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I hurry back tableside, offering my apology once again and delivering the correct order. As I turn, intending to head to another table to deposit the check, my focus zeros in on a set of muted green eyes filled with rage.

I’d know those eyes anywhere.

Panic surges through me, and I practically leap backward, knocking into a customer.

Spinning around, I clutch my hand to my chest as my face heats in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” I ask the gentleman I bumped into.

”No problem, Ma’am. I’m just fine. Built solid.” He chuckles, patting his belly before moving away from me. I whirl back around, half expecting to see Chad’s condescendingly smug face.

But he’s not there.

I look around frantically, but there’s no trace of him and the sensation of someone watching has passed.

Was I imagining things?

I try to go back to work as if nothing happened, but I’m an actual wreck. I mix up two more sets of orders, knock a glass of water over into someone’s lap, confuse checks at checkout, and can't stop my hands from shaking. It’s a complete disaster.

I’m headed back to the kitchen with a loaded tray when my hands convulse and the whole tray drops. The loud crash has the entire bar turning to stare at me.

Mortified, I drop to the floor and begin picking up broken pieces of glass and plates. Mason appears in my eyeline, assisting with the cleanup.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper as I fight back tears.

“No biggie. My first week here, I dropped a glass almost every day and managed to break several bottles of alcohol behind the bar. It happens. Just be careful you don’t⁠—”

“Ow,” I yelp as I slice my palm open on a sliver piece of glass.

“Cut yourself,” Mason finishes, looking at my now bleeding hand. “That’s deep.”

At the approach of footsteps, I look up to see Darren just as he comes to a stop in front of us.

“I’m so sorry,” I begin, but he cuts me off.

Calm down, Cordelya. You were never this accident-prone before. Accidents mean mistakes. Mistakes are risks you can’t afford.

“I’m more worried about your hand. Mason, you good to run the pass while I run Cordelya over to the hospital?”

“I’m good,” Mason says, tossing the last of the broken items onto the tray.

I look between the two of them, guilt swirling like a cyclone in my belly.

“Come on. Let’s get you checked out.” Darren says, leaving no room to argue.

I stand and head to the back employee area to grab my purse. Darren waits for me by the employee entrance, then leads me to his car. A few short minutes later, we arrive at the small town hospital. Darren helps get me checked in and makes me promise to call if I need a ride to my apartment.

I thank him profusely, which he just grunts about, and take my seat as he leaves. When I’m finally seen, the doctor pokes around, removes the few slivers of glass from the wound, and then informs me that I’ll need stitches.

An hour and nine stitches later, I’m checking out at the nurses’ station and jotting down directions to the bus stop when her attention shifts.

“Hey, Count! You checking in or out for the night?” The nurse asks.

My eyes follow her gaze as the familiar name grabs my attention, and they land on none other than the paramedic that ran away from me like I had a torch and pitchfork. A man—vampire—who has no business looking so handsome in his uniform.

Not that I notice.

Much.

“Hey, Mag, checking out,” he says, looking at me and not the nurse. His smooth, tender voice sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. As he watches me, he takes a deep inhale, licking his lips. His eyes trace over me, some unknown emotion there, before his brow creases.