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I shake my head. “No, I’m Clover, the manager. I don’t wait tables, but rest assured, I check on everything and make sure it goes well.”
“Clover?” the first guy repeats. Then he tilts his head, those incredible dark eyes of his pulling me under his spell. “That’s a unique name. How did your parents pick it?”
My brain isn’t working, so I pray my mouth will handle the situation. “Well, my mom was high as a kite the day I was born, and my undetermined father, but a man who likely was one of a handful of guys she ‘spent time with’ for drugs, was nowhere to be found. So, I’m pretty sure my mom just picked the name by staring out her hospital window at some clover. Got to love that cocaine!”
I stare. They stare. I’m getting the feeling this is our thing. Every time I open my mouth without thinking and let the sludge that is my mind ooze out onto these unsuspecting strangers.
The dark-eyed guy gives me that smile again. “That couldn’t have been easy to deal with growing up. Is your mom doing better now?”
For the first time, my mind slows down. I picture my mom the day I got home at seventeen and found her. She was a shit mom. She was a shit person. But she tried. And I loved her.
I glance down at my hands, feeling less awkward and more brokenhearted. “Like most druggies, she didn’t make it. Addiction is a bitch.” That doesn’t even begin to describe it. If I had the power to destroy addiction, I would. Sometimes at night I still dream about being about to make addiction into a tiny ball and then burning it and smashing it until there’s nothing left of it.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds sincere.
It’s strange. I don’t do dumb stuff like this. I don’t swear in front of customers, or tell them personal things. Hell, no one but Willow knows all of this, and yet I’m pouring my heart out to three strange men. Not because they’re beautiful, but for reasons I don’t understand. Maybe just because today is an emotional day.
“No worries.” I force a smile, trying not to look at them. “I actually don’t usually say things like this to people. I apologize.”
“Don’t apologize,” the blond says, his blue eyes practically glowing. “We all have shit.”
“We all have shit,” I repeat, smiling at him. “That you’re right about.”
Stephanie is suddenly beside me, and her gaze is more than a little eager as she takes in her table full of studs. I excuse myself, and I might be wrong, but they look sad to see me go. But if they’re looking for eye candy, they’ll get more than their fill with Stephanie. Ariawn, the bitchy hostess, is pouting at the hostess stand as she stares over at us. Probably because for once her ducking outside for her hundredth smoke break meant missing out on the hotties.
Oh well, too bad, so sad. The owner’s daughter might actually have seen a consequence to her laziness.
I make my way around the dining room, checking on all the guests. There are a few small critiques, but mostly, people are happy. And why wouldn’t they be? This place might not be perfect, but I’ve been running it, and I know what I’m doing.
I’ve been working in restaurants since I was ten years old. Mostly under the table, but doing anything I could to earn extra money. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have had food on the table, electricity, or water. My mom sometimes contributed what she could from hooking, but most of that went to drugs. The upside was that I learned the restaurant business in and out and ran a tight ship wherever I went.
My restaurant with Willow will be no different, just better, because I won’t be restricted by idiots. She’s a rock star. She’d just graduated with her degree in business and will run the things I’ve never had to deal with, while I’ll run things on the level below that. Yeah, it’ll be in a small town, but with all my years spent in big cities, I’m excited about the change.
Every time I see hookers, police cars, or ambulances or hear a gunshot, I think of my mom.
This new place won’t haunt me like that, I hope. I can’t wait for it.
I’m about to head for the kitchen, checking on my last few tables as I do so, but realize to check on the people on that end of the restaurant, I’ll have to walk by the guys again. Skipping their table should be easy, they just got here.
I’ve watched Stephanie working her hardest to “professionally” flirt with the guys as she drops off their drinks and takes their orders, and they seem fine. Other than the fact that they keep staring at me. So, there’s no real reason to check on them. But the problem is I want to stop by.
So, fuck it, I do. “Hello, how is everything so far?”
The guy with the long hair stares at me, then down at the table. So I glance at blondie. He smiles. “It’s great. We actually really like this place. How long have you been working here?”
“Officially? I don’t know, maybe about three years? I actually started out as a waitress and worked my way up.” That’s kind of the truth, but I’m striving for professional here after all my blunders.
“My name is Trent, by the way,” blondie says, then pats the guy with the short hair. “This is Asher, and this is Brax,” he finishes, pointing to the final guy.
“Oh, and are you three new to town?”
The dark-haired guy with the classic hairdo, Brax, answers, “How did you know?”
I shrug. What am I supposed to say? That the city hardens people? That guys that look the way they do wouldn’t give me the time of a day in this city? Nope, not going to happen. “I just had a feeling.”
Brax continues, and I love the way his muscles move beneath his t-shirt as he shifts in the booth. “We’re here for some business, just for a few days.” Which is code for, “We’re here to fuck some chicks and never call them again.” But whatever. Maybe I’m just a little grumpy after seeing that happen over and over again. Certainly, these guys don’t deserve me labeling them like that.
“Oh, nice,” I tell them. “Well, I hope you enjoy your time here.”
