Page 6 of The Nanny and the Nerd
Penny rushed over. It was hardly a spill at all. She knelt down next to the miserable little girl. “You don’t have to cry. It’s just milk. And look,” she continued, pointing to the white liquid. “It’s in the shape of a sheep. Isn’t that cool?”
The little girl wiped away her tears as a grin pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Now it’s a sheep with a horn. It’s a unicorn sheep,” the child replied.
Penny gasped and feigned surprise. “I see it too. It’s the world’s first unicorn sheep made of milk. Pretty cool!”
“Clean it up!” the witch of a woman huffed. She banged her hand on the table impatiently, and what was once a small spill in the shape of a uni-sheep now dispersed all over the little girl’s lap. “Look what you’ve done!” the woman continued as more patrons tuned in to the ruckus. “Arianabella Lou cannot attend her interpretive dance class looking like this!”
That was some name! It would take a kid until they were thirty to figure out how to spell it!
“Miss!” the woman snapped.
Penny shook her head and reached for an unused napkin. “Sorry! What was I thinking? Let me clean this up.” She dabbed at the little girl’s dress, praying Marshall was in the back. She felt a tap on her shoulder, assuming it was Charlotte with extra napkins.
It wasn’t.
She glanced up to find a man whose veins might need a complete overhaul after this day.
“I’ll take care of this, ma’am. My apologies! Your meal will be comped, and of course, we’ll cover any cleaning bill for the child’s soiled clothing,” Marshall said coolly.
Penny glanced between the irate woman and her pulsating manager. “It’s only milk,” she said, tossing the little girl a wink. The poor thing had started to cry again, but nobody seemed to have noticed.
“Ms. Fennimore, you can leave. I’ll take it from here,” Marshall commanded.
Penny stood and took a step back as the man swooped in with a towel. She surveyed the restaurant. All eyes were trained on the train wreck at table four. “Can I get you another towel?” she offered.
Red-cheeked, the man didn’t meet her gaze. “You can leave. Now! You no longer work here.”
Even more boob sweat? Check.
Racing heartbeat? Check.
Utter humiliation? Check, check, and double-check.
She looked at table seven. The smartly dressed senior MI-6 operative had flown the coop. She hadn’t even ordered her risotto yet. All that was left of her was a fifty-dollar bill and a half-empty martini glass.
Marshall caught her eyeballing the table. Now a vein on his neck quivered with searing irritation. “Don’t even think that tip is for you! Now, go!”
She would never assume that! But it didn’t matter.
One thing was clear, she’d be the one crying over spilled milk.
She caught Charlotte’s eye from across the restaurant. Her friend held her hand to her ear. The call you later signal. Dazed, Penny nodded.
She’d lost another job!
How could this be happening?
You could have heard a pin drop in the dining area as she passed through the doors leading into the kitchen. With the lunch rush in full swing, no one paid her any attention in the bustling back of the house. With trembling hands, she collected her bag, placed her apron on its hook, and left her name tag on Marshall’s desk.
“You’ll figure something out. You’ll get another job,” she whispered as she left through the back. She inhaled the spring air as the door slammed shut behind her.
Another crap job bites the dust!
Was she cursed? She had a decent case of writer’s block. Could that have morphed into a life block? Was a life block a thing? Could your entire life become a flaming dumpster fire with one little spill?
“Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee?”
Penny knew that voice—husky without sounding grating with a European accent she couldn’t quite place. She opened her eyes, then blinked to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.
