eight
An entire week passed without Christian and me speaking because of our conversation about Meghan. I wasn't too proud to admit it had been harder than I expected not talking to him, but seeing as we couldn't even converse like two adults without it spiraling into the fiasco it had the last time, I figured a little space between us was necessary.
During my daily call with Dad, he made it painfully obvious how much he disagreed with that decision.
Which didn't come as a surprise.
Leave it to Christian to make me look like the asshole first.
Whether I openly disagreed with his poor choices or told Dad exactly why the argument even started in the first place, I would still come out looking bad. Chris already had time to spin the story he wanted, and I wasn't interested in fighting to survive it.
"Dad, look, I have a shift to get ready for," I said, pacing slowly across the small patch of sidewalk outside the dorm. "Whatever issues Christian has with me that he can't handle on his own without calling you is his problem."
I waited for Dad to correct my tone.
Normally he would have done it immediately. That was usually the part where I apologized for sounding irritated so I could hang up without turning the entire conversation into something bigger than it needed to be.
But this time he didn't.
Instead, a quiet scoff echoed through the receiver.
"Wow."
The voice wasn't my dad's.
My stomach dropped.
"Nice to hear how you speak about me when you don't know I'm listening," Christian laughed weakly.
I stopped walking.
For a moment I just stared down at my phone.
Did Dad seriously ambush me into a three-way call?
"Oh please, Christian," I said, forcing my voice to stay calm even though irritation was already rising in my chest. "I told you my concerns as a sister in a mature manner and instead of taking heed to them, you threw a tantrum. I was trying to look out for you."
My grip tightened slightly around the phone.
"And Dad, I don't appreciate you inviting him onto this call when I told you days ago I didn't want to speak with him until he apologized."
Silence lingered for a second on the other end.
I didn't wait for either of them to respond.
"I've got to go. Bye."
Instead of waiting around for some halfhearted apology—or worse, another argument—I hung up before either of them had the chance to say anything else.
My day had already started stressful and I hadn't even made it to work yet.
Walking to work during the day was quickly becoming therapeutic.
The air was clean and unusually light for this time of year, the kind of crisp breeze that made the trees lining the sidewalks rustle softly overhead. For once the humidity that usually clung to the town had disappeared, leaving the wind cool enough to be refreshing instead of suffocating.
Most students moved around campus in clusters—laughing, talking, complaining about assignments or professors as they crossed between buildings—but walking alone had started to feel normal to me.
Comfortable, even.
I slipped my hands into the pockets of my jacket and kept my pace steady along the sidewalk. The familiar path between the dorms and the restaurants near campus had already begun to settle into my routine.
Which felt strange considering how new everything still was. A week ago I barely knew where half the buildings on campus were. Now I could navigate most of the place without even thinking about it.
Still, my mind kept drifting back to the phone call with Dad.
Christian had always been good at making himself look reasonable in situations like that. It was a skill I'd grown used to over the years, but that didn't make it any less frustrating. Somehow the story always found a way to twist itself until I was the one who looked overly dramatic for saying anything at all.
The worst part was that Dad rarely questioned it. He never outright took sides, but silence had a way of speaking for itself.
I kicked a loose pebble along the sidewalk as I walked. Maybe taking space from Christian had been the right decision.
If every conversation between us was going to turn into some dramatic debate about Meghan, then a few weeks of distance might be the only thing keeping the peace between us. And honestly? Peace sounded good right about now.
By the time the restaurant block came into view, most of the tension from the phone call had begun to settle somewhere quieter in my chest.
Working at Hinkhouse gave me something steady to focus on. The rhythm of the kitchen, the constant movement of people, the simple satisfaction of completing tasks one after another—it was the kind of environment that kept my brain from wandering too far into places I didn't want it to go.
And after the week I'd had, that was exactly what I needed.
Hinkhouse was slow in the morning which was to be expected. The early hours always carried a different atmosphere than the chaos that followed once the lunch rush rolled in. The dining room lights were on, but most of the tables remained untouched, their silverware still neatly folded inside crisp napkins waiting for the first wave of customers to arrive.
I raced straight to the lounge to pack my things away and finish dressing myself in the rest of my uniform.
