comforted by her friends’ assessment, Darla tore the to-go order from her pad, clipped the slip to Bubba’s ticket holder, then pressed a kiss to the cook’s grizzled cheek. With a pitcher of tea in hand, she reloaded her apron pocket with packaged towelettes, then paused beside Zelda Jo.
When the older woman glanced up from her work, Darla looked her dead in the eye. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you are, sugar.” Zelda jerked her chin toward the dining room. “Now get out there and let the boy see what he’s missing.”
Darla flashed a wan smile. “I’m not sure he’s missing anything.”
Zelda snorted. “Just friends, my patoot. If you think any man is going to choose Miley Cyrus over Mila Kunis, you’re nuts.”
“Mila Kunis?”
“The girl who married Demi Moore’s boy-toy,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“So, you do keep current,” Darla accused with a grin.
Zelda Jo wrinkled her nose. “I’d use them more, but frankly, I don’t think they’re as interesting as movie stars used to be. What I wouldn’t give for that Burt Reynolds marrying Sally Field rumor to be true.”
“Maybe they will,” Darla said with a shrug. “Keep the faith.”
For her part, she tried to keep her eyes glued to her half of the dining room as she made her rounds. Thankfully, her empty tables were now filled with guys from Cade Construction. Darla waved an acknowledgement, only to be greeted by a long, loud wolf whistle from one young guy she didn’t recognize. Palming the plastic pitcher, she narrowed a practiced stink eye on the guy as she approached.
To her satisfaction, a tomato-red blush crept higher on the boy’s neck with each step. When she drew to a stop, the bubble of tension dissipated when the men at the adjoining tables burst into raucous laughter. Darla chuckled and gave her head a pitying shake. “Boys, boys,” she tsked. “Didn’t any of y’all explain to junior the rules on tipping?”
“Aw, now, Darla, we were only tryin’ to help you out,” Mat Cabrera crooned, flashing even white teeth. “We figured you could use a little extra, bein’ a single mom and all, and Mikey here just got his first paycheck.” He slapped the kid on the back so hard he nearly folded over the table. “Right, Mikey?”
The boy gaped at her for a second, then swallowed hard, his face turning another full shade darker. “You’re a mom?”
“Why, yes, I am. And every time a man is rude or ungentlemanly to me, Mr. Beau allows me to add a thirty percent tip to his tab.” She tilted her head and gave him her sweetest smile. “My baby and I thank you for helping keep us in Pampers.”
Both tables exploded into gales of laughter again, and Darla let her smile morph into a grin. Feeling more in control than she had in weeks, she darted a glance at Jake’s table. He was watching. Good.
“Okay, okay, now you’ve had your fun at poor Mikey’s expense,” she called over the crew’s joking and jockeying, “is there anyone here not drinking sweet tea?” A single hand went up and she nodded to the burly guy wedged into the seat against the wall. “You want water with lemon, Marlon? I’ve got you.” She nodded and took a quick head count. “Back in a sec. Y’all help Mikey count up his quarters. Momma has laundry to do tonight, and I’d appreciate not having to stop for change.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jake’s date leaning in, but she didn’t look back at him. She didn’t dare. She could feel the heat of his stare on the back of her neck. For the first time in years, she wished she hadn’t cut off her hair. If it were long, she could use it as a shield. A curtain. She’d never been one to run from a problem, but now, this once, she wished she could hide. She needed a little camouflage. Only until the throbbing ache in her chest eased. But she didn’t have a sleek fall of shampoo commercial hair. Unlike Jake’s friend. When she wore her hair long, it was as wild and unmanageable as Grace’s.
The image of Jake tucking his chin to his chest and lowering his head to look past Gracie’s hair and directly at her as he spoke tugged at her. And being the weak-willed hair-coveting sucker she was, she stole a glance.
Mistake.
Big mistake, because she wasn’t wrong.
For one heart-hammering moment their eyes met and held. Light glinted off his glasses. His lips parted as if he had something to say and they didn’t have a blonde, the lunch rush, and a million other things between them. Before she could draw a breath, that kissable mouth closed, thinned into a grim line, and he turned his attention back to his companion.
Darla ran the last few steps into the kitchen. Her skin felt thin and stretched taut, as if there were too little of it to contain everything she wanted so desperately to keep bottled up. Bubba moved to reach for her, but she held up a hand to stop him. A crazy, irrational part of her worried she might shatter if anyone touched her. No one but Jake. Every feeling she ever had for him bubbled under the surface.
Want. Need. Yearning. Fear. Every emotion she had boiled up inside her, the pressure building like steam trapped in a tea kettle.
Love.
