I feel a pang of homesickness for Napa, but I squash it.
There’s some commotion outside the building as I exit the apartment. My mom’s neighbor Teresa and her teenage son are putting up Christmas decorations around their patio—right alongside the Thanksgiving decor. Glittery tinsel hangs next to pumpkins and striped gourds, plastic turkeys in pilgrim hats, and bunches of colorful corn. The teenager is currently up on a ladder, hanging glass ornaments from the roof overhang. Teresa waves cheerily.
“Frankie, good morning.”
“Good morning,” I answer back.
Both of them are dressed in tank tops, shorts, and flip-flops. Kinda boggles the mind. It never got much below 40° in Napa (if it did, it never would have become wine country), but at least it cooled down enough to enjoy the changing of the seasons. Here? Not so much. I’m sure it’s sweltering year-round.
“It’s so nice of you to stay with your mother for a while,” Teresa is saying. “You know, she’s always been a lovely neighbor. And Miggy is such a gentle giant.”
“Yes, he is. And that’s nice to hear.”
My outfit is beginning to itch. I need to get in my car and crank the air conditioning, stat.
“We just love the Christmas season,” she goes on. “We couldn’t wait to put these out. You and your mom should decorate your porch this year! Let us know if we can help.”
I have no idea if my mother decorates for the holidays or not, but I force a smile.
“Oh, yeah. I’ll mention it to her. That’s a good idea.” I’m not trying to be rude, but I feel like I’m melting, and the heat isn’t making my nausea any better. “Anyway, I better get going. Don’t want to be late for my shift!”
I give a little wave and hurry to my car before she can start talking again.
The air conditioning inside the car feels so good that I take the long way to the diner. I feel slightly better by the time I arrive, until I find Charles waiting for me in the back. I hang up my purse and clock in, ignoring his glare and his trademark frown.
As I tie my apron on, I start babbling in self-defense. “Before you say anything, Charles, I promise that I’m going to do better today. I know I’ve been a little off my game lately, but it’s just a stomach bug I’ve had that’s been throwing me. I just need another chance.”
He puts his hands on his hips. “Another chance for what? To see if you can break your milkshake record?”
Without waiting for my response, he walks away.
Sighing, I grab an order pad and a few pens and shove them into my apron pocket as I walk through the kitchen toward the front of the house. I can see the dining room from here. It’s already packed, of course.
Something pulls my attention and I do a double take. I know the glossy head of dark hair in booth seven. The set to the shoulders, the expression carved from stone. But the face doesn’t even register with me for a few seconds. And then I push my way through the swinging double doors, and the man in the booth turns his head my way. That’s when it fully hits me.
It’s Dante.
My breath catches in my throat, and I spin right around and walk back into the kitchen. Fuck. He’s real. Fuuuuuck.
“You okay, Frankie?” Ruben asks from his usual post at the griddle.
“I’m good,” I lie, giving him a weak smile as my stomach churns.
What the hell is Dante doing here? It’s been over three weeks and he’s made no attempt to contact me. I had hoped that meant he was letting me go. But now, out of the blue, he’s here. And of course, he’s sitting at one of my tables.
Does he know about the baby somehow?
Double fuck.
I could try putting him off on another waitress, but he’s already seen me. I have no choice but to go over there. Pulling a deep breath through my nose, I go back out to the dining room, walk straight to Dante’s booth, and flip open my order pad. I avoid his eyes, keeping my distance.
“What can I get you?” I ask stiffly.
“What do you recommend?” Oh, fuck him. Sitting here trying to be cute.
“For you? Anything I can scrape off the top of the garbage.”
“Hm. How’s the coffee here?”
