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“Tell her I’m very sorry, but I don’t have the authority to change that rule. I’d be happy to ask the owner, but let her know he’s in Austin, Texas and I likely won’t have an answer for several days,” Cecilia says.
The young server sighs and heads back to the front.
After a brief exchange, the woman march-waddles toward Cecilia, who is still just a few feet away, at the POS system.
The woman is drop-dead gorgeous with short dark hair and deep brown eyes. She carries herself like a woman who not only knows what she wants, but knows how to get it. For her sake, I hope she has a son in there since it would be hell to raise a daughter as attractive as she is.
CHAPTER3
Magdalena
I’m not giving up without a fight. And neither are my twin moochers.
I wait until the manager looks up from the keyboard before making my case.
“Do you have kids?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
Dammit.
“A sister who has kids?”
She squints and barely nods.
Yes! “Please imagine your sister has just been condemned to her bed for the next eight weeks of her life. And the only food—the only healthy food—she can swallow without wanting to hurl is the clam smoothie made at this establishment. You’d go out of your way to make sure she got it. Wouldn’t you?”
The man at the table to my side starts coughing, drawing both mine and the manager’s attention to him.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He coughs two more times, shaking his head. “Clam smoothie? Since when do we make … ,” he stops mid-sentence and I turn my attention back to the manager.
“If you don’t have takeout cups, I’ll have my own brought over. I need this drink.” I pat my belly. “They need this drink.”
“They?” she asks, eyebrows disappearing under her bangs.
“Twins. Expressing their picky eating habits already. There must be a way to make this work.”
“Look up the recipe on the internet?” the manager offers.
I muster my negotiator's voice. “Number one, I have tried to replicate the flavor myself. I can’t even come close. Number two, bedrest.”
“Husband?” she counters.
“Single,” I growl.
“Damn.” The curse seems to slip from her mouth without her intending to say it out loud.
“Since when are clam smoothies on the menu?” the nosy but handsome man interrupts.
The manager glares and points at him. “Not your concern, Stirling.”
I spin to face him directly. “Stirling? As in, the name on the sign outside the restaurant, Stirling Cox?”
“Maybe,” he mumbles.
“Not anymore,” the manager corrects.
