Page 2 of Castaway Whirlwind
Another has a wild, overgrown brown beard, his head thrown back with laughter, his arm around the waist of a heavily pregnant blonde waitress a little younger than me. A man wearing a navy blue baseball cap chuckles, taking a bite out of his bacon, while the fourth, with a dark brown going peppery-gray trim beard, crosses his arms over his barrel chest, leaning back in his chair until the two front legs come off the red and white checkered tiles. Even with his jaw set with a scowl, he’s the most handsome of the bunch, if not the whole town. The termaged like fine winecomes to mind, and I’m immediately awash with guilt for thinking of such things when I’m engaged.
Ashamed, I turn my gaze away and meet the smiling, soft brown eyes of the man named Freddy. “Never mind, Pete,” he says to his friend, giving me a toothy grin. “Change my bet to Russell.”
Thankfully, I’m saved by Violet, the waitress who will be training me, when she circles the wide counter and pulls me away from the group with my hand in hers. “Don’t mind them.” The brunette with purple streaks in her hair drags me through the swinging doors that separate the main dining room from the busy kitchen and employee break area. “Those guys will bet on anything and everything.” She pops open a locker and takes my tote bag, stuffing it into the narrow opening.
“What were they betting on exactly?” The top two buttonsof my uniform have come undone again, and I fight to right them, the material straining across my breasts.
“BT men.” Violet hands me a white rectangular name tag to pin to my uniform with my full name, LADYANALAYLA, printed in bold black letters. “That’s an interesting name. Don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”
“I know, I hate it,” I groan, pinning it above my left breast. “My mom smashed a bunch of her friends’ names together. My brother’s name is Maxwarison. Try learning how to write them in pre-k.” I deadpan, “It’s awful.”
“Want me to get you a new tag?”
“Really?” I take it off and drop it into her hand.
“Sure thing. What do you want it to say?”
“Layla. L-A-Y-L-A.”
Violet smiles. “Done. I’ll have a new one ready for you tomorrow.”
With that sorted, I ask, “Sorry, what’s BT again?” I huff when the top button, hanging on for dear life, pops open, shortly followed by the second. Cringing, I tell Violet, “I think I need a larger uniform.”
She laughs and grabs my hand, leading me back to the front and over to the giant coffee makers. “A larger size won’t make a difference. Granny designed them to be extra tight in the chest.” Then she hands me two full coffee pots, one regular and one decaf.
“Why?”
“You’ll see.” Violet sticks a thick notepad for taking orders and a pen in my apron pocket, then waves to the gentlemen, who all hold out their empty coffee mugs, waiting for me to fill them. They give me a mixture of knowing and shy smiles, then slap cash tips on the counter, sliding them toward me.
“Yup, now I get it,” I say slowly, setting a pot down to pocket the tips. I should probably be up in arms about an employer picking out a uniform that intentionally shows off more skin than most people would be comfortable with simply for higher tips, but instead, I’m grateful since I really need the money.
After refilling the pots with fresh coffee, Violet introduces me to each and every customer in the diner, including the local Sheriff’s Deputies who have jammed two tables together. I top up the customers’ mugs where needed, stopping last at the table with the four big guys. Starting with the overgrown-bearded one and going counterclockwise, she points to them. “This is Wyatt and his girlfriend, Dolly.”
The young blonde waitress, who has to be at least twenty years younger than her boyfriend, gives me a small wave, then sets her hand on her baby bump. I quickly look away.
“This here is Davis,” Violet says, tapping the sandy-haired man with the baseball cap on the shoulder, who tips the brim of his hat at me. She points to the big, silver bear of a man. “That’s Elliott over there.” Elliott grunts in acknowledgment but doesn’t look up. “And lastly,” she says, pointing to the handsome man with startlingly clear blue eyes, “this is Elliott’s younger brother, Russell. My husband, Jared, is his warehouse manager at BT—Berenson Trucking.” Violet gives me a wide smile, a cute purple stud in her nose twinkling in the fluorescent lighting.
“Oh!” These are the men the older guys were referring to, and I realize they werebetting on my coupling up with someone from Berenson Trucking. “No, I’m engaged,” I say, setting down a coffee pot on the table so I can hold out my left hand, showing her the thin silver band with a half-carat diamond solitaire.
“Hey, Freddy, Pete!” Violet yells across the diner. “Layla’s already engaged!”
They all groan, and cash starts switching hands.
I bite my inner cheek, feeling hot all over at being the center of attention. “But funny enough, my fiancé just got hired to work in the warehouse at Berenson.”
“But he works at BT!” she yells, a chorus of cheers going up as more money exchanges hands.
Russell’s chair falls forward, the front legs landing with a bang on the floor, drawing the deputies’ attention. “Who?”
I frown at his scowl, which has deepened, and spin my engagement ring around and around my finger—an anxious habit. “Steven.”
I startle and step back when Russell says harshly, “That asshole?” He clears his throat twice, then softens his voice. “My apologies, darlin’. I shouldn’t have cursed.”
I give him a shaky smile, though I can no longer meet his eyes.Darlin’is what my dad used to call me, and it leaves me breathless to hear the term of endearment in the same deep tone and drawling Texas accent.
“That’s ok,” I say quickly, grabbing the coffee pot and walking swiftly back to the front counter. I place the pots back under the coffee makers, then dip into the ladies’ restroom, inhaling and exhaling deeply to calm myself so I don’t cry.
Violet is right behind me. “Hey, are you ok?”
