Page 8 of Romanced By the Rat
I bend down, offering my hand, and he climbs up. “I’m going to put you in my apron pocket, until I get the hat.”
“Fine with me.” He’s an easy-going rat for sure. But maybe I’m a little too easy-going as well, offering a vermin a free ride after just meeting them moments before.
I gingerly place him in my apron before racing out of the bathroom and heading toward the closet. We wasted too much time getting to know each other. Charlotte is waiting.
Something about having him close makes me instantly more confident. I don’t hesitate to pull out the short white chef’s hat, placing the rat on my head, and covering him. I stop before I charge to the bar. “Oh yeah, what’s your name?” It seems only fair; he apparently knows way too much about me.
“Ramsay,” he says, making himself comfortable in my curls. I can’t say I hate the feeling—the weight of him, feeling not so alone. I just fucking hope he doesn’t have fleas. His voice makes its way to my ears easily. I hope no one else can hear him. “Hey! I actually can see through the hat,” he says. “This just might work.”
“Hide a bit in my hair,” I whisper. If he can see out, there’s a chance people can see in. He wiggles closer to my scalp.
The bar is empty. I guess the bartender hasn’t clocked in yet. “Shit.” I don’t know which one is the Pinot Noir.”
“Do you not know how to read?” Ramsay asks.
“I don’t have time to read all the labels!” I yell back. A lone woman eyes me from the other side of the bar, clutching her purse to her shoulder as she makes her way from the bathroom to presumably her table. Right, gotta cool it with talking to myself so loudly.
“Walk toward those bottles of red!” Ramsay barks.
I swivel around, trying to find the “red” section.
“Jesus Christ! This way!” Ramsay tugs on a strand of my hair, sending my body lunging in the direction of his yank.
“What the fuck,” I mutter, regaining balance from my knees.
“Did you just involuntarily move?” he asks, a laugh coating his question.
“How did you do that?”
He doesn’t respond, only yanks my hair again, sending my feet closer to the shelf housing the bottles of dark red. He pulls a smaller strand. “Here, grab that one.” My hand shoots out and clasps around the bottle closest to me. Sure enough, as I scan the label, it reads Pinot Noir. “Holy shit,” I whisper.
“No time to stand with your fingers up your ass. Get over to Charlotte’s table, now!” He pulls my hair again, sending me out from behind the bar and toward the dining room. I have no clue how he knows which strands of hair to direct which portion of my body, but he doesn’t hesitate. I want to stop and detangle the semantics of this arrangement, but he’s right, we don’t have time. Besides, he’s a talking rat. Nothing about this situation is normal.
“Sorry about the wait!” I yell once Charlotte comes into view.
“Lower your voice,” Ramsay scolds. I tense wondering if she heard him. Charlotte just looks from my face to the bottleof wine in my hand without a hint of confusion coating her expression. Good.
“Oh, no problem. I was just scanning the menu. What areHoney Holes?”
I scratch the back of my head, careful not to knock my hat over. “It’s a dessert.” That’s honestly all I know.
“Smooth, jackass,” Ramsay whispers. Why did I agree to this arrangement again? “Pour her wine, smile, give her eye contact!” he commands.
Oh right. I needed that.
I do as I’m told. Something about having another helping hand so close sends my nerves away. My hands are steady as I uncork the bottle and pour the liquid into her glass already on the table.
Charlotte smiles at me before taking a sip. “Wow, this is great!”
“I gave her the Le Creme Rosa. It’s 150 a bottle. Tell her it’s your finest wine and that it’s on the house.”
I do as I’m told, even as my stomach tightens, because I don’t know if that’ll come out of my paycheck. I guess it’s a good thing the bartender wasn’t there to rat me out.
Her cheeks rosy. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Ramsay whispers more orders, and I repeat, “It’s the least I can do after my mishaps yesterday. Actually, I insist on making it up to you even more. I’d love to take you out.”
Her shoulders straighten. “Like a date?”
