Page 21 of The House Guest
“Is there anything you’d recommend?”
“Well, we don’t have caviar and Hot Cheetos, so no.”
He smiled. “That’s a shame.”
“I do like the filet mignon with asparagus,though,” I added.
“That sounds delicious. I’ll try that. Thank you.”
Despite enjoying the inexplicable chemistry I had with Dorian, after I put in their order, I welcomed the breather. I busied myself waiting on other tables until their food was ready.
When I returned with their meals, I set the salad in front of his date, and she immediately ripped into me.
“This is not what I asked for.”
“It’s not?” I looked down at what was very clearly a salad.
“No.” She shook her head. “I asked for the garden salad. This has cheese on it. I’m vegan. And gluten free.”
“The garden salad comes with shaved parmesan. You never mentioned your food restrictions.”
“Well, it didn’t say anything about cheese on the menu, so I didn’t think I had to. I need you to take it back immediately.”
Dorian’s brows drew in. “Why don’t you just pick it off?”
“I think she should get me a new plate. I don’t want cross-contamination.”
I feigned a smile. “I’m happy to do that.”
Gritting my teeth, I returned to the kitchen, dumping her old salad in the trash and requesting a new one. But when I returned to the table with it, she still looked like someone had pissed in her Cheerios.
She shook her head. “There are still croutons on this. I said I was gluten-free.”
“You only mentioned the cheese.”
“I said I was gluten-free, though. You should know that croutons are bread, and bread contains gluten. I shouldn’t have to spell it out.”
“I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me about the croutons last time. I wouldn’t have had the chef add them.”
“Again, the problem is that neither the cheese nor the croutons were specifically mentioned on the menu. You should really speak to someone about greater transparency when it comes to the menu items.”
Dorian’s brows furrowed.
“I’ll get right on that,” I said, though I had no intention of going out of my way to please this woman.
“I’m sorry to send this back again.”
“No, you’re not,” Dorian interjected, his face turning red.
She moved her shoulders back. “What do you mean?”
“You’re being a bitch about it. You’re not sorry at all,” he seethed.
“You’re callingmea bitch?”
“I am. You think you’re better than her because she’s a waitress. Is this how you treat everyone you encounter?”
“You’ve been flirting with this hussy who’s freeloading off you since the moment we got here. If I’m a bitch, you’re an asshole.”
