Chapter 5
I glanced down at the drink order. "What's this?"
Melanie shrugged. "Don't ask me. Never heard of it. But hey, you're the bartender, right?"
It was true. Iwasthe bartender. Today, this wasn't exactly a good thing. The restaurant's computer system was down, which meant the serving staff was writing all of their drink-orders by hand. Some of them were doing a pretty good job of it. Others, not so much.
I looked down at the scribbled slip of paper. Unless it was written in another language, it wasn't exactly legible. I looked up. "But I can't even read it."
Melanie gave the paper an annoyed look. "What? You want me write it bigger?"
"Notbigger," I told her. "Justbetter."
She groaned in obvious frustration. "God, I hate this hand-writing stuff." She shook out her hand, like her wrist had grown sore and floppy. "I'm like a super-fast texter, you know? But the whole pencil-and-paper thing? It blows, seriously."
She was right. It did blow. We were at the peak of lunch hour, and the place was packed. Usually, lunch wasn't a big time for drinks, but between the computer problems and a table of rowdies on the far side of the restaurant, I was having a hard time keeping up.
I didn't bother reminding Melanie that her texting speed wasn't exactly relevant, since the steakhouse used computers, not phones, to place all of the orders. Besides, I knew what she meant. Take myself, for example. I was so used to texting that on some days, I could barely sign my own name.
"Alright, then just tell me," I said, glancing at the slip of paper. "What drink is this, exactly?"
"Not justonedrink. Two." She pointed at a messy scribble on the paper's edge. "See?"
I studied the thing. WhatIsaw was a potato. I squinted at it and cocked my head to the side. I guess itcouldbe a two if I squinted hard enough. "Uh, yeah," I said. "Twodrinks. But what kind?"
Again, she pointed at the paper. "Moon Pies. Just like it says."
"Oh." I was still looking at the slip of paper. "Yeah. Iguessthat could be an 'M.'" Suddenly, I looked up. "Wait. Did you say Moon Pies?"
Melanie nodded.
I felt my gaze narrow. That wasn't a drink. It was a sign of trouble. I stood on my tiptoes and looked around the crowded restaurant. "Alright, where are they?"
Melanie shook her head. "The drinks? You haven't made them yet."
"Not the drinks," I said. "The goobers who ordered these."
She gave me an odd look. "Goobers?"
From the other side of the bar, Rosalie called out, "Hey, you got my daiquiris?"
I didn't, in fact.
Damn it.
I'd been distracted by that stupid potato. "Sorry," I called back. "Not yet. But I'm making them now." I turned back to Melanie. "I'll have the Moon Pies in a minute, okay?"
She smiled. "Great. I can't wait to see 'em."
"Yeah." Now, I was smiling too, but in a totally different way. "Me neither."
Five minutes later, Melanie was staring down at the two tall glasses. "Wow." She frowned. "Those are sonotwhat I expected."
I choked back a malicious giggle. "Yeah. I know. But trust me. They'll love 'em."
But Melanie was shaking her head. "Honestly? I don't think so. Sorry, but they look all…" She gave a little flutter of her hand. "Um, wrong, I guess."
I looked down at the so-called drinks. They did look wrong, but that was the whole point. Melanie might not understand, but she would after delivering them. And we'd all have a good laugh about it afterwards.
Or, at least that's what I thought. Unfortunately, it didn't play out that way, not even close. They didn't love them, and in the end, no one was laughing – not me, not Melanie, not the customers, and most certainly not my boss.
