walked through the
Waterview’s door. The smile invited her to smile back. “You met me.”
It would be rude to point out to
the guy buying her lunch that he hadn’t made a great impression, so she said,
“Huh.”
He winked. “And liked me.”
That startled her into laughing.
“Hardly! You weren’t very nice.”
“What?” He faked shock. “I was on
my best behavior. You were the first pet psych— pet healer I’d met. Maybe I was
out of my conversational depth.”
A typical male apology. Saying
sorry without actually saying sorry.
“Out of your intellectual depth,
too.” Apology accepted. But she had to add, “Yesterday, as well.”
All humor drained from his eyes.
“Yesterday was the worst day of my life.”
She nodded. She’d had some pretty
terrible days herself. Being polite—heck, being barely nice—hadn’t been at the
top of her priority list on those days, either. Emotional survival had been.
She turned the conversational rudder.
“So, was your dinner with Ginny about her flirtatiousness at work?”
“No, it was—” He broke off as the
waitress stopped by their table.
While she took their orders, the
waitress kept her smile in place, but she shifted from foot to foot, and she
twitched every time Jake spoke. As soon as she’d finished writing the order,
she grabbed their menus out of their hands as if there was a sudden shortage of
them and dashed off like a spooked greyhound.
“They must be busy today,” Emma
offered lamely.
He didn’t answer. He grabbed a roll
out of the basket on the table and started buttering it with quick, jerky
movements. More slowly, Emma followed his example.
Their iced teas arrived in record
time and were deposited on their table so hastily that liquid sloshed over the
glasses’ rims, staining the white tablecloth. The waitress didn’t notice—she
was busy running off.
Oh, for God’s sake. Emma tossed her
napkin on the table and stood. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
She strode across the room to the
hostess’s desk, where Rosie was chatting with a pair of customers on their way
out. The couple extolled the deliciousness of the halibut one last time and
then exited, the chime over the door giving a merry tinkle as they left. “Can I
help you with something?” Rosie asked Emma.
“Would it be possible for us to get
another waitperson or be moved to a different table? The lady serving us seems
rather distracted. I’m not sure if she’s being deliberately rude or if she’s
just extremely busy, but the end result is that we’re getting poor service.”
Rosie’s affable hostess smile
flattened. “I see. I’m sorry that you’re not happy with the service, but maybe
you can understand why Milly’s a bit skittish—”
Emma’s temper usually had a long
fuse, but someone must’ve lopped a good six feet off of it this morning. She
fisted her hands on her hips. “Skittish? Skittish? ”
A few tables nearby began to watch this interchange, probably unable to hear
anything but aware that a drama was stirring. “If there’s anyone here who
should be skittish , it’s Jake, whose
drink was drugged the last time he was in your restaurant. But he insisted on
coming here today because he likes this place so much and trusts the people who
run it. Let me tell you, it’s looking to me like that trust is misplaced.”
She was getting a little carried
away—she’d always been oversensitive to people being ostracized for things
beyond their control. But it felt good. She glanced over her shoulder at Jake.
He was staring at her, his mouth hanging open.
She turned her attention back to
Rosie. “Please, give us a new waitress or a new table, or please speak with the
waitress we have and ask her to give us the same attention and respect she
gives her other customers.”
Rosie nodded tightly and then
twisted around to greet a group of four who had just entered, shining a smile
at them bright as a lighthouse beacon.
Emma threaded through the
Waterview’s door. The smile invited her to smile back. “You met me.”
It would be rude to point out to
the guy buying her lunch that he hadn’t made a great impression, so she said,
“Huh.”
He winked. “And liked me.”
That startled her into laughing.
“Hardly! You weren’t very nice.”
“What?” He faked shock. “I was on
my best behavior. You were the first pet psych— pet healer I’d met. Maybe I was
out of my conversational depth.”
A typical male apology. Saying
sorry without actually saying sorry.
“Out of your intellectual depth,
too.” Apology accepted. But she had to add, “Yesterday, as well.”
All humor drained from his eyes.
“Yesterday was the worst day of my life.”
She nodded. She’d had some pretty
terrible days herself. Being polite—heck, being barely nice—hadn’t been at the
top of her priority list on those days, either. Emotional survival had been.
She turned the conversational rudder.
“So, was your dinner with Ginny about her flirtatiousness at work?”
“No, it was—” He broke off as the
waitress stopped by their table.
While she took their orders, the
waitress kept her smile in place, but she shifted from foot to foot, and she
twitched every time Jake spoke. As soon as she’d finished writing the order,
she grabbed their menus out of their hands as if there was a sudden shortage of
them and dashed off like a spooked greyhound.
“They must be busy today,” Emma
offered lamely.
He didn’t answer. He grabbed a roll
out of the basket on the table and started buttering it with quick, jerky
movements. More slowly, Emma followed his example.
Their iced teas arrived in record
time and were deposited on their table so hastily that liquid sloshed over the
glasses’ rims, staining the white tablecloth. The waitress didn’t notice—she
was busy running off.
Oh, for God’s sake. Emma tossed her
napkin on the table and stood. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
She strode across the room to the
hostess’s desk, where Rosie was chatting with a pair of customers on their way
out. The couple extolled the deliciousness of the halibut one last time and
then exited, the chime over the door giving a merry tinkle as they left. “Can I
help you with something?” Rosie asked Emma.
“Would it be possible for us to get
another waitperson or be moved to a different table? The lady serving us seems
rather distracted. I’m not sure if she’s being deliberately rude or if she’s
just extremely busy, but the end result is that we’re getting poor service.”
Rosie’s affable hostess smile
flattened. “I see. I’m sorry that you’re not happy with the service, but maybe
you can understand why Milly’s a bit skittish—”
Emma’s temper usually had a long
fuse, but someone must’ve lopped a good six feet off of it this morning. She
fisted her hands on her hips. “Skittish? Skittish? ”
A few tables nearby began to watch this interchange, probably unable to hear
anything but aware that a drama was stirring. “If there’s anyone here who
should be skittish , it’s Jake, whose
drink was drugged the last time he was in your restaurant. But he insisted on
coming here today because he likes this place so much and trusts the people who
run it. Let me tell you, it’s looking to me like that trust is misplaced.”
She was getting a little carried
away—she’d always been oversensitive to people being ostracized for things
beyond their control. But it felt good. She glanced over her shoulder at Jake.
He was staring at her, his mouth hanging open.
She turned her attention back to
Rosie. “Please, give us a new waitress or a new table, or please speak with the
waitress we have and ask her to give us the same attention and respect she
gives her other customers.”
Rosie nodded tightly and then
twisted around to greet a group of four who had just entered, shining a smile
at them bright as a lighthouse beacon.
Emma threaded through the
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