She tried to ignore the word, but it stayed there, reverberating inside her like the strum of her pulse. A glass of water appeared on the counter in front of her. Darl
a jerked her head up in time to see Bubba turning back to the tickets lined up at eye level.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I know I’m a mess. Just an off day.”
Bubba smiled and nodded, but didn’t waste any words on what they both knew was a lie. Grateful for the respite, she took a cautious sip. Ice cubes shifted and slid up to numb her lips. Cool water wet her parched throat and eased the burn in her belly. She hummed softly, grateful for the momentary relief. The pain would be back, but maybe she could hold off until she was alone.
Later.
He deserved someone fresh and new. A girl with no baggage. One who couldn’t boast a laundry list of questionable choices. A woman who didn’t drag a string of gossip and speculation after her like the tail on a kite. He was an astrophysicist, for cripes’ sake. An engineer. A doctor with ten thousand letters behind his name, and none of them G.E.D. A guy who married the practical with the theoretical. She was a high school dropout with an equivalency diploma, a handful of community college credits, and a job slinging ribs. There was nothing logical about the two of them together. Not in theory or in practice.
Later. Do this later.
A few more hours and she’d have some privacy to lick her wounds. She could fall apart then. When she was alone, she’d let herself think about how he smelled or how much she missed his laugh. She’d play and replay the way he pushed his glasses up with the tip of his middle finger like a song stuck on repeat. And maybe, if she was feeling strong enough, brave enough, she’d poke at this god-awful nothingness welling up inside her and see if there was anything she could do to stop its spread.
Anything but go chasing after Jake Dalton.
“I knew it!” Darla nearly choked on an ice cube when Zelda Jo slammed her empty tray down on the counter. The other waitress held up three crumpled dollar bills as if she’d found the evidence to solve a murder. “I knew there was something hinky about the woman the moment I laid eyes on her.”
“What? Who?” Darla asked, even though she had a sneaking suspicion she was talking about Jake’s companion.
“The girl.” Zelda’s dismissive sneer was like a balm to Darla’s battered nerves. “Can you believe this? Three dollars on a two dollar and ninety cent ticket? I can understand why he’d want to flaunt some ditzy bimbo and make you jealous and all. Men are so predictable,” she added in a low whisper, shooting a glance at Bubba’s back. “But that’s not even five percent!”
Darla fought the urge to smile. Zelda Jo claimed to be useless at math, but she could calculate total, tax, and tip faster than a microprocessor.
Brushing her feathered hair away from her eyes, she gave her head a sad shake. “I swear, I never thought I’d see the day Jake Dalton stiffed me on a tip.”
At first, Darla failed to absorb the gist of Zelda’s latest rant, but the last bit hit her like a slap in the face.
“Jake didn’t tip you?”
“No!” The older woman scoffed, then shoved the bills into her apron. “Well, he tipped me ten cents.” Turning her attention to Bubba, Zelda Jo reached for the stack of cups. “I need two rib dinners, Clooney, baby. Make it snappy and I’ll split this tip with you.”
But Darla couldn’t let the slight go. The thought of Jake, the world’s most blatant over-tipper and his tofu tart taking up precious lunchtime table space was too much to wrap her head around. So was the fact that Jake, one of the kindest, fairest people she knew, was taking his beef with her out on people she loved. Such behavior wasn’t going to do. Not one bit.
“Jake Dalton left you a ten-cent tip.”
Zelda Jo dumped a scoop of ice into a cup then paused to look at her as if she’d sprouted a third eyeball in the center of her forehead. “That’s what I said.” Her face melted into the well-worn folds of concern Zelda rarely let anyone see. “It’s okay, sugar. They’re gone now.”
Darla stared into her friend’s worried blue eyes and shook her head—slowly at first, but gaining momentum with every wag. She backed up one step, then another, still trying to get everything all clear in her head. But all she could think was it wasn’t okay. Not at all.
Zelda Jo tried to shrug off the snub. “I’ll forget his extra sauce next time and we’ll be even. Well, I may make Bubba give him the fatty ribs,” she added with an encouraging smile.
“None of my ribs are fatty,” Bubba objected.
Zelda Jo’s eyes remained locked on her. “Honey, it’s all right. Really.”
The softly spoken lie drove the truth home like a railroad spike to the heart. No. It wasn’t all right. She was miserable, Gracie was sad, and Jake was being a jerk. Things were about as far from all right as they could be.
“The hell it is.” Without another word, she whirled on her heel and took off for the door.
She’d barely gone three steps before Zelda rushed out hot on her heels. “Darla, baby, what are you doing?”
