One
If there were an award for the absolute worst at waitressing, Alexandria Danby would, hands down, be the recipient. She may have medaled in track through high school and university—but currently, the only thing she’d earn a trophy for was mixing up the most orders.
People used to call her Alexandria the Great. These days, serving people food and drinks while cleaning up after them made her feel more like Alexandria the Absolute Worst.
A tiny orange drop of butternut squash soup splashed against her left thumb, burning the pad, causing a wince but not distracting her from her target.Customer. They’re customers, not targets.The sandwich was easy; it just sat all nice and flat on the plate. It was the damn liquid stuff sharing the space that wrecked things. As a onetime star runner who’d won a full scholarship because of her impressive athleticism, she should be able to walk twenty feet from the outdoor pass-through bar to the goddamn table without a hiccup. But she was quickly learning that agility and speed didn’t translate to every activity. Particularly not ones that involved a lot of multitasking.
Two of the three grandmotherly-type women waiting on her arrival watched with encouraging expressions on their collective faces, one of them nodding with a too-wide smile. The third mostly lookedcurious about whether Lexi could deliver the food without incident. Two plates? No problem. It was the third with the soup that made her feel like she was jumping hurdles with her ankles tied. The way to make some real money would be running a side hustle, placing bets on how many things she’d forget in one shift. Whatever that number was, a quick glance toward the hot guy at the table in the corner of the glassed-in patio, still waiting to be greeted, added one to the total. When he lifted his gaze from the Sandra Brown book he held—great taste—he gave her a smile that bolstered her spirit.Dig deep.That’s what her coach used to say before competitions.If you’ve dug down as far as you can go, keep digging. You want it, you work for it.Lexi hadn’t thought of her university track coach in years.
Just a few more steps. It was a gorgeously sunny Saturday for the last week of September. Little beams of light danced in the spots where the sun came through the glass roof, hitting the fall-colored glass candleholders. Sometimes the Pacific Northwest had bluer skies in fall than some of the summer weeks. As much as Lexi enjoyed the vitamin D, the brightness was currently creating a beacon-like blind spot in her path, the little beams bouncing, making it impossible not to blink. Her left arm wobbled just a little, her left pinkie finger cramping. Since when was salad heavy? She needed to start working out again.Almost there.She set all three items down with a little too much relief, her breath whooshing out of her lungs right as a splash of butternut squash soup slopped over the edge of the bowl.
One of the women gave a small squeal. The soup didn’t even touch her but Lexi flashed a repentant smile, quickly wiped it up, and stepped back. Whatever. She’d made it to the table, remembered everything they ordered, and only had one customer waiting. She was taking the win.
The cozy warmth of the patio heaters combined with the direct sun overhead had sweat pooling at the base of her spine. To hell with working out; this job counted as cardio. Lexi pushed the waywardbrown tresses escaping her top bun behind her ear, her customer service smile making her cheeks hurt.
“Is there anything else I can get you?”Make the customer happy.
If she didn’t start making some better tips, this job was pointless. No one took a second job for fun. The paycheck, in addition to the one from her full-time job, was clearing the last of her—though not technicallyhers—debt. She was so close she’d decided the tips could be used for tuition. Her bestie, Maisie, was friends with some of the waitresses who’d told her they pulled in hundreds of dollars in tips each week.
A block up from Pike Place Market, a major tourist attraction in Seattle, Fairway Bistro was a popular spot. Lexi had taken the job just over a month ago. Easy. Simple. How hard could serving some drinks and food be? Famous last words.
She didn’t earn anything near hundreds a week, but she’d had enough to pay the deposit for one of the final three courses she needed to complete her degree. Problem was, the rest of her tuition was due in a couple weeks, and so far, she’d only saved up a few hundred from all of her shifts combined.
“Could I have that refill on my coffee, please?” one woman said.
Lexi covered her wince with a grin. She hoped.The coffee she asked for ten minutes ago and you promised to bring right over.Then someone else had wanted extra napkins and another customer had been leaving. These ladies were three of the most patient customers Lexi had had lately. She should be tipping them.
She nodded. “Of course. Sorry about that. Coming right up.”
When she turned, the hot guy was still reading his book. She could kiss him just for not yelling out the standardHey youbecause she hadn’t taken his order yet.
Huffing out a breath, shoulders back, she moved to his table, pulled her pad of paper and a pen from her apron. Proactive waitressing, a new sport. His hair, a dark shade similar to her own, looked like he’d run his hands through it more than once.
“Hi. What can I get for you?” Absentmindedly, she rubbed the spot where the soup had burned her finger.
He looked up and Lexi felt heat of another kind zip over her skin. This one more pleasant. With that hair, his strong, square jaw and easy smile, dressed in a carob-colored, expensive-looking sweater over a collared shirt that brought out gold flecks in his dark-brown eyes, he could grace the pages of L.L.Bean’s fall catalog.
His lips twitched before he said, “Maybe not the soup.”
Her breath froze in her lungs for a brief second before she laughed. Ouch. Apparently, her lack of skill was obvious. Excellent.
“Funny guy. I could get them to put it in an extra-large bowl,” she joked.
Fortunately, she only had the two other tables on the patio, the section her manager had relegated her to. She understood preventive damage control. The inside of the restaurant was packed and other serving staff often bragged about the money they brought in on the lunch shift.
“You’re doing great,” he said, his voice low and husky but, more endearingly,genuine. It was a lie but she damn sure appreciated the words. She actuallywasgetting better, other than when taking orders, serving, keeping her station clean, and socializing all needed to happen at the same time.
“Not true. But thank you.”
He grinned. “I’ll have a BLT with fries and a Coke, please.”
She nodded, even as she wrote it down. She wasn’t forgetting anything this time. When she reached the door, she glanced back, certain she’d felt his gaze on her, but he’d already returned to his book. Most people had their phones out before their butts hit the seat.
Coffee, Coke, sandwich, and fries. She was back on track. Inside, weaving through tables and rushing wait staff, Lexi went to the coffee machine and grabbed a carafe, then thought better of it and just filled a fresh cup before asking the bartender for the soda. While hepoured that, she entered the order. Part of her struggle was the stupid system they used to order everything. It seemed more complicated than necessary.
The manager, Brett, moved around the popular downtown Seattle restaurant like a suited ninja, bussing tables for the employees who had too many customers to keep up. Five weeks in and he still couldn’t trust Lexi completely with more than five tables. If they weren’t so short-staffed, she didn’t know if she’d have gotten the job at all. That and Brett’s crush on her bestie were the only things keeping her employed.
On her way back outside, a bus girl, a sweet teen who made Lexi feel ancient, pushed the door open for her.