After completing all of my remaining areas of training with Josh last week, Kevin officially moved me from the kitchen to waiting tables. The transition had happened faster than I expected, but Kevin insisted I picked things up quickly and that there was no point keeping me hidden in the kitchen any longer.
Training that week had been split between Josh and Professor Thornton depending on who Kevin needed where.
Josh had made it very clear the first time we met that he wasn't a trainer. In fact, he reminded me of it almost every time we worked together. But with the restaurant being short-staffed, Kevin asked him to step in whenever he had the time. Somewhere between practicing menu recitations, walking through the dining layout, and role-playing server etiquette for hours at a time, the two of us managed to hit it off.
Not in any grand, life-changing way. Just the kind of easy, work friendship that made long shifts pass faster.
Josh thought I was a great addition to the staff. He'd told me that more than once during training, usually right before reminding me not to let Kevin's high expectations get inside my head.
And if nothing else, those hours of role-playing server etiquette meant I could probably recite the greeting speech backwards in my sleep if someone woke me up and asked.
"There she is," Josh says excitedly as I finish tying the knot of my apron. "I say this without a tinge of humor, Kevin was literally harmonizing with the birds this morning. Pretty sure the man's in love with you."
He notices the immediate shift in my demeanor following his statement and quickly waves his hands in the air like he's trying to erase whatever misunderstanding he just created.
"Not literally of course. He's married and faithful as hell. I just mean he thinks you're a good employee. Just take my word for it."
"Yeah, of course."
Josh had already started mentally clocking in before the rest of us arrived, so he stayed behind for a few more minutes to run through the basics with me one last time. Most of it wasn't anything we hadn't already practiced during training, but hearing it again helped calm the nerves buzzing around in my chest.
We discussed the proper ways of waiting tables again before he wished me luck and disappeared back into the kitchen to start his shift.
Throughout the remaining minutes left before my shift started, I quietly rehearsed the greeting lines Josh and I had practiced during training in an attempt to sharpen my memory.
My dad would normally be the best person to talk to right now, and the fact that I couldn't call him or my brother for moral support only made the silence feel heavier than it should have. I pulled my phone from my pocket and started typing out a message to both of them before stopping halfway through.
Whatever was going on between us wasn't something a quick text message was going to fix.
Instead of sending it, I slipped my phone back into my pocket, tightened the apron around my waist, and headed toward the dining room.
On my way out, Professor Thornton walked in.
"Alex, Good morning. I see that you're a server now. Good luck today."
He squeezes past me into the lounge as I step aside to let him through. I didn't have time to talk so I gave him a quick smile, waved hello, and headed straight toward the first table seated in my section.
"Hi, welcome to Hinkhouse. My name is Alex and I'll be your server," I smile. "What can I get you two started with today? Any drinks?"
Nailed it.
"Hey, I know you."
The guy leaned back in his seat like he had just solved some complicated puzzle that had been bothering him all morning. His arms folded across his chest and his eyes narrowed slightly as if he were studying me harder the longer he looked.
It took me a second to place him.
Without the haze of marijuana and LED lights clouding the room the way they had at the party, he looked... different. Cleaner. More ordinary. But the familiarity was still there once it clicked.
"You're the girl from my party."
I forced a polite smile and shifted my attention toward the girl sitting across from him before the conversation could go any further. She seemed far more interested in the menu than she was in the interaction happening between us, her eyes scanning the page as if she hadn't even noticed the exchange.
Learning his name was the least of my concerns right now.
This wasn't part of the role-playing scenarios Josh and I practiced during training.
"So," she says abruptly, cutting through the moment before it had the chance to stretch into something uncomfortable. Mentally, I thank her for the redirection because I was already starting to feel myself sink. "Can I get an iced latte, double espresso—nonfat. Um, no added sugar. I'll take the packets instead."
She tosses a strand of her strawberry blonde curls over her shoulder before reaching for the phone sitting face down on the table, her attention shifting to the screen almost immediately.
It wasn't any of my business, yet I couldn't help but wonder if that might have been his girlfriend.
Was that his girlfriend when he'd been doing all that so-called flirting with me at the party?
Suddenly I hated myself for never reaching out to him afterward to clear the air, but that opportunity disappeared the moment my brother intercepted the situation with his garbage about Meghan.
"And for you?" I ask, pen poised above my order pad.
