Page 5 of Waitress at the Shadow Ridge Inn
“You’re kicking serious ass,” I told him. “Everyone is raving about the food.”
He gave me a hundred-watt grin. “That’s ’cause it tastes better when you serve it, darlin’.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes—something I was not normally prone to do. “Right.”
“It ain’t packed out there becausemyass looks fine in black denim.”
He winked, and I laughed. Politically incorrect, I knew, but my self-confidence didn’t mind a flirtatious boost now and then, especially from Lou. Despite his teasing, he was as chivalrous as they came, often walking me to my car at the end of a shift or, at the very least, watching from the window to ensure I made it to my vehicle safely.
“Case.” Michelle leaned her upper body through one of the swinging doors. “A group just came into the lounge and wants drinks.”
“On it,” I said.
Michelle wasn’t eighteen yet, so legally, she was unable to carry or serve alcohol, and Shannon was late again.
“How long on those apps, Lou?” I asked.
“Gimme five.”
“You got it.”
I deposited the tray and left the kitchen, headed for the lounge. Like the dining room and the bar, every table was occupied, but I had no trouble spotting the newcomers.
I immediately pegged them as out-of-towners. Probably office workers out and about for a bit of male bonding, by the looks of them. Their skin was too pale, their hair too neat. Their indigo jeans looked brand-new, as did their bright flannel shirts. I knew that if I looked beneath the table, I’d find nice kicks without scuffs or wear.
Tourists.
“Did you guys just come in from the hayride?” I asked, noting the lingering strands of straw on their clothes.
The largest farm in the area, Ziegler Farms, held adult-only hayrides on Friday and Saturday nights from Labor Day through Halloween. I hadn’t been on one myself, but I’d heard lots of customers rave about them.
“Yeah,” answered one of the men. “How’d you know?”
I reached out and pulled a piece of straw from his hair. “Lucky guess.”
He smiled and blushed in a shyI crunch numbers for a livingkind of way. It was cute. Back in my prior life, I’d worked with dozens of men just like him.
“What can I get for you?”
“What do you recommend?” asked one of his buddies.
I leaned in slightly, as if to impart a great secret. “Well, if it were me, I’d order a couple of pitchers of Guinness Black Lager and the Real Man Sampler. That’s two-dozen hot wings, cheddar bacon cheese fries, sliders, and pot stickers.” I paused, glancing at each of them with amusement. “You’re all in good health, right?”
They laughed and assured me they were.
“We’ll have that,” one of them said.
“Well, all right then. Be right back.”
I navigated my way through the crowd to the bar. “CJ, two pitchers of the Black.”
He nodded in acknowledgment while simultaneously pouring, taking orders, listening to stories, and scanning to ensure everyone was behaving themselves.
I left him to it and looped back toward the kitchen to drop the order for the heart-stopper special and pick up the apps for tables two and seven. On the way, I grabbed the nearly overflowing bus tray. Max was doing his best, but like I’d said, it was a full house, and he was doing double duty with kitchen prep. Rose really needed to hire more help to accommodate crowds like this.
I found Jessie at the sink, up to her elbows in suds and dirty dishes.
“Don’t tell me the dishwasher’s down again.”
