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Mom raised her hand. “I did.”
An arm expertly slid Mom’s plate in front of her, careful not to knock into her martini glass. Something black was smudged along it, but before I could get a closer look, it shifted away. “And the grilled salmon?”
“Oh, me,” Mrs. Holland said, glancing around the table. “Salmon is one of the best fishes for you, you know. One of the healthiest.”
Nancy raised a plucked eyebrow at that, causing all of her wrinkles to crease. “What’s the unhealthiest?”
“Well, anything fried, of course.”
Nancy winked at me as I reached for my water. “I’m glad I got the fried codfish, then.”
The server walked around the wide table and set Mrs. Holland’s first plate in front of her, reaching for her side of steamed vegetables from his tray.
No way.
I jerked so sharply that the edge of my water caught on the table, spilling it everywhere.
Grace shoved her chair back with a shriek, as if the water was really acid about to touch her skin. Mom sprung right into action, collecting her cloth napkin and pressing it to the tabletop, trying to soak up as much water as possible.
I, for one, sat in shock, unable to comprehend the moment. I mean, itseemedobvious, but my mind couldn’t wrap around the idea that this scene could be real.
For the longest disorienting moment, I thought I simply imagined him. His beautiful face and body were definitely not in the middle of this restaurant, and that tattoo on his neck wasnotthere.
Harry Russo held the tray of food on the other side of the table, six feet from me, and I definitely didn’t look like Stella.
“Oh, are you okay, dear?” Mrs. Holland asked, voice sounding more amused than sympathetic. “Accidents happen all the time.”
“You would know,” Ms. Jennings murmured as she sipped her martini, gaze on Harry. “We should call you butterfingers.”
Harry was looking at me—Ifeltit—but there was no way I was glancing up. “I can bring over some extra napkins in a sec.”
My face was flaming, so hot that I knew my skin had to be scarlet, and I tipped my head so my hair covered my profile.Be cool, be cool, be cool.I couldn’t even bring myself to respond.
“We’ve cleaned up most of it,” Mom told him, voice clipped. I knew she was probably holding herself back from reprimanding me. She dropped her soaked napkin on the edge of the table. “I think we’ll be all right.”
Harry had his red hair pulled back out of his face, though a strand had escaped from the tie, and he had it tucked behind his ear. His white collared shirt fit him snugly, black apron tied neatly over his waist.
And at any second, he would look up and see me.
“Who got the shrimp scampi with the extra butter?” Harry asked the ladies, glancing around the table. Before our eyes could connect, I dropped my gaze, my pulse a thunderous beat in my chest.
He won’t recognize you, I told myself, but even my thoughts were a bit disjointed.You lookdrasticallydifferent. Different hair, less makeup. There’s a reason you contour your face so dramatically when you’re Stella. He won’t recognize you.
Harry set Mrs. Conan’s shrimp scampi in front of her, switching out his empty tray for another one full of food. I spotted my Greek salad on it, knowing that any moment he would ask whose salad it was, and I’d have to say—
“That salad is Destelle’s,” Mom told him, laying a hand lightly on my shoulder. “It’s the fat-free dressing, right? No croutons?”
Kill me, I pleaded to the universe, refusing to look up.Kill me right now.
“Yep, Greek salad, fat-free dressing, no croutons.” Harry rounded the table once again. As he leaned in close, gently setting the salad in front of me, I held my breath again. Even so, his scent still permeated. So warm, like cinnamon and spice. He set Grace’s food down beside her next, glancing at the last dish on his tray. “And, last but not least, the fried codfish.”
Nancy eyed him openly as he placed her plate in front of her. When he pulled back, she laid her hand on Harry’s arm. It suddenly became a battle of who had the more intense, inappropriate gaze while they looked at Harry—Ms. Jennings or Ms. Nancy. “Can I have another wine, sweetie?”
Harry gave her a killer smile. “I’ll let your server know.”
“You can’t swap out for her?” she carried on in the same low voice. “You’re easier on the eyes.”
Ha. No kidding. But I had to vehemently disagree with Nancy on the fact that he should replace our server. That was like a really, really bad idea.
