Paige
It was a long night for Paige. She tossed and turned in bed for hours, mentally drafting the speech she'd give to Lance Couture when she finally told him about his daughter.
An hour and a half before Paige had to wake up, she finally stumbled into a deep sleep and began to dream. They were dreams that might as well have lasted lifetimes. She dreamt of Lance, naturally. Sometimes, he was the fantasy she badly wanted him to be: the loving husband and father to Irie, who just so happened to be a famous hockey star. Then the dream landscape would shift, and Lance morphed into the playboy millionaire who tucked his tail and skated away from responsibility. He left Paige crying at the altar, and Irie, too.
When her alarm finally went off, Paige felt more drained and exhausted than ever. Nevertheless, she had to get ready for her morning shift at the Burger Stand.
It was hard not to think of Emily's words—your Burger Stand days are over, sister!—as Paige sleepily rushed through her morning routine. First, Irie would have to be cajoled, fed, changed and clothed. But Irie was having a tough morning and getting the inconsolable child ready for her day took longer than usual.
“You want to wear Daddy's sweater again today, sweetheart? Would that make you feel better?” Paige cooed as she pulled the mini-sized Boston Brawlers jersey over Irie's head.
She looked adorable in it, no doubt. But Paige still felt a sense of guilt. Irie wasn't old enough to understand 'Daddy,' of course, but it still seemed dangerous and irresponsible to jinx the situation by talking that way. Murphy's Law—anything that cango wrong, will. After everything she'd been through in the past two years, Paige knew better than to tempt fate. What if Lance wanted nothing to do with her? What if he even refused to take a paternity test? He might not ever be Irie's Daddy.
Banishing those thoughts, Paige had just enough time to hop in the shower for a quick rinse. There would be no time for her own breakfast, however. Paige hurried Irie out to her car and began the drive to her parents' house.
At least I can eat real quick at work,Paige thought as her empty stomach gurgled in bumper-to-bumper traffic.One of the perks of working at a restaurant, I guess.
You had to look on the bright side.
***
Last night's events, and the lack of quality sleep, caught up to Paige during her shift.
The day lacked rhythm—the restaurant would become packed, then clear out, only to fill up again later—which made a long shift seem that much longer.
But at least she was almost done.
Paige had settled all her remaining tables, and was nearly done with her end-of-shift chores, when one of the hostesses grabbed her attention.
“Um, hey, Paige. I just seated a gentleman for you at table twelve.”
“You did? But I'm almost out of here. You should give him to one of the evening servers instead.”
“I told him that, but he didn't care. He specifically asked to be seated in your section or he wouldn't eat here. He was cute, but honestly, kind of a pain about it.”
Paige clucked her tongue. “Alright. Thanks. I'll let him know I'm going home.”
Some men mistookprofessional politeness for what—a real connection? Paige didn't know; she certainly didn't understand it. The busty Burger Stand uniform didn't do her any favors in that regard either. But it was true, some regulars wouldonlysit in her section. It was always slightly awkward having to tell them that,yes, they could in fact be served by the restaurant's other wait staff. The guys always looked like they'd been told that you wanted to start seeingother people.
Paige decided to make table twelve wait until she first finished the last of her end-of-shift chores.
With a sigh, she made her way through the crowded restaurant to table twelve. And when she saw who thecute-but-a-painguy was, she gasped.
“Lance?”
The hockey player, dressed in another one of his dashing suits, glanced up with his piano-key teeth and that ever-present cocky glint in his eye.
“Hey there, Paige,” he said smoothly. “Care to join me for dinner?”
Paige didn't speak; her head was swimming with questions. She took off her apron and silently slid into the booth opposite him.
“So what's good here?” Lance asked as he browsed the menu.
“Lance, what are you doing here?”
“Well, I thought I'd visit you at the ol' Burger Stand.” His eyes lowered to the restaurant name on her t-shirt. Or her cleavage. Whichever.
“I can see that.” Paige paused. “But aren't you supposed to be in Florida right now?”
