2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Cora
I rush through the door, nearly bumping into a mother and son leaving the restaurant.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper frantically, putting my hand on the mother’s shoulder. She scowls at me, shaking her head as she grabs her son’s hand and leads him through the door and into the parking lot.
Not having time to worry about grumpy customers, I hurry around the counter and into the kitchen.
“You’re late, again!” Christian, our cook, singsongs. I hear the smile in his voice as I rush to the tiny break room to open my locker and grab my apron. He doesn’t care who does what, as long as his grill is hot and clean.
“Hardly!” I call out.
A glance at the clock tells me I’m fifteen minutes late. At least Norman, the owner, isn’t here to give me crap about it .
I throw my things into my locker and swiftly tie my apron on. Grabbing my pen and my notepad, I slam the locker shut and dash for the door—only to bump into Norman.
“Damnit,” I curse under my breath.
“You’re late again,” he says, raising a brow.
“I’m so sorry, Norman. Dad was refusing to eat. He was shouting and hollering that I was trying to poison him, and when the nurse showed up, he only got worse. Said she was there to help, and we were gonna take him away to another planet.”
Norman holds my gaze, not a single amount of sympathy on his face.
I understand it’s my responsibility to be on time to work, but my father is ill… can’t he give me a break? Just a little one, sometimes?
“This is the second time this week, Cora. It’s not my problem that you have a crazy father who—”
“Sick,” I correct.
“Excuse me?” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“He’s sick, not crazy,” I say as nicely as possible, my hands balling into fists.
I swear he’s doing this on purpose, just trying to rile me up for a quick way to fire me. I’ve read through the rules, and being late now and then isn’t a fireable offense. But punching the owner in the face sure would be. Workplace violence isn’t tolerated.
“Whatever. It’s still not an excuse—”
“Hey, Cora, I think Fia could use your help out there,” Christian calls from the grill. “It’s getting busy. ”
I hold Norman’s stare for another moment before forcing out, “It won’t happen again.” I walk by him, toward the dining room, not wanting Fia to get stressed out or upset with me.
“That’s my good girl,” Norman says, causing me to stop short. I’m about to whirl around and sock him, not caring if I lose my job or not. I’m tired of him treating me this way. But Christian is at my back, hands on my shoulders, urging me forward.
“Just go up front. He’s leaving in a few minutes. Heard he’s got to get his asshairs laser removed or something.”
I huff out a laugh and push through the swinging doors. Leave it to Christian to fix my mood.
“Thanks, Christian,” I say with a sigh.
He winks and hurries back to the grill before the food burns.
Taking a second to breathe and run my hands through my hair to tame any loose strands, I scan the small dining area for Fia to figure out where I’m needed. I see her clearing a table in the back, so I hurry that way.
“Sorry, girl,” I say.
She sighs, shaking her head. “It’s okay, you’ve got stuff going on.”
“Where do you need me?” I question.
“Tyler called out—again, so we’re busing our own tables. You can take the other side if you want, but there’s three tables that need clearing and we’re about to hit lunch rush.”
“No worries, I’ ve got it.”
I hurry over to the tables that need to be cleaned to clear them and wipe them down. In between bringing dirty dishes to the back, I refill some coffees and take some payments, shoving the tips into my left pocket so I know to hand it over to Fia later on.
The back sinks are piled with dirty dishes and pots and pans, but I toss my bins full of dirty plates, cups, and silverware in the small open space on the side, knowing there is nothing I can do about this now. The way Norman expects this whole diner to run on just three people is insane. The front has enough tables for four waitresses, and he only ever puts on two. And our bus boy, though I love him, is a seventeen-year-old stoner who cares more about smoking weed and his girlfriend than his job. I’m getting my job threatened for being late, but Tyler shows up only half the time and he still works here without any issue. Norman is such a jerk.
“I’ll do what I can,” Christian says after I let out a huff, hurrying back to the front.
Christian has been the grill master here at Daisy’s since it opened almost thirty years ago. His father was friends with Daisy, and I hear they even had a brief fling. I’ve been working here three years, and I’ve heard Christian argue with Norman many times about the way he runs this place, but Christian refuses to step up. Says he belongs behind the grill and not running the place. I get it. Still think the place would be better off without Norman, but what do I know? I’m just a waitress with a sick father and half a bachelor’s degree .
The bell above the door chimes, and a couple walks in, pulling me from my dark spiral. The good thing about this place is it’s always busy, so there isn’t much time to dwell on negative things.
“Sit anywhere you’d like!” I call out as I hurry to my end of the dining room with the pot of coffee to top off some more cups. On the way back, I hand off two more checks, bus the tables, and take the order of the couple who just came in.
The next three hours go much the same. It’s nonstop. My back hurts and my feet are aching. I need to invest in newer, more comfortable shoes, but I haven’t had time to go to the city. I can’t leave dad alone for that long—maybe not even at all anymore—and can’t afford to pay the nurse any extra. Taking him with me isn’t an option. The last time I tried that, the whole mall got shut down because he threatened to kill everyone inside. I thought we were both going to be arrested, but I was able to convince security and the cops that he has LBD—Lewy Body Dementia. At first, they thought I was lying, but I think they felt bad because of how stressed I was, so they let me go. Ever since then, I try not to take my father anywhere. But when I do, I bring the doctor’s paperwork with me to show his diagnosis in case something like that happens again. New shoes aren’t worth dealing with that situation. The shoes I have work just as well, they just aren’t so comfortable.
We go through a lull in customers, which gives me time to clean up the tables and hand over the tips to Fia that are hers from earlier. She thanks me, running a hand over her head as she leans against the counter to breathe. She’s younger than me, twenty I think, and has been here about six months now. I don’t know her well, but she’s nice enough and a hard worker. There are only five waitresses total who work here, but I work with Fia the most.
