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Saint doesn’t pry.
But Amy can’t keep her mouth shut. “Her ex pulled a dine and dash.”
“Theirex,” Saint clips out the correction.
I don’t have the energy to care about one more little dig under my skin. I’d care more if Amy wasn’t so new, and the most forgetful person on staff. She doesn’t use the wrong pronouns out of malice.
“Right. Sorry, Angel.” Amy smiles apologetically at me. “I’ll work on that.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I scrub at my eyes and wave her over to the hostess station where the line of waiting guests is getting restless. “Just go deal with all of that.”
“On it.” Amy grimaces, then plasters on her customer service face and goes to manage the crowd.
“You all right?” Saint checks.
“Yeah.” I allow myself one last sniffle, then take a deep breath to collect myself before I step out of Saint’s arms, uncomfortable with the concern in his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“Mhm.” It’s clear he isn’t buying it.
“I am,” I protest. Maybe if I argue hard enough, I can convince myself. Too bad he’s better at verbal sparring than I’ll ever be.
“Liar.”
I stick my tongue out at him, and he lifts a brow at me.
“Behave,” he says in his sexyI mean businessrumble that has Bitsy perking up. Pavlovian response.
I bite my lip and stifle my needy little whine. “For you? Always.”
“Good, darling.” Saint’s eyes twinkle, those gorgeous laugh lines around them crinkle, and for a minute I’m sure he’s going to kiss me. Right here in front of Carl and the entire packed diner. But he just pats my cheek and leaves me to bus my table with inhuman speed. I need to grab another round of drink orders for my crankily indecisive party of twelve and put in kid’s meal orders for them.
It’s a relief when Amy manages to find a clear table and seats Carl and Saint in my section. I almost burst into grateful tears when they tell me they aren’t in any hurry and to take my time with their orders. I check in on them as much as I can. When they colossally overtip me for crappy service, I feel like shit for letting them be my lowest priority in the midst of the lunchtime rush. They must have realized I’d object because they leave the money tucked under their empty glasses instead of giving me the opportunity to refuse their charity.
My pride wars with the unpaid receipt for Trevor’s meal. Not to mention the five-dollar tip that my party of twelve left on their massive split check bill with a ridiculous bar tab. I pocket the cash. I still have to tip the bar staff proportionate to their work, regardless of my party cheaping out on me.
One of the dinner staff calls out, so I get pressed into working a double. I need the extra hours, so I don’t complain. I get half an hour between lunch and dinner service to buy myself a discounted meal and scarf it down in the corner of the bar.
At the end of the night, I’m dreading settling up with everyone. I have to tip out the hostesses and bar staff. Amy already took her share and left ages ago, but her evening shift replacement gets a cut too. My manager gives me a confused frown over Trevor’s unpaid bill and waves away my math.
“What are you talking about? Your other table asked to cover your kids’ meals.”
“Huh?” But I know exactly who covered for Trevor’s nonsense. Saint. For someone who insists he doesn’t do relationships, he sure has a funny way of showing it.
“It’s covered. Don’t worry about it, Angel. Finish your side work and go home.”
I clamp my mouth shut on any further objections. As I finish tidying, I ignore everyone around me. I’m not getting paid enough to chit chat. Heck, since we’re supposed to do side work off the clock, I’m not getting paid at all.
Still, it could be worse. Thanks to Saint and Carl, I might actually make money off this shift instead of barely breaking even after all of today’s fuckery.
I’m exhausted from the double shift and the busy weekend crowds when I finally leave the diner. It’s dark and I’m exhausted and emotional. So it’s no wonder my heart leaps into my throat, pulse pounding a million kilometers an hour, at someone calling my name across the poorly lit parking lot. It doesn’t stop pounding when I see who’s waving me over, though for entirely different reasons.
Saint.
“What are you doing here?”
Saint shrugs. “You told me when your shift ends, remember?”
“So? I’m not really up for a fuck tonight. I was going to text you from my bubble bath to cancel.”
