Page 7 of Always the Matchmaker
Wishing I had my tallest boots on, I cross the room to my friends. I square my shoulders up and stand as tall as I can.
I don’t need to be as tall as h-- No, don’t bother thinking of him and the way he held you, I scold myself.
A drink is a better idea.
I’m greeted with simultaneous boos and catcall whistles, applauding my final arrival and punishing me for my late arrival.
“First it was the car excuse,” Holly points out. “What’s your excuse this time, Ever-Late-Candy.”
I roll my eyes and help myself to a glass of wine, a bottle already on the table in the low booth.
“Have you been rolling around in hay?” Wynter asks me, tugging the dog hairs off my shoulder. I slap her hand away lightly.
“Come out of your sex coma, Wynter? Where’s Zac?” I try to deflect the attention away.
“Recuperating,” Wynter is quick to respond, shameless of her fortune and horizontal activities.
“Cohen’s here, you must not be riding him hard enough then, Belle,” Holly chimes in, and thankfully, the attention is successfully off me.
The envy bug bites me once more, looking on at the well-pleased Wynter and the blushing Belle. I can already tell from their glow the love that has affected them. It’s more than skin deep, it’s to their hearts. I’ve never, ever seen Belle so taken with a man and Wynter so captivated by hers, too.
It isn’t just their handsome partners but the give and take I can see. The true delight in their speech and the rosy glow in their cheeks.
All I’ve ever done was give and not so much as a lick received. And I drained myself giving to man after man and here two of my closest friends were finally with partners where love is given and taken in equal parts.
Pfft, love is not here for me.Maybe a fleeting few minutes of physical connection, and if I’m lucky, sometimes a release when the man knows what he’s doing.
I drink my wine quickly and hide my sorrow in a cry out for shots, which is met with applause. I move to the bar, popping myself onto a stool to get attention. I order the shots and a bottle of champagne.To toast their love,I tell myself.
My ordering gifts me with a full platter and unfortunately, I was never a waitress. Flutes for the champagne, the bottle, and my idiot of an idea of shots of liquor all fill up the surface. Straightening my backbone, I slide off the barstool and grab hold of the platter, glad the flutes aren’t yet full and turn slowly to make my way back. In a few steps, I stop in my tracks, staring at the tall figure of Ben, one hand stuffed in his jean pocket, the other occupied with a beer. He glances away from the man he speaks with to stare back at me, an overconfident grin set on his begrudgingly handsome mug.
I hadn’t noticed the hunter green sweater he wore in the house. But here in the light, reflecting off so many surfaces, I can make out the flecks of green in his hazel eyes, the same color of the cashmere sweater.
I step back in a haze, but there’s someone behind me and I bump into them. I lose my balance a little, a flute glass knocks into another and tips over the edge of the platter. I swear loudly as both my hands are occupied and I can’t reach to upright it. Closing my eyes tightly I wait to hear the cracking sound of breaking glass but never hear it. Just the continued low rumble of chatter in the room.
I open my eyes, steadying myself and see Ben closer to me, a glass held delicately in his outstretched hand, the other still holding his beer. So he isreallygood with his hands and here I am unsteady as all can be.
Shit, I don't like being this much of a hot mess. First he sees me crying in bed, now a clumsy girl in a bar.
I feel my face redden and I’m hot with embarrassment.
“Easy there, Candy Cane,” he speaks low and quietly to me, placing the glass back on my platter.
Ben
I like it when Candace is surprised, I notice that it leads to a quick flash of her temper that is quickly squashed by whatever she is thinking. I set my beer on her tray with her other drinks and glasses and take the whole thing from her and chuckle at her chirping noise of protest. I’m beginning to like the various noises she makes too.
She follows me back to her table, crossing her arms over her voluptuous chest and examining my moves closely. Thankfully, her friends are much happier to see me, whooping as I set down their drinks.
I’m used to waiting on tables, though it’s been awhile since I’ve done it. Before I earned enough in tips to open my own shop I waited tables in Vail, at Charlotte’s Café, a 5-star restaurant, six nights a week and it taught me a lot about customer service and what people really want. They want to be wowed. They want to be wooed. They want to be entertained.
Enjoying myself, I take the champagne bottle and pop it open for them, it foams but I fill the glasses quickly, not letting a drop fall. Letting good champagne go to waste is a no-no. My job well-done is met with further cheers and I not-so-humbly bow to them all. I glance at Candace, tension in her jaw, and eyes averted to the door, a stark contrast to her loose and albeit buzzed friends. Still, she’s breathtaking, a tense hourglass I want to tip over and watch the sand spill out of.
“I’m Noelle. You need to join us!” she invites me with sparkling eyes and matching smile.
“I’d love to ladies, but I’m with my friend,” I point over to my buddy Abe, sipping his beer patiently.
Holly peers over my shoulder and spots my friend. She rises quickly and excuse herself from the group. The one I know as Belle from talking to Cohen shoves her shot glass of peppermint schnapps into my hand and is hot on Holly’s heels towards the ladies room.
