Last Olive Bistro ✓

Chapter 7: Ride home

Wearing a clean set of clothes, I marched back upstairs to fix Jacob his drink. My change of pants was black skinny jeans, although our uniform had to be slacks, specifically. The jeans were close enough; I had nothing else.

Tony already had the bourbon and a clean glass waiting for me to pour. I wanted to thank him, although I was simmering with embarrassment over his eagerness to inflate my dumb crush situation.

"What do you think you're wearing?" a familiar, yet hoarse voice growled as she approached me.

I dumped the liquor into the glass and picked it up—intent on getting away from her.

"I'm sorry. There was an accident and I had hot food spilled all over me. This is all I had to change into," I explained to Angela.

She was red hot with anger. Her teeth seethed like Cujo, ready to clamp down and mangle me like I was nothing.

I caught sight of Jacob sitting a few tables away. He was facing the bar; his eyes lingered in my direction.

"Chloe, you need to go home and change right now. This is not acceptable," she said. The sweat beaded off her forehead while she stood rigid like a drill sergeant.

"Excuse me, I have customers to serve," I replied flatly, ignoring her ridiculous request. It took me almost an hour to get home, and there was only an hour left in my excruciating shift. I walked past her and went straight towards Jacob. The angry troll disappeared when customers were around.

"Wow, thank you," he said, delighted over the drink.

"It's always my pleasure, Mr. Lewitt. You're the easiest order of my night."

Not bad, but you can do better.

He chuckled. "Have you had a long day?"

He lifted the glass to his lips and that's when I saw the sparkle of his gold wedding band.

WHAT THE FU--? That wasn't there before.

My heart sank as the band clinked on the glass as he wrapped his fingers around it. Every fiber in my being deflated.

You shouldn't have gotten your hopes up.

"Yeah," I said, the last of my breath exhaling. "I've been here since 11."

He raised his eyebrows with concern. "That's almost ten hours ago."

I nodded, unsure if I wanted to continue standing there uncomfortably, or face Angela who was a ticking, rabid bomb. Going home sounded like the best option.

Jacob gazed at me with sympathetic eyes. I forced a smile then shrugged, acting like the pain of a prolonged workday filled with mean customers and a demonic manager wasn't that bad. And on top of that, having a pipe dream burst.

"I overheard your manager, I assume, scolding you for your clothes?" he asked, his voice low.

I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Angela was out of sight. "She's strict on dress code, but this is all I had," I said.

His eyes looked me up and down, and for the first time in the few days I'd known of his existence, I felt awkward about it. The crush died just as fast as it blossomed, all because of a single ring.

"For what it's worth, I think these pants look much better," he complimented. The person I used to be five minutes ago would have perceived that as flirtation, but I was no longer interested. Married men were always off limits.

"Thanks," I replied, bland yet tugging at a false smile. "Well, if you need anything, please let me know."

I walked away before he could keep the short exchange alive. Something inside me was extinguished; I felt nothing.