Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Not as he flagged down the waitress for more napkins.
Not as he dried the bench seat.
Not even as he sat down, head straight, eyes forward, as if I didn’t exist at all.
I blinked, waiting for him to say something. A simple hi or a lecture on disciplining my son would have been okay. Hell, even a “fuck off” would have worked.
He said nothing. I’m not sure why I was surprised. I’d spent over a year playing one-sided charades with that man. Silence was his preferred method of communication. Clearly that had not changed.
“Right,” I mumbled. Rapping my knuckles on the table, I snipped, “Good talk as always.” I walked away from Truett West no worse for the wear but pissed off all the same.
Nate, Pike, and Daphne were still arguing while Angela and Dylan tried to keep the peace. For a brief second, I considered allowing Nate to fling a few more spitballs in Truett’s direction, but sometimes being a mom and setting a good example was seriously overrated.
I snapped my fingers before pointing at my son. “You.” That one syllable was all I had to say to freeze him in his tracks. His mouth clamped shut and his face screwed tight, correctly reading the trouble he was about to be in. “We’re leaving.”
“It was an accident!” he argued.
But after the world’s most infuriating and anticlimactic run-in with Truett, I was all out of patience. “Not another word, Nate, or you’ll be helping me tie-dye beach towels too.”
“Ugh,” he groaned.
Grabbing my purse, I found our waitress pouring water for a table near the door and headed her way. Which just so happened to be right past Truett’s table. This time, I pretended that he didn’t exist. Because truth be told, he didn’t exist anymore. At least, not the man I’d known.
“Excuse me.” I paused, unsure what to call her. She was older, at least sixty, though she still looked amazing. Her gray hair was thick, pulled back into a bun, and her makeup was fresh and modern. When she’d introduced herself as Cooter despite her name tag reading Lucille, it made the conversation awkward really quick. Unwilling to call her—or anyone else for that matter—Cooter, I stuck with something a little more appropriate. “Ma’am. Would it be possible for me to pay our check now please?”
She grinned. “Sorry. No can do. Mr. Branning told us that if you ever came in, your food was on the house. Seems he made a pretty penny when he finally got you to take this train wreck off his hands.”
I twisted my lips. “How…kind of him. But I still need to pay for my friends.”
“Nope. I’m under direct orders from the boss. And I’m nothing if not an honest, loyal, hardworking, and very soon-to-be jobless employee.” She arched an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t happen to be hiring, would ya?”
“Oh, um, maybe? But I won’t be reopening for at least a month or so.”
“That’s perfect! My daughter has been making me crazy to come out and stay with her for a few weeks. I can’t stand her husband, always chewing with his mouth open and drinking beer while tinkering with his motorbikes in the garage. But a vacation never hurt anyone. Trust me, you won’t find a better waitress in Belton.” Laughing, she waved a half empty water pitcher around the restaurant. “Nobody knows this place like I do, and you might be thinking that’s not a good thing, but I didn’t make the rules or the menu here. It’s only my job to obey them and serve with a smile.” She lowered her voice and leaned in close like she was about to tell me a secret.
Never one to turn down juicy gossip, I leaned in too.
“I’ve been here a long time,” she said quietly. “I’ve had a front-row seat to a lot of mistakes Mr. Branning made through the years.” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “Like, say, hiring his delinquent son, who doesn’t have a lick of experience making a PB and J much less managing a grill, as his head kitchen manager.”
I hummed. “That would explain a lot.”
“You need somebody on your team with experience. The good and the bad kind.” Holding my gaze, she nodded at least a dozen times to really drive home her point.
She wasn’t wrong. God knew I’d made my fair share of mistakes in life. Maybe having someone at my back who knew what not to do would save me a lot of growing pains in the figuring out what-to-do department.
From my purse, I pulled out a scrap of paper, a pen, and forty dollars. “Well, I’m assuming Mr. Branning won’t be covering your tip, so this is for you. Give me your number and I’ll call you tomorrow to see if we can work something out for when you get back from your vacation.”