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I hurried over to the server sitting on the floor by the cash register, who had a trickle of blood near her hairline. “Are you okay? The cut on your forehead doesn’t look that bad. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“No, I’m okay. Thanks. Just really freaked out.”
“Yeah, join the mailing list.” I flopped down next to her, legs stretched out on the floor, and sighed, the tension in my shoulders easing a bit.
I scanned the room. “I don’t think anyone else is hurt.”
The cafe phone had been ringing non-stop since the earthquake. The server scowled at the counter. “Who the hell keeps calling?”
“Maybe it’s the owners. Want me to get it for you?”
“No, it’s okay.” She reached up, grabbed the counter, and yanked herself off the floor. “I better get it.” She picked up the receiver. “Cafe Lovejoy.”
Rick strutted up to me. “So, do you want to come back to my place?”
Maybe he did hit his head. “Are you insane? No. No way. Never. Nada. Nope…” My middle fingers added in their own version ofno.
The server huffed. “Really, I said everyone is fine. No one is hurt.”
“Your loss, Lila,” Rick said. “So, we should go dutch on the bill then.”
I replied with a snort as I rose to my feet, slammed a twenty-dollar bill on the counter—more than enough to cover the entire bill and tip—and stomped out. Meanwhile, the server repeated exasperatedly for the fifth time to whoever was on the phone that everyone was fine.