One hand on the door, Darla turned back, her chin up and a raging fire of indignation burning bright inside her. “What am I doing? I’m going to go find Dr. Pennypincher and get your fifteen percent. That’s what I’m doing.”
The door to The Pit swung shut behind her, but not before she heard the dining room erupt. Head held high, Darla took off toward the parking lot, buoyed by the whistles and cheers of the working class.
Chapter 11
The moment Jake closed Marlee’s car door, he started counting the seconds until he could dash back into the restaurant. He’d seen her leave cash to cover their drinks but no tip. He cringed when he thought of Zelda Jo collecting the ticket from the table, but hadn’t said anything to Marlee. Some people were clueless. In his experience, there seemed to be a direct correlation between bank balance and their level of oblivion. He stifled the need to cringe as he replayed the entire fiasco in his head. She’d asked for the meeting and offered him lunch at the restaurant of his choice. How was he supposed to know she didn’t eat meat?
The idea of a girl like Marlee Tucker applying to a doctoral program in engineering might seem ridiculous, but only to someone who’d never seen her academic resume. On the outside, she was every inch the polished, preening debutante. But on paper, she was a friggin’ genius. One of those freakishly smart people who skipped too many grades to ever fit in socially, but driven enough to complete her undergrad and graduate programs by the ripe old age of twenty-two.
He watched her pull out of the rutted parking area in a sleek candy-apple-red roadster, wincing only slightly when she bottomed out on a monster pothole. The screech of metal on pavement didn’t slow Marlee. Without pause, she hooked a right and floored the accelerator, waggling her fingers at him as she zipped past.
Jake smirked and shrugged. The condition of her undercarriage was no concern to him. Plus, her daddy owned the largest string of car dealerships on the Gulf Coast. If she tore her pretty little toy up today, she could surely drive a new one off the lot tomorrow.
Marlee had no interest in pursuing research in any particular field, which meant a PhD would be a waste of time. At least in terms of career marketability. Then again, the time and money were hers to waste. Marlee was the only child of a very wealthy man.
Three minutes into the conversation, Jake tweaked to the realization that Marlee was a career student. Ever practical, a tiny part of him admired people who could make a career out of preparing for a career. While his family and the Tuckers tended to move in the same social circles, he wasn’t exactly sure why her parents urged her to reach out to Jake for counseling. Until Marlee called to request the meeting, Jake had no idea the Tuckers knew what he did for a living. The second the thought formed, the answer followed hot on its heels.
It IS Rocket Science.
He smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand as the thought took root. Cissy Tucker, Drew’s wife and Marlee’s mother, sat on the board. Mystery solved.
Pleased with his deductive reasoning, he turned and headed toward the barbecue shack. Maybe if he hadn�
�t been so desperate for an excuse, any excuse, to see Darla, he might have put the pieces together earlier. But he had been desperate. And distracted. He wanted to see Darla. Needed to see her.
He also would have to make amends with Zelda Jo.
Jake cringed. Both at the memory of Marlee puling those crumpled bills out of a handbag that probably cost more than Darla’s car, and the thought of the hell Zelda Jo would give him the minute he stepped through the door. A low level hum of dread reverberated deep in his gut. Zelda Jo would be playing the crowded dining room for sympathy. He’d seen her act before. He’d also seen every patron in the place—particularly the men—dig a little deeper each time she did. He’d chipped in himself. Doing so was a matter of peace of mind as much as self-preservation.
Rehearsing his apology in his head, he rounded the corner of the building only to stop dead when something small and solid plowed right into him. Not something, someone. Instinctively, he reached to steady his assailant, but the second his palms made contact with those smooth, rounded arms, he knew the person he held wasn’t just anyone.
“Darla.”
Saying her name out loud was a relief. He hadn’t had the luxury in over two weeks. He’d been so careful not to, afraid his pride wouldn’t hold up and he’d end up embarrassing himself. But now he had her. Held her. And he’d be damned if he let her go again. Not without a fight.
A full minute passed before he realized she wasn’t pressing her hands to his chest because she missed him too and wanted to touch him every bit as badly as he wanted to touch her. No. She twisted and turned, using the momentum of her full body to wrest herself from his grasp. Coming to his senses with a snap, he released her and she shoved him away. Hard.
He stumbled back two steps before regaining his balance. “I was coming—”
“What the hell is your problem?” Her dark eyes glittered with righteous anger. Hectic color tinted her cheeks. There was a smear of sauce on her shirt—right across her breast—but he didn’t dare point it out. He might not be the savviest guy when it came to reading women, but he’d bet all his degrees this one was spoiling for a fight. But before he could muster an answer, she came at him again.