Page 20 of Stroke of Fate

I keep my head bent as I clean up the mess but brave a peek from beneath my lashes. The space he occupied is now vacant, and I refuse to acknowledge the disappointment weaving through me.

I pour the beer into a clean glass and hand it off without issue. As I walk away from the table, I try to keep my gaze forward, but curiosity gets the better of me, and my head swivels left, then right.

I hope my non-existent acting skills have miraculously developed overnight, making it seem like I'm simply checking on tables and not scanning the room for anyone in particular.

I tell myself that I’m only looking for him so I know what areas to avoid.

I don’t think my nerves could handle balancing a tray of food around him. That disaster waiting to happen I mentioned to Preston? Yeah, it might just come to fruition. Yet, I can’tignore the tiny part that, for some crazy reason, wants an excuse to talk to him again.

I breathe a little easier when I spot the four of them in a booth at the start of Owen’s section.His broad, muscular back faces me, and either it’s pure coincidence or he senses my gaze, because he shifts as if about to look over his shoulder.

Knowing I have barely two seconds before he has a direct line of sight of me staring at him,again, I rush toward the bar to put as much distance between us as possible. I’m so focused on getting away that I nearly collide with Macy.

“Whoa, there,” she says, steadying me with her hands. “What’s going on? You look flustered.” Her brows knit in concern as she scans my face.

“Me? I’m totally fine.” I force out, but Macy doesn’t look convinced. I smile, but my lips refuse to cooperate, turning it into more of a grimace. “Really, I’m good,” I try again with more conviction in my tone.

The frown between her brows slowly eases. “Okay, well, let me know if tonight’s too much, too soon.”

“Not at all, you were right. I am getting the hang of things.”

“Good, I knew you would. Shout if you need anything,” she says before heading toward a table.

I veer off toward the kitchen to check up on an order I keyed in and spot Elsie looking around frantically with a tray of food. I wonder if I had that same look when I nearly ran into Macy. If so, no wonder she didn’t believe me when I told her I was fine.

When Elsie catches sight of me, relief floods her face.

“Bear, thank goodness you’re here. Can you take this over to table fourteen for me? I have to use the bathroom— that time of the month,” she explains, making a face.

“Absolutely. Go do what you need to; I’ve got this,” I reassure her.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver. For a split second, I thought I’d have to explain this to Owen. Poor guy might never look at me the same.”

We both laugh in understanding, never mind that having a period is one of the most natural things in the world. Once she hands me the tray, she speed-walks toward the bathroom.

I’m not too familiar with the layout of the tables, so it takes me a minute to figure out where table fourteen is, and when I do, my steps falter.

Table fourteen is a booth in front of table fifteen, which is the start of Owen’s section. And it’s currently occupied by—you guessed it—a group of four boys. One of whom I can’t seem to get out of my head.

The thought of asking Macy to take over for me crosses my mind, but I quickly realize how ridiculous I’m being. I don’t need someone rescuing me from a situation I’ve probably made ten times worse in my head.

His friends are talking pretty animatedly to each other. The odds of him paying attention to what’s happening behind him are low. Factor in the noise levels, and he may not even hear me, let alone realize it’s me.

This is not a big deal, Bear.

I plaster on a smile and make my way to the table.

“Hey there,” I say in greeting, balancing the tray on the table's edge.

The moment the words leave my mouth, I know he’s heard me. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his back stiffen slightly, but he doesn’t turn around. Swallowing hard, I force myself to keep going, ignoring my heart pounding in my chest.

“Who ordered the grilled chicken burger with sweet potato fries?”

A girl around my age lifts her hand in answer, thanking me as I place her food down.

Turning to the guy on my right, I say, “That must mean you got the beef burger with fries.”

“Sure did,” he confirms with a grin.

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