Deal

Smash!

The loud crash rang out behind me, causing me to jolt up, standing straighter than my tired body previously had allowed. Through the plastic black tray, I felt the four drinks I’d been carrying from the kitchen slosh around in response to my sudden movement. Eyeing the glasses carefully, I ignored the sound, irritated sighs, and genuine apologies from behind me to continue on my way to the family of four a few paces in front of me. After I set down their drinks (four waters… not looking good so far for a decent tip), I flashed them my brightest, most sincere of smiles.

“What can I get you today?” I chirped, clicking my pen into ready position.

I’d only been working as a waitress for the family-owned restaurant and bar, The Loft, for a couple of weeks now. For the most part, it was a very family-oriented establishment with decent prices and a carefree atmosphere, minus the usually bustling bar which even the owners warned parents against going near with their children. While I already had a summer job working at a local summer camp, times had been a little rough for my family since a couple months back when my father was laid off from his job as an automotive service manager. Though I knew it would keep me busy most days and that my relaxing summer break would be compromised because of it, I knew I would be doing my family a huge favor. Not to mention, it’s not like I really ever had plans anymore anyway.

After taking the family’s order, I spun on my heel and hustled back toward the kitchen, smoothly dodging two nearly identical children scurrying after their mother toward the bathroom. I ripped off the chicken-scratch covered order paper, and clipped it to the kitchen window before inputting it onto the computer for their check. When I had finished, I peeked out from the behind the wall I was barely hidden behind and peered out onto the main floor at my two tables of the night so far. Aside from the water-drinking and cheapest-entrées-on-the-menu family of four, my only other table was an elderly couple who had finished their meal and paid their bill already, but insisted on staying for the wife to finish her after dinner coffee.

But I wasn’t complaining or annoyed in the least by my two tables. The family actually reminded me a lot of my own family. Even before the severe cut in income, we prided ourselves in couponing and looking for deals to make our meal as cheap as possible. Often, my mother and I would go so far as to share a single entrée to keep the tab low. The fleeting thought had me giggling to myself and my attention refocused on the other table. The old couple was undoubtedly my favorite. They had become regulars of mine in the few weeks I’d been working there and I had the opportunity to hear many wonderful stories from them of their youth and the husband’s time stationed in Germany while in the army. Thus, I had no reason to feel annoyed, no reason to complain, when I actually truly enjoyed who I was serving. Not to mention, after having done the late shift every day this week, I was reveling over the simple workload and few tables. For a moment, I even considered returning to the elderly couple to hear more stories. But I should know better by now.

Before I could scuttle off to my favorite patrons, a strong arm swung me around from my peeking place. A squeal burst from my lips as I was dragged quickly passed the kitchen and behind a set of crates, every chef turning to face us with a confused expression. Before I knew it, the chefs were out of view and I was thrown onto one of the overturn vegetable crates, sprawled out and wide-eyed until I realized the identity of my abductor.

I sighed and ran a hand through my now messy blond hair. “Seriously Rylee?”

“Seriously Cam,” the brunette barked back, making me wince. Though she was a couple inches shorter than me, she was at least twice my size and from my spot on the crate she appeared even more menacing. “You look like fucking death! Are you sure you’re okay to work?”

Rylee was a year older than me, but she was more like a mother to me than a good friend. I’d met her a couple years back, because her boyfriend had lived in the same apartment as my ex-boyfriend Zack while they were in college, though I’d known of her earlier as we’d all gone to the same high school. While most people dwelled on her less-desirable qualities, the two of us were fast friends, bonding over our uncanny skills in beer pong and flip-cup. Though I went to a different college than all of them, when I visited it was as if I was part of their little clan. As time passed, she grew almost protective over me like a mother. I later found out it was due in part to me being one of very few people she considered a friend.

It was only until I noticed her grimace deepened that I realized I’d spaced out and hadn’t answered her. “I’m fine,” I muttered, sitting up on the crate and leaning my head against a stack next to me. It reeked of fish and I wrinkled my nose in disgust, leaning back instead to avoid getting too close to the seafood smell. She snorted.

“You’re a bad liar,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Look, I know times have been a bit hard right now, but you can’t just engulf yourself with work!” I grimaced, knowing she wasn’t referring to the huge loss in household income or even to my own college troubles, but to Zack and my break up. She misinterpreted my expression as proof of her statement and continued, “See? That’s not healthy, Cam.”

“Don’t you have people to seat or something?” I sassed, pursing my lips at her. Seemingly ignoring my sass, her eyes widened as if she’d just remembered something important.

