Page 36 of Through the Flames
Who would have thought?
I guess all those years of masking paid off. I could chat, crack jokes, and play “fun Ella” to the point where nobody picked up on the anxious hum under my skin.
Sometimes it worked so well I almost believed it myself.
Orders were flying tonight, forcing me to basically speed-walk around the tables to get all of my customers taken care of.
Wisps of hair were slowly escaping my ponytail, and for about the hundredth time, I blew those pesky hairs off my forehead.
Balancing two iced coffees and a tray of mozzarella sticks, I headed toward table seven. Liam. At least, that’s how I assumed it was pronounced.
Knowing my luck, it’d be something like Lie-uhm with the silent ennui at the end.
“Frat boys tipping in nickels and girls who say ‘literally’ every third word,” I muttered, grabbing a rag and sighing as I turned toward a dirty table. “Just another day in hell’s dining room.”
When things slowed down and no one was looking, I snuck sneaky glances at my phone.
I’d matched with somebody last night on one of my dating apps and was really hoping for an answer to my very creative icebreaker.
“Which planet would you eat if they were bite-sized?”
Another guy had ghosted me last week, and it had taken me a while to recover. Why did it sting more when it was someone I didn’t even want that badly?
Which planet would Hunter eat? I bet he’d choose Mars. He gave me Mars kind of vibes.
I abruptly stopped wiping, giving my head a quick shake. Why was I thinking about Hunter?
It was probably some sort of psychological thing. I’d been rejected so many times, I was fixating on someone unavailable because there was no actual risk of getting rejected again.
Sierra would know what it was called.
People only saw my confidence, how loud I was, and how happy I seemed on the outside. But it was built on a cracked foundation.
One more unanswered message and I might crumble. Or laugh hysterically. Maybe both.
Huffing, I straightened up, putting my hands on my hips and stretching my aching back. I’d already been dead on my feet after practice this morning, but this shift was really putting the nail in the coffin.
When it was finally time to clock out, I sank into a booth with a leftover cinnamon roll, scrolling on my phone. I’d forgotten to eat again, so this would have to do for now, even though it wasn’t the most nutritious.
Out of the corner of my eye, a figure passed by the window. Someone tall. My head snapped to the side to get a better look, but they were too far away to be certain.
Huh. I could’vesworn …
***
It was late when I finally made it home, dragging myself up the stairs to our floor — why were there so many steps? — my legs feeling like lead.
I smelled like fries and coffee, my feet were aching, and for some reason I was still wearing my fucking apron, stuffed with tips and empty straw wrappers.
There was a faint clinking sound from the coins those fucking frat bros gave me.
I kicked the door open, exhaustion clinging to my bones. “Let it be known,” I muttered, “I did not go quietly. I kicked the stupid door first.”
As I lifted my gaze, the sight greeting me made me stop dead in my tracks. Sierra was pacing the living room like she’d been shot out of a cannon.
Highly unusual.
I furrowed my brows. “What the fuck is going on?” She turned my way, white as a sheet. My eyes went wide before she got the chance to answer. “Oh my God, did someone die?”
