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"Hi!" she greets me cheerily. "The staff entrance is on the right side under the stairs." She gestures to the side of the building.
I find the door where she indicated it would be and enter a storage room. Wire shelves are stocked with non-perishable food and drinks. I hear voices coming from the front and follow them. There's a small kitchen and service area where a tall, lanky guy stands at a grill, flipping burgers.
He notices me and gives me a goofy grin. "Hey!" His reddish-brown hair hangs in his eyes under his backward Kingston Country Club baseball hat, and the scruff on his chin looks like the only hair that'll grow on his body.
"Hi," I say, continuing to the service counter where Kaely and another girl are taking orders from more kids in bathing suits.
"Order's up," he calls from the back, tapping a bell.
When Kaely turns around to pick it up, she smiles at me. "Hi! Help me with the order?"
I follow her back to the service counter where she introduces us. "Lana, this is Squirrel. Squirrel, this is Lana."
I've heard a lot of nicknames, but never this one. And I can't even begin to understand how someone can earn the name. He doesn't look like a squirrel. I feel my eyes squinting as I stare at him, trying to figure it out.
"Welcome to KCC, not to be confused with KFC." He tosses a burger into the air so it flips a couple times before landing with a sizzle back on the grill.
Kaely laughs. "Can you grab the hot dog and fries?" She holds out a tray with two burgers wrapped in foil.
We spend the afternoon serving hot dogs, burgers, fries, ice cream and a million other concession stand items to kids and parents who came to spend the day at the pool. I'm told that upstairs is a seated restaurant called The Deck, with a more extensive casual menu and a deck that looks out onto the course. Everyone has to start at The Grille first. Squirrel calls it the right of passage, like we're in some tribe together.
I don't earn any tips working The Grille, which sucks. But it's easy. Except for the screaming toddlers who drop their ice cream on the pavement and the kids who squirt ketchup all over the counter instead of their fries. It still doesn't compare to the drunken customers at Stella's who spill more than they consume, try to grab my ass, and end up in fights.
Kaely is patient, a necessity when dealing with the chaos of orders that come at us all afternoon. I don't talk to the other girl too much--of course, I can't remember her name. And Squirrel is ... entertaining. I'm pretty sure the guy was born high. So his high functioning ability to keep up with orders while singing to whatever song is playing and offering unsolicited philosophical insight is impressive.
"It was cool to meet you. You have a totally stellar aura," Squirrel says to me at the end of my shift as he scrapes off the grill. "See you tomorrow at Stefan's?"
"Uh, maybe," I say, not sure what he means--about my aura or meeting up at Stefan's.
"Oh, you have to come!" Kaely exclaims, carrying her cash drawer with her as the new girl takes over her position at the register.
I think about the stipulations Niall put into place, that I'll have to go with one of his sons--meaning Lance, since Parker is leaving today and I'm not ready to see Joey, even if he was here.
"If I can," I tell her.
We walk to the fenced-in area behind The Grille. "I have to bring my drawer up to Cary. I'll meet you back here after."
Ashton didn't bring me to the staff meal yesterday, wanting to return to Blackwood to get ready for Lily's party as soon as our shift was over. She also said the food was way better there and she almost never eats at the club. But, Grant is waiting for me--I hope. And the shuttle won't be here for another twenty minutes, so I might as well check it out.
Four picnic tables with umbrellas stuck in their centers are concealed within the fenced-in space. Chafing dishes are laid out on a banquet table in the corner. I explore the options and find chicken fingers, fries, pasta and a garden salad. Now I understand why Ashton doesn't eat here. But I'm not picky, so I scoop some chicken fingers and fries onto my plate, pour a glass of water from the big orange thermos at the end of the table, and search for a seat. Two of the tables are filled with adult and college-age employees. I opt to sit at an empty table in the corner.
Grant slips through the opening behind me and sits to my right.
"Saved a whole table," he notes. "Nice."
I bite my lip, to keep the smile from blossoming. "I'm not great with small talk. And I've already forgotten everyone's names. Sitting alone was safer."
"Do you remember mine?" he teases.
"I do."
He waits for me to say it.
"Grant," I say with a roll of my eyes. "Are you eating?"
"No. I just wanted to see you before you left."
"Why?" My pulse is racing, making my hands sweat.