"Water," he says casually.
Then he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table like he had all the time in the world.
"I came back for you but you were talking to Chris. He must've charmed you before I got the chance."
The girl across from him slowly lowers her phone and looks between the two of us.
The tension at the table shifts immediately.
"Excuse me," she says flatly. "We gave you our drink orders already. Can you bring them so we can drink while we decide what we want to eat please? I'm thirsty, hungry, and I have a class that starts in thirty minutes."
Strawberry pouts slightly as she slides her phone back onto the table.
The guy shoots her an annoyed look, but somehow manages to soften the moment with a small smile that feels more performative than genuine.
"Of course," I say quickly, forcing a light laugh to cover the awkwardness. "I do apologize. It must be the first day jitters."
"Yeah," she drags, already scrolling through her phone again.
I place the drink slips immediately and walk back toward the table a few minutes later, doing my best to reassemble the confidence that had cracked somewhere during that interaction.
"I'm sorry about that again," I smile, setting their drinks down.
The guy looks up at me with that same amused smile still lingering on his face.
I turn away before he has the chance to say anything else.
He had been blatantly disrespecting her in front of me, and if I were sitting in her seat I would've been just as irritated. Maybe more.
"So, do you know what you want to order?"
"You literally just gave us our drinks," she snaps. "Can you like, go waitress somewhere else while we try to figure that out first?"
Suddenly it was becoming clear that her problem wasn't with the way he was acting. Her problem was with me. And that was something I had absolutely no control over.
"Rachel!" he spits. "Actually, Alex, I'm ready to order."
Throughout the entire time he was giving me his order, she stared at me with open irritation. The moment I turned away to walk back toward the kitchen, he immediately started complaining about how rude she had been.
I wasn't allowed to say anything out of place, but if I felt I absolutely needed to, I would've.
"Hey, Josh. I need an omelette with everything, mushrooms included, sour cream on the side, and salsa on top. Oh, and hash browns on the side," I sigh, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
"Gotcha. Give me five minutes tops," he says, before disappearing into the kitchen.
I didn't need to walk back over to the table to tell the girl's cup of coffee was running low and I sure as hell didn't want to wait until it was empty either, so I shoved down every bit of distaste piercing through me, swallowed my pride, and made my way back to their table.
"Finally," she huffs. "I feel like I've been waiting for days." She takes the remaining sip of her latte and then sets the empty cup down on the table to grab the menu in front of her. "So, I'm thinking two egg whites, turkey bacon, and whole wheat toast. Burnt on the edges. Um, yeah. Thank you," She ends, handing me her menu and her empty coffee mug. "You guys have the best lattes on campus by the way," she smiles, then glances over to the guy across from her.
I smiled and took the menu and walked away. It took ten minutes for their food to get done and Professor Thornton walked through the doors with the tray of everything piled on.
"You think you can handle it?" The tray balanced on his shoulder. He knew I'd decline the offer so he'd already been ready to hand it over. "You're doing great by the way."
"Thanks, Professor."
He signaled me over to my table to deliver their food and I headed back towards the kitchen in search of Josh. The worst part of today was over. My only table to wait on was almost done eating, which was a relief. I'd definitely need to build up a tolerance for dealing with other people's energies as well as my own.
Josh was well into his element to converse with me about my rude customer so instead I silently helped PT mold rolls until checking on my table again. They were both beginning to finish up their food so I grabbed their tab as well.
"Was everything okay?"
"Perfect as always," he replies, "Rach, it's on you, right?"
Perhaps LED lights were the only appealing aspect about him. I wondered if they were actually dating considering the majority of his time was either spent hitting on me, or getting upset at her for getting upset at him for hitting on me.
Honestly, for her sake, I hope she came to her senses and left him the moment they left the restaurant.
"Right," she says, reaching into her purse for her card. "You can also take a ten-dollar tip."
I take the card and walk back toward the register, sliding it through the reader the same way I had been trained to do a dozen times over the past week.
The screen blinks. Declined. I stare at it for a second longer than necessary before swiping it again, thinking maybe I hadn't run it through correctly the first time.
Declined.
Great.
For a moment I consider asking Josh to try it on the other register just to make sure it isn't the machine acting up, but the small line beginning to form near the entrance makes that impossible. The last thing I want to do on my first real shift waiting tables is stall the entire process because someone else's card won't cooperate.
