Page 91 of Filthy Little Lies

What if they want to know who their father is?

I can’t let those questions wind around me. I have another four hours of my shift. I can spiral when I get home tonight. One cup of herbal tea, a book to stare aimlessly at, and all of my doomed thoughts. It’s the way I’ve spent every night of the last two weeks since that word popped up on the screen.

“I got him coffee, and he’s looking at the menu,” Marie tells me when I’m back on the floor.

“Mr. Willis gets the same thing for lunch every time.”

She deadpans. “It’s not Mr. Willis.”

A weighted cloak of emotion drapes over me as I turn toward the corner table in my section.

Gabriel sits in the booth, staring at me. His eyes touch mine, and electric heat zips through me. My chest tightens.

“He asked for my table?” I manage to squeak out.

“Yeah, why? Is he an ex or something? I can take the table if you need.” Marie glances back at him. “He doesn’t really look like someone who doesn’t get what he wants.”

“He isn’t.” I clear my throat. “It’s fine. I’ll take the table.”

“I’ll let Barney know there might be an issue, just in case.”

Barney is the cook but doubles as security. He’s all smiles and manners now, but when it comes down to it, he’s as vicious as anyone working for Gabriel.

“I’ll be okay,” I assure her again.

Running my hands over my stomach, I straighten my spine, thrust my chin up and make my way to his table. His eyes never leave me. Each step echoes in my ears. Like the loud thuds of destiny barreling down on me.

Maybe it’s not destiny. Maybe it’s retribution for all the crap I’ve done. Every dollar stolen, every hustled game, every con pulled is coming back to me tenfold.

As I approach the table, I pull out my order pad and pen. I have a whole speech planned out; I’ve been working on it over the last several weeks just in case I found myself in this situation.

My ribs are getting bruised from my heart banging against them. A layer of sweat covers my palms. The speech rolls through my mind one more time.

I open my mouth to speak and say, “Hi.”

Women everywhere groan with disappointment.

“Hi,” he responds, his fingers stretching out over the menu lying on the table.

“I…uh…what can I get you?”

His left eyebrow arches slightly. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

I clear my throat. “I…what are you doing here?”

He cocks his head to the side like it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard.

“How did you find me?” I jump to the next question. The entire speech has vacated the premises. Someone could put a gun to my head right now, and I wouldn’t be able to remember a word of it.

“You used the credit card, Savvy. Oh, I’m sorry, Sarah.” His gaze flicks to the name tag pinned to my black polo shirt.

My shoulders drop. “I didn’t. I lost my wallet a few weeks ago. Whoever found it must have used the card.” It’s the only one I had in there other than my current ID card.

“You were robbed?” His fingers curl into the laminated menu, curling it.

“No. I said I lost it.” I sigh. “Before you say anything, I’m not going back with you.”

He licks at his lips, then sweeps his gaze around the diner. Several people are watching our exchange, but they quickly avert their attention when he catches them.