Chapter 21 #3
Her eyes go wide. “Seriously?”
“Of course. I’ve worked in restaurants for over ten years. I’m sure I can do it.”
Camila rushes around the podium and wraps her arms around me, the little bump between us pushing against my stomach. “I could kiss you!”
“Not until you brush your teeth. And have written permission from Mira. I bet she could kill me with two fingers.”
A devilish smile crosses Camila’s face, and she bounces her eyebrows. “Oh, she could, and you’d thank her the whole time.”
I’m still laughing when Addy pops up next to me.
“What’s going on, Tia?” Addy asks, a tightness to her smile as she glances back to the table where Diana is watching us.
She’s frustrated at me for leaving the dinner, but I didn’t plan on being away for so long.
I planned for my check on Camila to be quick, but she needs me. The restaurant needs me.
While I talk her through the situation, Camila excuses herself right on cue, like the universe decided to provide evidence.
“What can I help with?” Addy asks when Camila comes back out.
Camila looks at me and shrugs. “Nothing, I think we’re good. Thea’s the one who worked in a restaurant, right?”
“Are you sure you don’t need anything? I’d love to help.”
“Just some Zofran and a flat surface.” She smacks a kiss on my cheek. “I fucking love you, Thea Pappas.”
Addy’s lips thin, looking between the two of us, and I think that’s envy running through her eyes.
“Why don’t you help me?” I ask Addy.
She slides a hand over the smooth fabric of her sundress. “It’s fine. I’ll go back to the table.”
Shit, she feels left out, and now I feel terrible. All Addy wants is to be a part of this family, and I can tell Camila choosing my help over hers—even though I’m the one with the experience—makes her feel like she doesn’t have a place here.
“No, stay. I could use the help,” I say, giving Camila a help me out here look that she doesn’t register as her face turns green again.
“I said it’s fine, Thea,” Addy snaps, then sighs. “While you were gone, Diana invited us for a spa trip tomorrow afternoon.”
“Owen and I are supposed to start on the cake tomorrow,” I say, grateful to have the excuse not to spend the day with Diana doing god knows what people do on spa days.
“That’s what he said, so Diana said we could go late.” Addy must see my hesitation, because she steps closer. “Please. I need you.”
“Wouldn’t you rather get some one-on-one time with her?”
“She’s only interested in me if you’re there,” she says, keeping her tone light and teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of bitterness there. “Same for the rest of the family.”
“Addy—”
“I’m joking,” she says, rolling her eyes as she backs toward the table. “But please, come. Help me win her over. You’re better at this than I am.”
It wasn’t a joke, but I can’t say that when we’re standing in the middle of a restaurant, the Hayeses still watching us and Camila coming out of the bathroom any second. The best I can do for her is show up and make sure Diana sees just how special Addy is, so I nod and promise I’ll be there.
Once Camila finishes her fourth trip to the bathroom, she walks me through the space and runs off to get her meds.
I settle behind the hostess desk, but it’s quiet enough that I can walk around a bit, chatting with the couple of guests and asking about their stay.
It’s comforting, being back in a setting like this.
The rest of my table says a quick goodbye when they finish dinner, but Owen dawdles, coming up to me a few minutes after everyone else has left.
“You look like you’re having a good time,” he says, leaning his elbows on the opposite side of the hostess station.
I let out a contented sigh, looking over the restaurant that has filled up more in the last half hour. “I am. The bustle of a restaurant has always been my happy place. I just hope I can find it again at home.”
“You will,” he says, and his utter confidence rubs off on me. I will figure it out.
“Just so you know,” I say quietly, “in my head, I’m kissing you goodnight right now.”
His head drops forward, shielding his smile for a second before he looks back up at me. “Six days.”
The heat and promise in those two words send a shiver down my spine. “Six days,” I say back, and my eyes follow him as he leaves, giving me one last smile over his shoulder.
It’s only three hours before Camila returns, rested and pumped with enough drugs to keep her from vomiting for the rest of the night.
She demands she repay me with a drink, and the two of us sit on stools behind the hostess stand, whiskey in my hand and water in hers.
We chat about her plans for the restaurant and ways to build community, things I’ve seen be successful at Cibare and other ideas that we all thought would work that fell flat.
The rest of the night flies by. And when I lie in bed that night, I can’t help thinking about how much I loved the work at Cibare, even if Gordon was the worst, and how—maybe—if I can grovel in just the right way, I can get my home back.