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“He’s damp. I said I’d fetch him a towel.”
Shaking his head, David returns to his cooking. “Wait until Gemma finds out.”
“I know.” Maître d’ and chief bitch found fault with me the whole time I’ve worked here. This job’s temporary, to fill the holidays between semesters before I head back to uni in London. Gemma has a chip on her shoulder about students, and every day something I do isn’t good enough: badly folded napkins, inadequately shined cutlery, and once because I didn’t smile enough. Hypocrite—her face is permanently miserable.
I grab a tea towel and debate how much use this will be against the amount of soup covering Bryn’s trousers, but head out of the kitchen anyway. Bryn hovers outside and I almost slam into his wall of muscle.
“I’m glad you’re not carrying more soup,” he says and steadies me with his hand.
Bryn’s large palm is warm against my arm and his decision to touch me spikes my already high heart rate.I’m in physical contact with a rock star. I chastise myself; I’ll be swooning and giggling next.
“Here,” I half-squeak and hold out the white and blue towel.
He raises an eyebrow. “That’s too small—there’s a lot down there to dry, you know.”
My face flares again at his double meaning. “Maybe take your trousers off…”Omigod. “I mean, do you have anything else to change into?”
Bryn makes a mock gasp. “I told you. You need to at least buy me a drink before I put out. Groping me and then trying to get into my pants… you look so sweet and innocent, too.”
I take a deep breath. I deserve this but I’m not taking the teasing. “That’s amusing. I made a mistake and I’m trying to help.”
Bryn takes the towel. “I know, but see the funny side, hey?”
“Yeah, hilarious when I lose my job.”
He frowns. “Over one bowl of spilled soup?”
“Believe me, somebody is looking for an excuse to fire me.”
“Hmm. Well, I won’t complain if that’s what you’re worried about. Accidents happen.”
“I can’t believe you’re calm about this,” I say gratefully.
“What would I achieve by being shitty about the situation?” He pauses. “Oh, because I’m famous you think I’ll have an attitude to you common folk.”
Unsure whether this is teasing or what he thinks of me, I choose to ignore the comment and switch back to my professional mode. “Thank you. Is there anything else I can get you?”
I don’t miss the sweeping appraisal of my white shirt and black skirt. Or more precisely, my tits and legs. “More soup, maybe?” he asks and lifts his eyes to mine. “In a bowl this time, please.”
“Okay.”
He hands me the now orange stained towel. “And your name.”
My heart sinks into my shoes. “I thought you said you wouldn’t to complain?”
“I’m not. I’d like to know your name as we’ve already been so intimate.”
I take a breath. “Avery.”
“Aviary? Like the place birds live?”
I open my mouth to retort, but there’s no hint of teasing. Does he seriously think anybody would have that as a name?
“No, A-ver-y, like the girl who sucks at waitressing.”
Bryn smiles. “Cool name. Well, good luck with the rest of your shift,cariad.”
I grip the tea towel as Bryn moves back to the throng of the wedding.
