2. Chapter 2
Chapter two
Lucy
After spending at least another fifteen minutes in the restroom trying to hold back my tears, a knock finally came at the door.
I wiped the corners of my eyes, then opened the door and stepped aside for the next person.
I’d made up my mind. I would apologize to Tara for my outburst, and hopefully, we could put the whole mess behind us.
I just wanted to get away from those assholes, go home, and try to reconcile with my best friend before she left for the summer.
I rehearsed my apology as I wandered back through the bustling restaurant toward our table.
But when I got there, the table was empty.
No dishes, no flatware, and more importantly, no Chad, Gabe, or Tara.
I turned slowly in a circle, confused, scanning the room for my friend and the two idiots.
Maybe they were already outside? That wouldn’t be so bad.
At least I wouldn’t have to sit next to Gabe again.
I headed outside the restaurant, and the moment my shoes hit the sidewalk, the cool evening air bit at my skin.
The line going out the door was still deep, the patio full of happy customers sharing bites of pasta and plates of dessert.
I spotted a busser carrying a large tray of empty glasses, and another wiping down a nearby table.
But there was no sign of Tara or the others.
Just as I stepped back inside, our server came barreling toward me.
“Oh!” she said, thrusting a small black checkbook into my hands. “I thought you left.” Her laugh carried a strange mix of relief and annoyance.
I blinked at her, puzzled, then opened the book. The moment I saw the receipt, my stomach dropped. My cioppino was listed–right alongside the pricey champagne and entrées the others had ordered.
My face flushed with embarrassment. I couldn’t believe I’d almost walked out of there without paying.
“I’m so sorry,” I said quickly, digging through my purse. I retrieved the cash, luckily it was barely enough to pay for my meal along with a fair tip. “Thank you so much, the food was delicious,” I added awkwardly, turning back toward the exit, cheeks burning.
“Ehm.” She coughed sharply behind me. I turned to see her arching a perfectly manicured brow. “Ma’am, this is not enough to cover your bill.”
First of all, I was only twenty-two. I was not a ma’am.
Baffled, I asked to see the check again. I scanned the itemized list and even pulled out my phone to confirm that I tipped over 20 percent–twenty-five to be exact.
“I don’t understand,” I said, staring at the receipt.
“This”—she waved the cash at me—“does not cover the entirety of the bill.” Her accent, once sweet and professional, now sounded accusing. The realization punched me in the gut.
“Where did the rest of my table go?” I asked, panic rising in my throat. She only shrugged and narrowed her eyes at me.
“Give me just a second.” I fumbled with my phone and called Tara’s number. It rang several times before going to voicemail. I tried again, and this time, it went straight to the inbox. My stomach twisted as I stuffed the phone back into my purse.
“Look, I’m sure they just stepped outside. Let me go find them—”
“Absolutely not. You can’t leave until you pay.” Her icy voice sent a chill right down my spine.
“I can’t afford the whole bill,” I stammered. “Let me just try again.” I texted Tara.