A Want So Wicked (A Need So Beautiful #2)(15)

“There is nothing difficult about the word albondigas. Say it with me, Elise.” He squeezes my mouth and moves it in tandem with the syllables. “Al-bon-di-gas.” I make the attempt, but then forget immediately when I’m at the next table telling them our soup of the day.

We dive into the shift, the evening passing quickly as Abe explains how to garnish a plate, how to act offended when customers order a cheeseburger. Santo’s is especially busy, and Abe tells me it’s never been this crowded. He says they must be here for me.

The job is fun, though. With so many customers it’s all a blur of smiles and half-filled iced tea pitchers. Between tables Abe’s got me cracking up, introducing me with a different name to each patron. I was Doris, Consuela, and even Godzilla—which he told them was my nickname. I think he was taking a shot at my five-eight height, but he says he wasn’t. Either way, I was a little annoyed after that one so he went back to calling me Elise.

I’m pouring myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen when Abe comes up, smirking. “How will you ever sleep tonight?”

“I still have an hour here,” I say, glancing at the clock to see it’s almost nine. “And besides, I haven’t been sleeping all that well.”

“You’re the hardest-working woman in the restaurant business.” He takes a packet of sugar and hands it over to me, leaning against the food counter while I stir in the sweetener. “Do you like it here?” he asks offhandedly, examining his fingernails.

“It’s the best job I’ve ever had. It’s also the only job I’ve ever had, so it doesn’t have much to compete with. But I do like it. For the most part.”

Abe looks up as if he’s surprised by my answer. “No, not at Santo’s. I mean—”

“Elise,” Santo calls from the kitchen, his voice having its usual gruff edge. I worry that I’m in trouble as I head back there. Abe follows, and I find Santo at the grill, flipping strips of chicken and green peppers. When he notices me, he wipes his hands on the white towel he has thrown over his shoulder.

“Go ahead and take off,” he says with a head nod toward the front door. My stomach drops.

“I’m fired?”

Abe laughs from behind me, and Santo shakes his head. “What? No. I just don’t need you anymore tonight.” He pauses, as if he doesn’t want to say the next part. “Nice work out there.” He pours oil on the grill, drowning out the sound of my thank-you with a sizzle.

I go to grab my purse, untying my apron as Abe snorts. “What?” I ask. I can’t help but smile, a little embarrassed about my exchange with Santo.

“Nothing,” Abe says. “I just think it’s funny that when your boss tells you that you can take off, your first instinct is to think you’re fired.”

“Maybe I’m not all that confident in my server skills yet.”

“I understand that. You’re awful at it.”

“Hey!” I laugh, slapping his shoulder. He doesn’t apologize, but motions toward the kitchen.

“I’ll be right back,” he says. “Wait for me?”

I agree, and lean against the wall, facing the dining room. There are only two tables, and Margie’s able to handle them both with ease. I think about Paul, about the terrible things he’s gone through, the terrible things he planned to do. I just wish I knew how I could see those things.

“All right, let’s go,” Abe says, startling me as he walks up.

“Go? Where?”

“You have some time before you have to be home, right? Let me buy you dinner.”

“Who’s open this late besides us?”

He grins. “You’ll see.”

A Slim Jim, a Coke, and a pack of yellow cupcakes hit the spot as we sit on the bumper of Lucy’s car in the 7-Eleven parking lot. Abe is eating a nasty-looking hot dog that he plucked from the heat rollers in the glass cabinet, but I passed.

“Tell me about yourself, Elise,” Abe says between bites. “I must admit that I am fascinated.”

I brush my hair behind my ear in a nervous movement. “And why is that?”

Abe takes another bite before answering. “You’re gorgeous. Innocent. And yet”—he points his finger—“there is something very unusual about you.”

“You mean strange?”

“No,” Abe says seriously. “I mean fascinating.” I’m not sure how to respond, but I don’t have to because Abe stands, crumpling up his napkin as he finishes off his hot dog. He tosses the wrapper in the trash before wandering back over.

“I’m close with my family,” I say, answering his earlier question. “My father does a lot of work for the church, so Lucy and I spent most of our childhood there. But now he lets us decide for ourselves when and if we want to go.”

Abe eases down next to me. “He sounds like a very practical man.”

“He’s great,” I say, fully aware that talking about my dad might be lame. “And when we left Colorado last month, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever make another friend again.”

“But then I came into your life. Sounds like fate to me.”

I turn, but find I can’t hold Abe’s dark gaze. When I look away, he chuckles.

“And now that I’ve properly humiliated myself with my constant flirtation,” he adds, “I’ll say good night, and hope that tomorrow night we can have dinner again. In seats, maybe?”