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“No.” I’m touched by her generosity, but I can’t impose on her like that. Her house is full enough with her new baby and a mother-in-law who recently moved in. I shake my head. “Thank you, but no. I won’t ask that of you—”
“You didn’t,” she points out. “But then, you never ask anyone for anything, do you.”
It’s not a question, so I choose not to answer. “I’ll manage. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. I’ll get through this too.”
On the other side of the bar, another server arrives and calls to us with a new order.
“Be right there,” Tasha shouts over the din of the restaurant. Her soft doe eyes study me for a long moment, a sad kind of understanding in their depths. “You know, it’s okay to let people help you once in a while. It’s okay to let people care about you.”
I can’t tell her that I agree. I can’t even give a weak nod to appease her.
I learned a long time ago that help never comes without a price tag, hidden or not. And even the people who claim to care about you the most can turn against you in the blink of an eye.
She walks away to fill the incoming drink orders from the dining room, and I get busy bringing fresh rounds to the people seated at the long bar. I notice the woman at the far end is still alone and waiting. Her glass of Pinot is untouched, and her cell phone sits next to the drumming fingernails of her left hand.
As I approach to see if I can bring her anything else, she glances at her phone and picks it up to read what I assume is an incoming text. She frowns, then her jaw drops open in a look of utter exasperation. “No . . . Oh, for the love of fuck! You have got to be kidding me.”
Evidently, I’m not the only one dealing with disappointment tonight.
I’m not the type to pry into other people’s business, so I le
t her outburst go unmentioned. “Do you need anything else right now?”
She huffs out a heavy sigh and lifts her thick-lashed green eyes to me. “How about a miracle?”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind.” Tossing her phone into her purse, she shakes her head. “I was counting on a friend to do something for me, and she just cancelled. Now I’m totally left in a lurch.”
“I’m sorry.” I can see that she’s visibly upset. I also recall that she’s supposed to be catching a flight at some point tonight. “If you’re ready to cash out, just let me know.”
She takes a sip from her glass, then glances at her watch. “I don’t need to leave for a few minutes. I’d much rather stay here than wait around at JFK any longer than I have to. I’m Claire, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you,” I reply. “I’m Avery.”
“I know.”
I tilt my head. Maybe I’m gaping a bit, too, because she immediately winces and lets out a little laugh.
“I’m sorry. That came out a little stalkerish, didn’t it?” She waves her hand as if to erase any unease. “We haven’t met. I come in from time to time, and I’ve heard some of the other bar staff talking to you.”
“Oh.” I shrug it off with a brief smile. “No worries.”
She’s not someone easily overlooked, yet I can’t say that I’ve noticed her in the restaurant before. Then again, New York is full of beautiful people. I had to train myself early on not to gawk at every celebrity, athlete, and supermodel who crossed my path.
“I have an apartment a few blocks from here,” she volunteers as I pick up a bar cloth and start wiping down a vacated spot a couple of seats away from her. “To be honest, though, I’m never in any city long enough to claim I’m a true resident. I just flew home last week from a gig in Paris. Tonight I’m off to Tokyo for a few months to shoot some commercials and a game show pilot.”
“Sounds exciting.” I’m still small-town enough to feel a twinge of envy at her jet-set lifestyle and glamorous career.
“It’s never boring,” she admits before taking a sip of her wine. “But I don’t like leaving my apartment empty for long stretches while I’m gone. The friend who stood me up tonight was supposed to stay at my place while I’m in Japan. My poor plants just got a death sentence.”
I grimace. “That sucks.”
“Tell me about it. I don’t suppose you know of a good house-sitting service I can call? One I can hire for the next four months on zero notice?”
She needs a house-sitter for four months? That desperate part of me I don’t want to acknowledge practically groans at the irony of this situation. I’m soon to be homeless and this woman—Claire—has more living space than she can use.
Even though I’m sure her question was meant to be rhetorical more than anything else, before I can answer, Tasha’s voice sounds from behind me.