“What time you here until, Cora?” she asks as she fills a cup with water to drink.
“Close,” I say.
She shakes her head. “Don’t you get tired of working doubles all the time?”
“Of course I do,” I say, grabbing the plates for table four from the window. “But I’ve got bills to pay and no one to help me.” She gives me a sympathetic smile, but I wink, not wanting her to feel bad for me. I don’t want anyone to feel bad for me. I don’t hate my life, it’s just a little hectic.
As I’m heading to the table to drop off the food, the bell above the door rings again.
“Sit anywhere you’d—” My words cut off when I see who it is, my cheeks instantly heating. “Sorry, sit anywhere you’d like,” I say a little quieter, then keep moving to my table.
The diner is a common place for the Merciless Few to eat. They don’t come here on a schedule or anything, but they come here often enough that it’s not strange to see them. We are the only diner in town, after all. But I didn’t get all embarrassed because it’s strange to see them. I got embarrassed because the man who walked in is the sexiest guy I have ever seen in my life, and for some reason, my brain short circuits whenever he shows up. Which isn’t all that often, at least not anymore. It’s the older guys who come in here regularly. Now that I think about it, haven’t seen them here lately either.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” I ask Betty and Bitsy, the identical twin grandmas who do come here on a schedule. They’re here nearly every day.
“I’m good, dear, but maybe you should finally ask the handsome hunk of meat out on a date,” Bitsy says with a knowing smile.
My cheeks heat even more at knowing I’m that obvious. I hate when he comes in when the twins are here because they do things like this. They have no shame whatsoever.
“I’ll think about it,” I say with a smile, then turn to head back to the window to see if there is food ready for another table. Bad idea.
The window is behind the bar, where the two bikers who came in are now sitting. They’re way too big for the stools, and hunch over the bar like bears. The tables aren’t much better, and the booths are comical—the guys are just so big they look like they need custom-made furniture.
I pause before going behind the bar, looking from the window where the food is, to Fia who is taking an order from a family of six down the end. I chew on my lip as I try to decide what to do.
Well, the answer is obvious. I need to put my big girl panties on and do my job. With my chin held high, I walk over to the window and grab the four plates that’re there .
“I’ll be right with you, gentlemen,” I say without looking at them. Looking at them is hard. I mean, it’s not hard to look at them, but it’s hard not to melt when I do.
When they come in, there’s never just one, which makes it much more intimidating. The two who are here now are both good looking, but there’s something about the rugged one that really gets me in a tizzy. They’re tall, at least six-three or four. Built like they could play catch with me without breaking a sweat. One gives off lion vibes while the other one is more like a house cat, but they’re both in the MF, so they’re dangerous.
They have the same dark hair and blue eyes. I think they could be related. If the house cat grew a beard like the other one, they’d look more alike. He’d have to grow his hair out more too and make it all messy like he just rolled out of bed.
“Can I get you anything else?” I ask, putting the plates down in front of the customers. “Ketchup, hot sauce, more coffee?”
“No thank you,” the man says, smiling at the woman across from him. “We’re good.”
I smile politely, then look back at Fia, who seems frustrated. With a heavy sigh, I mentally pull up my panties and walk over to the bikers. I was really hoping Fia would take them since we share the bar, but it doesn’t look like it’ll happen. That table is giving her a hard time, and it isn’t fair to make the guys wait just because I’m overwhelmed by their looks.
“Afternoon, guys. What can I get you?” I ask, smiling and holding my pen to my pad and trying not to faint .
The house cat looks over the menu, even though I already know what he’s going to get. He orders the same thing every time he’s here. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard the other guy call him Snapper, but I don’t know. The names they come up with for each other are strange, so I could be very wrong. Also, that could be a totally different person because I see so many of them here.
The other one though, the lion, he looks up at me, his blue eyes sparkling with humor. Good god, he’s handsome.
“How about your number?” he says, and my knees get all jelly-like.
“I-I’m sorry?” I say, a weird and anxious laugh slipping through my lips.
“My brother wants your number,” the house cat says, eyes still on the menu, tone bored.
“Oh, uh… what?” My brain clearly isn’t working. I heard what he asked me for. Heard what the other one said. I understand that he’s asking for my number, but I guess what’s tripping me up is… why?
“I told you this was a bad idea,” the house cat says. But the other one just keeps staring at me, those eyes still full of humor, his full lips turned up in a slight smile.
Wait, did he say brother? They are brothers? I knew it.
“I’d like your number,” he says. “You know, so I can call you. Maybe we can go out on a date.”
“A date?” I blurt, my fingers trembling. “I don’t think—um. Are you sure?”
He laughs now, a deep and rich sound that has my chest warming.
“He’s only been talking about it for weeks,” the other guy mutters, eyes still on the menu.
The lion frowns, turning to his brother. “Can you ever shut your mouth?”
He shrugs. “When I’m sleeping.”
The rugged guy looks at me, shaking his head. “Sorry about him. So, is that a no?”
“Order up!” I flinch at the sound of Christian’s voice and turn to look in the window to see plates and a slip that belong to my table.
“Give me one minute,” I say, grabbing the plates and hurrying to drop them off.
“Can I get some hot sauce?” the teenager at the table asks, his grandmother smiling happily. I look around, grabbing it from the nearest table and handing it to him.
“And the saltshaker is empty,” he adds, offering it to me.
I grit my teeth and snatch one from the table beside him and hand it over, ignoring the one he tried giving me.
“Here, you can share with this table. I’ll be right back.”
I hurry back to the bar to find the rugged one whispering harshly to the other guy, who seems to not care he’s being chastised for something.
“I’m back,” I say, forcing a smile. Doesn’t take long to realize how stupid that sounds, so I mentally slap myself. God, what is wrong with me?