“Speaking of which,” she started, outstretching her hand to me. “You have another table to wait on.” The side of her lip twitched upward momentarily and my eyes narrowed suspiciously at her, taking her hand cautiously.

“What’s wrong with them?” I asked seriously. She placed her free hand on her chest and shook her head.

“Oh, Camille,” she mused, winking at me and letting go of my hand. “Just some familiar faces.”

I raised my eyebrows and was about to question her further, but she sped off back through the kitchen. Stepping out from behind the tall stacks of crates, I pursed my lips at her fleeing form and ran a hand through my hair. However, before entering the main dining floor, Rylee spun around, blew me a kiss, and held up both of her hands with different amounts of fingers pointed up. I squinted and counted each finger. 2……5? Peering into her eyes, I mouthed, “Table seven?” When she shook her head, I tried again, “Twenty-five?” She grinned, giving me a thumbs up moments before someone from the dining area called her name. And as quickly as she’d appeared, she disappeared.

While walking back through the kitchen and happily greeting the concerned and confused faces of the chefs, I racked my brain through every person I’d known who could possibly be at table 25. I know it couldn’t be most of my high school friends, because many of them had moved out of the state upon entering college. And she wouldn’t possibly make me wait on Zack or his friends…right? It had been nearly a month since we’d broken up and we haven’t had to see each other yet even once. There was no way I was ready for that reunion, especially not at the job I’d barely just started. No, my mind reasoned. She wouldn’t do that, not to me.

But then…who? “Who would provoke that response?” I muttered to myself as my eyes lingered at the now vacant table the elderly couple had previously occupied, then to the happy chattering of the family. An image of Rylee’s slightly upturned lips flashed into my head. I ran a hand through my hair again and let out an exasperated sigh. “Who does Rylee even like enough to provoke that?”

As my mind raised, I strut toward the staircase that led to the lower level of The Loft, which the bar occupied. Unlike the main dining area, which was usually filled with families and elderly, the lower level was typically crowded with young adults and those who planned on drinking more than a glass of wine or a cocktail. The floor was more dimly lit due to the lack of windows and typically overcrowded on Friday and Saturday nights, but no one ever seemed to mind. More often than not, the occupants were preoccupied with their parties or, in many cases, reunions with old high school friends and drinking different alcoholic beverages to care. Hence the frequent warnings to families not to sit down there; it was too much of a hazard for young children, what with all the drinking, rowdy, swearing crazies that liked to occupy it.

Presently, as I meandered down the winding steps, I noticed that it was indeed packed with people as usual, many of which were familiar. Some were frequent customers – the “townies” as they were oh-so-fondly named – while others were college students visiting for the summer. Trying not to meet anyone’s gaze, I stumbled through the crowds of people toward the back corner table. The last thing I wanted was to have to fight off a drunken middle-aged man or, worse yet, a huge crowd of screaming, too-drunk college students and graduates.

However, as I neared it, I realized that it was table 25 that was generating most of the commotion I’d seen from the top of the stairs. Men and women alike were speaking boisterously and the whole area reeked of vodka and beer. I bit my lip, suddenly nervous of who exactly I would meet on the other side of the crowd. If they’d managed to cause this much turmoil, it wasn’t looking good for me. I paused, racking through my brain again. Who? Unfortunately, I wasn’t allowed the time to prepare or answer my own question, as someone behind me accidently fell backward and I lurched forward through the crowd right into the table with an oof.

The chattering instantly died down in the corner and I could feel twenty or so eyes boring into my flesh. My skin tingled as I felt heat rise up from my neck, through my cheeks, and to my ears. Not wanting to waste another second in silent embarrassment, I immediately stood erect and laughed nervously, sending the supposedly-familiar customers my signature welcoming grin, but not looking them immediately in the eyes.

“Hello!” I said, running my hand through my now even messier hair and finally looking up at one of the men just in front of me. “I’m Camille, and I’ll–”

My voice caught in my throat as my eyes locked with his chocolate brown eyes. It was as if time itself had completely stopped and I was looking my new destiny in the face. And it wasn’t looking pretty; if anything, it was looking horribly similar to Hell. Oh, why me God? I cried internally. A new wave of heat flew through my body as I took notice of the amusement slowly etching itself into his almost – no, perfect face. As my fists unconsciously balled into fists, I silently cursed Rylee.

There was no way, even in Hell, I was going to serve him, this man who the devil himself the day he had set foot into Lakeview High School six years ago. I bit my lip again. This time, I tasted blood.

Lucas. Freaking. Fuller.