So I take a slow breath, grab the receipt, and walk back toward their table.
"Sorry ma'am," I say, keeping my tone as neutral as possible. "Your card declined. Do you have another payment method you'd like to try?"
She freezes for a moment.
Not dramatically—just enough that it's obvious she hadn't been expecting that answer.
"What?" she says quickly.
"It declined," I repeat, holding the card out for her.
Her expression tightens as she takes it back from me and stares down at it like the plastic itself had somehow betrayed her.
"That's weird," she mutters under her breath. "I know there's money on it."
She slides the card back across the table toward me.
"Run it again."
I nod politely and take it back to the register. Declined.
Again.
At this point, I'm beginning to feel more uncomfortable for her than anything else. Moments like this always draw attention in restaurants whether anyone means for them to or not, and the last thing I want is to turn it into some sort of spectacle.
I return to the table one more time.
"I'm sorry," I say gently. "It's still declining."
"I—"
"It's okay," the guy interrupts, already pulling his wallet from his back pocket. "I got it."
She doesn't look at him.
Her jaw tightens slightly as she leans back in her chair, arms folding across her chest like she's trying to pretend the moment isn't happening at all.
He hands me his card and this time the payment goes through immediately.
"It went through," I say, handing the card back to him. "I'm glad you two enjoyed your breakfast."
She huffs and pulls herself out of the chair, the legs scraping loudly against the floor before she storms toward the door without a second glance.
Instead of following after Rachel, he remains seated exactly where he is. He begins stacking the empty dishes together in a neat pile, sliding the plates toward the center of the table as if he's trying to be helpful, though the way he keeps glancing over at me makes it clear that cleaning up isn't really the reason he's still there.
I wipe the table slowly, allowing him to either leave or say whatever it is he's clearly been holding onto since the moment he sat down.
"It's bothering me so much that I can't leave until I hear it from you," he says finally.
I pause briefly and glance up at him.
"What does Chris have that I don't?"
For a second I honestly wonder if he's serious.
"A shared father," I reply, finishing the motion of wiping the table before folding the rag in my hand. "He's my brother."
The words come out evenly, but the question itself lingers strangely in the air between us. I hesitate before adding the thought that had been sitting in the back of my mind the entire time.
"The real question is why you're hitting on me while sitting across from another woman."
It might have been too personal to say out loud, but at that point, the situation had already crossed the line of being polite. He lets out a small laugh.
"Rachel? Please," he says with an easy shrug. "She's the president of a sorority on campus who happens to have a crush on me. We're supposed to be planning an event together, but now I'm not so sure."
My attention stays fixed on clearing the table.
"I'm not interested in her," he continues.
That part doesn't seem particularly surprising considering how the entire breakfast had played out.
"You might want to let her know that," I say calmly.
He smiles slightly.
"I thought I was making it obvious."
I carry the stack of plates toward the service station and set them down before turning back toward him again. For a moment he simply watches me, like he's waiting for something—some reaction, some hint of interest, some kind of acknowledgment that his confidence hadn't been misplaced.
Instead, he gets nothing.
"You're hard to read," he says eventually.
"I'm working."
That earns a quiet laugh from him.
"Fair enough."
He pushes himself away from the table and straightens up slightly, running a hand through his hair as he studies me again.
"You didn't even ask my name."
"I didn't think it was necessary."
"Ouch."
He presses a hand lightly against his chest like the comment genuinely wounded him.
"The name's Wyatt," he says. "In case you were wondering."
"I wasn't."
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly.
"That's alright," he says. "I figured I'd tell you anyway."
For a moment neither of us speaks. The restaurant has grown quieter now that the breakfast crowd is thinning out, and the few remaining students seated near the windows seem more interested in their phones and laptops than anything happening around them.
Wyatt glances briefly around the dining room before looking back at me.
"So do you always shut people down this efficiently," he asks, "or am I just lucky?"
I shrug slightly.
"Occupational hazard."
He studies me for another second before nodding once to himself, like he's just confirmed something.
"I'll see you around, Alex."
This time he doesn't linger. He turns toward the door and walks out of the restaurant as I pick up the rag and finish wiping the last spot of syrup from the surface.
———
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