On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [29]
Forcing a laugh, Frankie ruffled Jess’s dark auburn hair and sucked the last millimeter of goodness out of his cig.
“C’mon, Bit. Give us another kiss before we have to head into the trenches.”
That cleared the stormy look right off Jess’s wonderful face, clouds blowing away in the summer breeze until only sunshine was left.
But autumn is coming soon, Frankie couldn’t help but think. All good things come to an end sooner or later.
CHAPTER NINE
Where did the day go? Lilah wondered dazedly. Hours spent staring at table settings and practicing clearing dishes quietly and efficiently. Now it was time for supper, even though it was only four-thirty. They had to eat early, before the restaurant opened. Lilah didn’t mind; those chicken livers were a distant memory and her stomach was talking.
“We all eat together?” Lilah questioned, nerves making her voice flutter high. She cleared her throat, hoping Grant didn’t notice.
Which was nuts, because not only was Grant a very observing sort of person, he also happened to know Lilah better than anybody in the world. He gave her a sympathetic look, but he was all chin-up-and-shoulders-back when he spoke.
“It’s called family meal,” he explained firmly, leading the way back up the dim, poky employee staircase that led from the basement offices and locker room to the kitchens and dining room. “One of the prep cooks usually makes it from whatever’s leftover. At some restaurants it can be pretty grim, but Adam believes serving good food to the employees leads directly to good food for the paying customers.”
Barely paying any attention to Grant’s lecture, Lilah twitched her shoulders uncomfortably in her spanking-new forest-green shirt. All the front-of-the-house staff, from Grant as maitre d’ to Lilah as the lowly new busgirl, wore the same uniform of black pants and green button-up top. When Grant had handed her the shirt, she’d been sure it was too small, that when it buttoned she’d have what her Aunt Bertie called “gap-osis” pulling across her chest and exposing her serviceable cotton bra, but she should’ve trusted her friend. Grant would never deliberately set out to make a laughingstock of her, if for no other reason than that they shared the mutually assured destruction of knowing each other’s deepest, darkest secrets.
Anyway, the shirt fit fine, no unsightly tugging or puckering, but it still felt oddly tight, more tailored than she was used to.
“Relax, hon,” Grant said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Why so tense?”
“It’s like stage fright,” Lilah said. “Opening-night jitters. Don’t worry about me, I’ll do what I always told the kids before a show.”
“What, imagine everyone in their underwear?”
“No! Gross. And ineffectual. Stage fright actually comes from a feeling of being unprepared. Spend a few minutes before you go on stage running through what you’re about to do in your head, and you’ll be fine.”
“So you’re standing there thinking to yourself over and over: ‘I’m about to go eat a yummy meal with some very friendly people who are all going to love me’?”
“Pretty much. And see? Feeling better already.”
“Then let’s hit it.”
Not giving her any more time to wring her hands, Grant pushed open the door to the big, gleaming kitchen. Lilah rushed past the counter she’d tumbled off of earlier that afternoon without looking at it, sure that if she did, a hot red blush would give her away.
It took a lot to embarrass Lilah Jane Tunkle; a childhood living on hand-me-down affection got a person used to all manner of little humiliations. But taking a tumble off a countertop straight into the arms of the God’s-truth handsomest—and, as it turned out, most unpleasant—man she’d ever had the misfortune to meet? Well, Lilah wasn’t superhuman, after all. Just the memory of his warm, steely arms and the surprise in his shockingly blue eyes was enough to make her squirm.