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Chapter 1: Wishes
Rachel
“Happy birthday to you.” I stared at myself in the mirror, pulled my hair up, and twisted my head to the side. With a sigh, I let my blonde hair fall back down over my shoulders and grimaced. Someone banged on the bathroom door before it wrenched open, and another one of the servers, a petite brunette with dark eyes stumbled in, holding her shirt away from her chest.
“You should be careful out there,” Maddie warned with a grimace. She stopped in front of the sink and frowned at her white button-down shirt. “It’s crazy out there tonight.”
“Thanks.” I gave her a quick smile before taking a few steps back and running my hands along the front of my shirt and down the length of my knee-length black skirt. “I’ve got a spare shirt in my locker. Want to borrow it?”
“You’re a lifesaver,” Maddie replied, meeting my gaze in the glass mirror and smiling. “You’d better hurry though, because Ander is looking for you.”
I exhaled. “Isn’t he always?”
With a slight shake of my head, I hurried out of the bathroom and into the locker room. I breezed past the rows of lockers on either side of me and came to a stop at the far right end. In a few clicks, I had my locker opened, and I was rummaging aroundfor the shirt. Maddie stepped out of the bathroom and into the locker room, her plain cotton bra on display. I tossed her the shirt, and she caught it mid-air.
“Thanks, Rach. I owe you one.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
As soon as I stepped outside, the smell of spices hit me first, followed by the sound of pots and bans being banged together. In the background, conversation rose and fell, punctuated by the occasion hissing and squeaking of shoes against the tile floors. I lowered my head, hurried past the kitchen, and pushed open the door that led into the main restaurant.
Ander’s eyes zeroed in on me from across the room, full of disapproval. He signaled me over, and I clasped my hands behind my back as I weaved in and out of the other servers. A few feet away from the podium, Ander glanced up at me, and his dark eyes narrowed.
“Where were you?”
“I spilled something on my shirt,” I replied, lifting my chin. “I know how important it is to maintain appearances, so I went to fix it up.”
Ander grunted and stood up straighter. “You’re going to be waitressing tonight.”
“What about the bar?”
“Someone else will be behind the bar,” Ander replied, with a brief glance at the clipboard in front of him. “Hurry up and fix your hair.”
Instinctively, my hands went to my hair and patted it down, but I couldn’t find anything. I cleared my throat and spun on my heels. I made my way to the back of the restaurant, where the bar was, and leaned over the counter. Ben finished pouring a glass of whiskey and handed me a tray, along with a sympathetic smile.
“Thanks.”
“Good luck,” Ben offered with another smile. He swung his gaze back to the redhead leaning over the counter, showing off her cleavage, and grinned. “What can I get you tonight?”
“A Manhattan,” she replied after a long pause. “Do you know how to make those?”
“Coming right up.” Ben set a glass of wine down on my tray before motioning me toward the booths. “You have to take it to Wall Street over there.”
I nodded and picked up the tray. “Thanks again.”
Ben gave me a quick wink before returning his attention to the redhead. I straightened my back, picked up the tray, and held it close to my chest. As I weaved in and out of the other servers and customers, I fixed my gaze on the man in the booth; phone held up to his face and days-old stubble peppered across his chin.
He tugged on the tie around his neck until it came undone.
A few feet away, I lost my footing and pitched forward. The wine glass teetered and fell forward, slipping out of my reach before I could pick it up. It fell to the floor with a crash, and my eyes widened as it sent sprays of red wine in every direction, including on the customer’s shirt. Angrily, he launched to his feet, pulled the shirt away from his chest, and scowled.
“I am so sorry.” Ander materialized out of nowhere, looking pristine in his black and white ensemble, without a single hair out of place. “Please accept my sincerest apologies. Your dinner is on the house, Mr. Monroe.”
“I’m never going to get this stain out of the shirt,” he grumbled darkly.
“We’ll pay for the dry cleaning, too,” Ander offered without missing a beat. “Please send us the bill.”
Mr. Monroe stood up straighter and gave me a withering look. “You should train your wait staff better.”
