Except right now.
When I am stuck in a nightmare.
Knowing it won’t help, I hide my face behind my menu so the youngest and mostannoyingBachelor brother who just walked into my happy-go-lucky tea time won’t see me…even though he absolutely already has.
Lunatic. He’s such alunatic.
Footsteps head toward where I’m sitting, and my heart rate picks up before the chair at the single table directly behind me pulls out.
“Let me know if you need anything, Mr. Bachelor!” our chipper waitress says before checking in with another customer.
We are precisely a foot apart, seated back to back, at two separate two-seaters.
There has to be a clinically diagnosable illness for this behavior of his.
I bet he thinks he’s beingrealfunny taking up a free spot in what will be a crowded restaurant before noon.
People like him should be admitted.
Asylums couldn’t have beenthatunethical if they kept people like him from running around, loose and dangerous.
When our waitress returns, she stops at his table before mine, kissing up to the Bachelor brother, even though I was here first, so I sit, patiently scowling, while he orders a pot of rose black tea and every sandwich on the menu.
That’s what he says, too.
I’ll have one of every sandwich on the menu, no sides, surprise me with a variety of the bread options, thanks.
The man hasissues, and his issues haveissues, and—
“Sorry for the wait! Have you decided what you’d like to order?”
I smile cheerfully, using my bestcustomer service voice. “That’s no problem! I’d like cream tea with a pot of hot chocolate and a side of mac and cheese.”
Kyran exhales the idea of a laugh behind me, and I refrain from stabbing him. Because, unlike him,Iam a saint.
“Is that all?” my sweet waitress asks.
I keep my smile in place. “I’ll have dessert after, possibly two.”
She laughs. “Very good! I’ll be back soon with your hot chocolate.”
Once she’s disappeared into the back room, Kyran murmurs, “How are you going to have creamteawith a pot ofhot chocolate?”
“It’s a perfectly regular female experience to wish to sip hot chocolate out of a teacup while eating scones with lemon curd, Kyran.” I huff. “What are you doing here?”
“Having lunch. Also known as: a perfectly regular male experience.”
My eyes roll. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
“I’ll leave if it bothers you so much that I’m here. I’m sure they can pack up my order to go.”
“Yeah,oryou could stop being a horrible person and merge tables with me before the rush gets here.”
“Morana.”
My face heats, but I ignore the sensation. My body doesn’t yet understand that Kyran saying my actual name—instead ofmistressor some other teasing un-endearment—doesn’t matter at all. “What?” I snap.
“I ordered seven sandwiches. We will likely need a third table.”
