Page 220 of Always Love You More

I push in through the side entrance, the familiar smell of fry oil hitting me as I walk in.

“You’re late,” Patsy says when I step into the kitchen.

“Sorry,” I respond, not offering any explanation.

“I can’t keep letting this slide,” she continues.

I nod, even though I know she’s all talk. As the owner, she acts like she runs a tight ship when, really, she lets just about anything go. I don’t even know how many times we’ve had theI can’t keep letting this slidetalk, yet I’m still here.

“Won’t happen again,” I offer for good measure.

“All right,” she says, turning back to the fruit she’s prepping. “Well, get to it.”

I spend the next forty-five minutes racing around the space, making up for the time I missed. When I flip the sign on the front door to “open,” I’m already ready for the shift to be over.

We’ve been slammed all morning, the Saturday rush keeping us busy. It’s just me and another waitress, Maria, so we’ve been scrambling to keep up with tables.

I’m refilling coffees when the door chimes and a group of kids my age walks in. They glance around the space like they’ve never stepped foot in a diner before.

When they seat themselves in one of Maria’s booths, I’m grateful they aren’t one of my tables. I’m not in the mood to deal with a bunch of snobby rich kids right now. Although, I might have gotten a good tip out of it.

I move over to a couple of my regulars—two older men who come in every morning and order the same thing. I give them a small smile as I fill up their cups, their conversation quieting as I do.

In the short lull, I hear a whistle come from one of the rich kids, followed by, “Damn, she’s hot.”

I keep my eyes fixed on the task in front of me, not wanting to catch his attention. He might not even be talking about me.

I turn to start for the kitchen when one of the girls at his table says, “If you want to slum it.”

Assholes.

The door chimes again, and a worn-looking man walks through, settling into one of my booths at the back.

Quickly, I drop off an order before starting for his table, pasting a smile on my face. “I’m Sam, and I’ll be your server. Can I get you started with something to drink?”

He looks up from the menu, his weathered face twisting with surprise, and I watch as his entire demeanor shifts. The hunched posture I walked up to disappears as he rolls his shoulders back and straightens.

“Well, hello. Aren’t you a pretty little thing?”

Great.I hold back a sigh.One of these guys.

“Can I get you something to drink?” I repeat, attempting to keep my voice light.

“Coffee. Get me some cream and sugar, too,” he answers before he winks—fuckingwinks—and adds, “I bet you know how to give some good sugar, don’t you?”

My skin crawls from his words, itching to snap back at him. But he isn’t worth it and, anyway, that never seems to work. Instead, I drop my eyes and head back to the kitchen, determined to ignore him.

A few minutes later, I bring him his coffee, walking past the booth of rich kids, and notice one of the blonde girls who’s with them eyeing me curiously. Her friends are talking around her about prom, but she’s tuned out, distracted. Somehow, she looks completely out of place sitting with them.

I reach the asshole’s table, set down his coffee, then ask for his order, trying to keep the interaction as short as possible. I just want to get him his food and get him out of here.

He drops his menu in front of him instead of handing it to me, and as I reach forward to grab it, I feel his rough fingers move up my leg and under my skirt.

My heart starts to race as I step to the side and slap his hand away. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh, come on,” he says. “I saw how you shook that ass when you walked away. You were practically beggin’ me to watch.”

I scoff. “Yeah, not a chance.”