Page 4 of Paths
Right after I take his order, I resume spying on him from the backroom. And I’ve spied enough that, even to myself, I’m reaching creeper status.
Ugh. Creepers are weird and I’m becoming one.
Since he’s already made it halfway across the tasting room, I do what I’ve done for weeks, and prepare to spy on him.
Before I can hide, Evan’s phone rings. He looks at the screen and beats me to the punch, leaving for the back room as he mutters, “It’s Mary. Do me a favor and hold down the fort.”
Shit. I’ve never been alone with him.
When I turn around, there he is, looking at me with his perfectly-beautiful, anguished blue eyes.
I swallow and do the one thing my mother instilled in me more than anything else—be composed. I take a breath and go to him, the bar being the only thing separating me from the target of my inner creeper. “May I help you?”
His brows pull together and my eyes go directly to the scar on his temple. Red, angry, and still inflamed, it’s clear to see he’s recently had stitches. This, too, fascinates me.
His voice comes at me strong and deep, even if a bit harshly. “The Monte Cristo with chips, potato soup, and whatever desserts she has, one of each.”
The Monte Cristo and potato soup? Never mind the dessert order, there’s so much there that bothers me. I’ve spied on him ordering almost every day I’ve worked for the past few weeks, and in his condition, his body needs healthier foods to heal.
For the first time ever, I muster up the courage to do more than simply take his order. “Would you like to hear today’s specials?”
His answer comes quick and clear. “No.”
Doing everything I can to collect my courage, I push, “Are you sure? Maggie’s worked really hard on them. Her new sandwich is great.”
He couldn’t be any clearer when he answers firmly, “I’m sure.”
What the hell. I’m on a roll, so I keep on as if he invited me to. “It’s a Mediterranean wrap. Lean cut turkey, stacked with romaine, English cucumbers, heirloom tomatoes, red onion, and for a bit of salt, Kalamata olives. She even added a spread of roasted red pepper hummus. It’s delicious. I had it yesterday.”
This time he tips his head and frowns in a way I know he finds me ludicrous. “No. I want the Monte Cristo.”
Well then.
I put another smile on my face and try again to add some color to his diet and continue with the specials. “Our soup of the day is colorful minestrone.”
“Pay attention.” His face hardens, and if he didn’t sound serious before, he sure does now. “The Monte Cristo. The colorless potato soup, and it better be a bowl, not a cup. Desserts, one of everything she’s got. That’s it.”
Only because it’s my job, I feel safe in offering, “Would you like a side salad with that?”
He loses his frown when his brows fly up, his beautiful blue eyes going big. “Are you kidding?”
He’s close to losing his patience, but I know for a fact his body will heal faster if it has the proper vitamins and nutrients. “The organic seasonal fruit medley?”
And if he didn’t mean it before, there’s no question now when he growls at me, “No!”
Even though I’m disappointed and a bit freaked at his rumbling voice, I can’t deny, having a conversation with him has been exciting. I scribble down his order and give myself one more opportunity to appreciate his now-frustrated blue eyes. That’s when I ask, even though I know, but I really like to hear him say it, “A name for the order?”
“Grady.”
I love his name. Grady is casual, comfortable, and friendly, even though its owner is anything but. Still, I love it because every name in my family is snooty, stick-up-the-ass formal, just like my family, so very unlike the mysterious-but-wounded, blue-eyed Grady.
“I’ll give this to Maggie. You can have a seat while you wait.”
He lets out a sigh and shakes his head before turning. I’m not quite sure, but I think he lets out a string of curse words as he moves gingerly to the tables. Like every day, this makes me wonder what type of accident he was in and what his physician has him doing for rehabilitation.
I go to the kitchen and hand Maggie his order. As usual, she quizzes me, making sure I got the order right. “A Monte with chips, bowl of potato, and one of every dessert. That right?”
I sigh, wishing I could’ve talked him into some vegetables that offer anti-inflammatory benefits to help with his injuries, and reply, “Yep. That’s it.”
