Page 5 of Scarred Trust

“Same with the stew. No potatoes. And you can take this bread away.” Karen shoved the basket of bread I had made this morning like it had been picked up off the floor and handed to her.

“I’m sorry, but there are no modifications.” I pointed to the policy statement on the menu that we only enforced on special occasions or for people like them.

“That’s ridiculous. What if I had an allergy?” Karen argued.

“Do you? Because I couldn’t recommend either of those dishes, as all the ingredients are integral components.” I replied sweetly, like she had asked my opinion.

“I want to speak to your manager.” Blaine, always wanting to be the one in charge, interrupted.

“Boss!” My dad stopped in his tracks on his way to the kitchen. “This gentleman would like to speak to you.” I gestured to Blaine, comfortable knowing that my father always had my back.

“What may I do to help?” Dad smiled and gave them a slight bow.

“This waste of space says that my guests can’t make any changes to their orders.” My father looked at me, but I stared into nothingness, determined not to let the words hurt like they used to.

“As you can see, it’s posted in many places for you to observe.” Dad pointed to the various signs in the room as well as the one on the menu closest to him. “I don’t appreciate your attitude towards my employee.”

“Do you know who I am? I can speak to any of you however I want.”

“I actually know your father quite well.” Dad’s smile widened, and he folded his arms across his chest. “He talks about you a lot during golf. How is that new car, by the way?”

“Um, fine. It’s at the mechanic at the moment.” Blained shifted his focus around the table before taking a great interest in a spec on his napkin.

“Tri— Cate, I’ll finish taking this table’s order. Would you help Nick at the bar? It’s getting rather busy over there.” I nodded and handed him my order tablet. I knew my father was saving me from a difficult situation. I didn’t want to need to be rescued. After all this time, I should have been able to handle it, rather than feel like I was shrinking inside myself.

It helped that the bar actually needed help. It was surrounded, four people deep, with only Nick and Louie pouring. I busied myself with gathering empty glasses around the space into a bussing tub and headed to the kitchen to trade it for a rack of clean ones.

“Hey,” the warm, deep voice of Wes skimmed my skin, producing a shiver of attraction that I used to keep better hidden. “I’m really sorry about that back there.”

“Whatever. Same day, different year. I expected nothing different.” I hoped I sounded nonchalant rather than the annoyance I felt as I shifted the tub of dirty glasses to my hip.

“They were like that in high school to you? How did I not know that?”

“You were there, although you usually had your tongue down some chick’s throat.” I shifted on my feet again, more from the discomfort of the memory than the heavy container. My foolish teenage heart had broken every time I saw him locked in another girl’s embrace.

“You think I was a part of that?” His statement was more of an accusation, as his eyes flashed with anger.

“You may not have uttered those words, but they took your silence as acceptance.”

“Never. I couldn’t have treated you like that.” He seemed genuinely shocked as he reached out for me.

“I have to get back to work. I hope you enjoy your meal.” I turned out of his grasp, aiming for the kitchen. Even if I wanted to believe him, there was no point in reliving the past. I didn’t have time to give in to schoolgirl fantasies, only to be hurt again.

When I returned to restock the bar, Wes had returned to his friends. But no matter where I was through the evening, I could feel his eyes following me as though he were standing next to me, his heat seeping through me.

I had avoided the large group the rest of the night until I had to deliver food to an adjacent table. On my way back to the kitchen, a warm, calloused hand slipped into mine, inducing a tremble like it had last week. I stopped and stared at Wes, waiting for him to state his demand as his friends had.

He stood abruptly, bringing our faces close. Rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb, it felt like we were the only people in the room, and I imagined he wanted to kiss me from the way he was looking at me.

“Who do I have to fuck to get another beer?” Jorge hollered, with his full glass in the air, sloshing beer everywhere.

“Same for you, Saint?” Monica cooed.

“Hey, Kitty-cat, why are you just standing there when clearly our glasses are empty? Get that uptight ass moving and get us another round.” Mitch reached out to smack my backside. Wes caught his wrist, glaring at him before letting go. The other man laughed and raised his hands in surrender.

“Actually, I have to get going, but thanks for uh... an enlightening evening,” Wes replied.

“Stick with us, Saint. We are the party.” Another of the group slurred, jabbing the table with a finger for emphasis.