Where One Goes(19)

“I’d love that. And I will repay you for everything. I promise. You really have no idea how much your kindness means to me.”

“How about next Wednesday?” Mr. Mercer asks. I try not to look surprised at how soon that is.

“Why not? We’ll make sure you’re off for it, Charlotte,” George interjects as he approaches. I nearly jump out of my skin with his words. He snuck up on me.

“You should come, too, George,” Mr. Mercer adds.

“Actually, I have to work, but thank you for the invite.” George nods in appreciation. “Did Charlotte take your drink order yet?” he asks, and I can’t help rolling my eyes. He’s trying to make me look incompetent—or he’s just trying to piss me off.

“We’ve been chatting.” Mrs. Mercer pats my hand where it rests on the table.

“Wednesday sounds great, and what can I get you two to drink?”

“We’ll both have iced teas, and we’d like to split the chicken Philly with fries,” Mr. Mercer says.

“I’ll be right back with your teas.”

As I walk away, George says something I can’t hear to the Mercers before trailing behind me. When I reach the kitchen, I call out my order to Sniper as I grab two glasses and fill them with ice. As I fill the first glass from the tea urn, George enters and stops, watching me.

“I’m quite capable of taking drink orders, Mr. McDermott, but thanks for coming over and trying to make me look like an idiot.”

“You think I was trying to be a dick?” He snorts out a laugh.

“There was no trying there,” I add as I take the second glass and begin filling it, but can’t help the smile I’m fighting as I hear Sniper chuckle in the background.

“Hey, I was helping. They’d have talked your ear off if I hadn’t come over there.”

“So? Is it a problem if they like me and want to talk to me? Or would it interfere with your anti-Charlotte parade?”

“I’m not on an anti-Charlotte parade,” he laughs, and I’m taken aback by how incredibly handsome he looks when he smiles. Both Ike and George look alike, but their smiles are different. When Ike smiles, it feels real, like his happiness is his aura. It feels like a warm, sunny beach when you’ve seen nothing but snow and ice for months. When George smiles, it’s a gift. It’s like the way the sun peeks through storm clouds. It feels like hope.

“Look at that,” I say, dryly, jutting my chin to Sniper, whose elbows are resting on the top shelf that separates the front and back line, watching George and I quarrel with great amusement. “He actually laughs!”

George crosses his arms, the humor in his eyes fading fast. “I have no problems with you, Charlotte. Seriously.” He gets back to the point.

“Well, your girlfriend doesn’t care much for me.” I roll my eyes.

“My girlfriend?”

There’s no way I’m letting him off the hook. The whole town might, but I won’t. “Really? You’re going to play coy? Misty?”

“She’s an employee. A friend. That’s all,” he says, matter-of-factly.

“Who you happen to f*ck . . .” Sniper interrupts from behind the line, peeking over the metal shelf that separates the kitchen from the front line. I copy George’s stance and cross my arms, giving him a knowing look, feeling good that Sniper backed me up.

“Fuck off,” George snaps at Sniper before he shakes his head and instead of addressing Sniper or my proclamation, he pivots back toward me. “Jealous, Charlotte?” His eyes scan me from head to toe, his eyes darkening as he does. I know he’s trying to unnerve me, avoiding talking about Misty, but I can’t stop the heat that crawls up my neck and blankets my cheeks. It’s been so long since a man looked at me like that. I quickly shake it off and get back to business.

I snort. “Wow. So desperate to avoid the topic of Misty, you’d commit sexual harassment. Nice move, boss.”

“Just admit it, George. Misty hangs on your sac like a monkey on a tree,” Sniper calls from behind the line. “Ooo-Ooo-Eee-Eee,” Sniper heckles as he tromps around, scratching under his arms. I can’t help it, I burst in to laughter.

“Put a sock in it, Sniper!” George calls, anger lacing his tone. I bite my lip to stifle my giggles and busy myself putting lemon wedges on the glasses of tea.

“No worries, boss. No judgment here,” I manage as I smile and take the drinks.

As I exit the kitchen, I hear Sniper say, “She’s a saucy one, isn’t she?”

“She’s something, all right,” George mumbles.



Two hours later, the lunch rush has died down, and I busy myself sweeping under my tables and filling my sugar caddies. I’m alone on the floor as George and Sniper are in the back, and Misty went home feigning a headache. Apparently, she plans to return for the evening shift.

Awesome.

“How much did you make today?” Ike asks as he sits in one of my booths, watching me.

“Fifty,” I reply and shrug. For a small town lunch shift, it’s not horrible, but it’s not great either.

“You work tonight, right? You’ll make more,” he assures me. He knows I’m worried about money. Thus far, I’ve had to rely solely on the kindness of strangers, and I can’t stand it. It makes me feel worthless. I feel better about my motel room, but Ginger only has me staying in and cleaning one of her rooms. I’m not sure how likely it is I’ll really be ‘earning’ my stay.