Page 11 of Counterfeit Connection

“I have a feeling that is exactly what the issue was. Some women don’t want anyone to come to their rescue, especially not a man.”

“It was the appropriate thing to do. I was an utter ass. No one in the service industry, let alone just in civilized society, deserves being talked to like that. It had nothing to do with gender, I assure you.”

“Since she doesn’t know you, and she doesn’t know this is a moral trigger for you, that would be her immediate conclusion. It would be mine too, honestly.”

“I want to fix it, but I don’t know how.”

“I find a simple apology can work wonders.”

Chapter 5

Kaitlyn

After spending a quiet Saturday evening, post double shift, snuggled in my silk pajamas, sipping on wine on my sofa, watching reruns ofFriends, I’m calm and energized, ready to work the brunch service.

It’s rare I allow people, especially men, to get under my skin, but I wasn’t able to prevent it last night. I almost didn’t take Elliot up on the offer to call it quits early because admitting defeat is a no-no in my soul, but I needed it. The small amount of extra time off it allowed me was just enough to get my mind back where it needs to be.

Morning hot showers have become my second cup of coffee. They tend to soothe the savage in me just as much as the coffee does. I put on my freshly washed uniform and wedge my slightlyswollen feet into my black dress tennis shoes to meet my yellow chariot to get me to work on time.

I like to show up a little early because often the chef uses me as a guinea pig for new pastry ideas, and today is no exception. If dying of decadence is a thing, consider me a goner. As I’m still in a delicious coma, I glance over today’s reservations list. We have a few regulars on the list that I can’t wait to see.

While I’m completing the final preparations for opening in our private serving station, the host comes back to get me. “Hey, Kait, there is a guest who’s asking for you by name. Would you be able to pop out?”

“Sure thing. I’ll be right there.”

I check the time on my phone, and it’s a little too early for anyone I can think of to be popping in to say hello.Hmm.

I leave my little section and step around the corner toward the dining room, and I stop in my tracks when my eyes meet my surprise guest. I even think my shoes squeak on the floor like I’m in a cartoon.

Mr. Tweed Suit is standing there amongst the empty tables, but this time, he isn’t dressed to the nines. Instead, he’s wearing dark-colored jeans with a simple button-down under a deep gray peacoat. He still looks expensive and put together, but exceedingly more approachable.

“We aren’t open yet. Can I help you?” I ask, crossing my arms.

“I’m only a tad early. I do have a reservation for one. I’d like to sit in your section, if that’s all right with you.”

“What kind of game are you playing? First you embarrassed me last night and now I feel like you’re stalking me.”

The man puts his hands up. “I think that’s overstating things. Firstly, I’d like to apologize to you, and your boss if needed, for my hasty choice last evening. I would have said it to you then, but you left so quickly.”

“I think you know why I did. It was totally inappropriate behavior from someone I know, let alone a patron and complete stranger.”

“I agree. As for the stranger part, I’d like to remedy that right now. My name is Griffin Shaw,” he says in a softer tone than any conversation we had last night. “What’s your last name, Kaitlyn?”

I hesitate. I don’t know if I even want him to know any more about me than he already does. Griffin’s hand slowly reaches out toward me. His eyes echo his words and seemingly remorseful sentiment. The daughter my parents raised steps forward, reaching out to take his hand. “Logan. My name is Kaitlyn Logan.”

His touch is strong and warm. His hand is large and nearly engulfs mine completely.

“It’s nice to meet you properly, Kaitlyn Logan.”

“You as well, Mr. Shaw.” Our hands slowly slip away from one another’s and I fold mine together in front of my body. “Since you’re already here, I can seat you early and get you something to drink. The kitchen is nearly ready for service.”

“Which section is yours? And please, call me Griffin.”

I hear his request, but there’s something about the instant familiarity that doesn’t sit quite right. “You can have the table by the window up front. It’s the best in the building, and I’ll get you some coffee? Tea? Juice?”

“Both would be nice. English Breakfast if you have it.”

“Of course. I’ll just be a minute.”

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