“Wait. Isn’t this place in Destin? That’s too far for me to ride my bike.”
“I’ll give you a ride.”
“Every Saturday and Sunday? I don’t see that working out.” It’s not just that Arden isn’t what I would call dependable. Even if he keeps his word and picks me up, I’m afraid of what Julio may think of it. And especially what Julio will think of it when he finds out whose son Arden is.
That’s when I decide that Julio will never find out. Problem solved, right?
Arden shrugs, unconcerned. “I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”
“Do I even dare ask what you expect in return?” It’s a valid question and we both know it. Our little lunchtime squabble replays in my head. I’ll pay you for your company. Oh. My. God.
Arden grimaces. “Consider it penance for my sins.”
“How about gas money instead?”
“Deal.”
* * *
I wait for Miss May on the bench seat in front of the hostess stand. There are still a few tables with guests in the dining room and I wonder if I’ve come too early. “She’ll be right with you,” the hostess says.
The restaurant is fancier than I expected and I’m immediately intimidated. The last time I sat at a table with an actual tablecloth on it was never. Orange juice is served in what looks like wineglasses. There are decorative roosters everywhere, some made of cast iron, some made of porcelain, some small, some large, some almost hidden among the others. It’s the mascot of the place, apparently. It’s definitely uppity. And rooster-y.
I take a menu from the stand to study, in case Miss May is in the quizzing mood and I’m disgruntled to find that even the menu is made with fancy paper and ornate font, and the prices are listed as whole numbers without the cents or a dollar sign or anything. It lists things like Blackberry Grits and Baked Brie Delight.
Definitely intimidating.
While I’m trying to memorize the names of the scrambles—so far I’ve got The Floridian, The Hey Lucy! and the Bacquezo down—an older woman with wise eyes tips down the menu to peer at me. Her reading glasses almost slip off the tip of her nose.
“Carly, I presume?” she says. Great. She says things like “presume.” I’m screwed.
“Yes,” I say. “Miss May, I presume?” Yep, didn’t pull it off. The older lady smirks, but not unkindly.
“Yes. Would you like to come sit with me? I have an open table in the corner where we can chat.”
The table is set for four with real cloth napkins wrapped around the silverware and fancy wineglass thingies and a lovely bouquet of hydrangeas in the center that might actually be real. And did I mention there’s a white tablecloth?
I pull up one of the plush comfortable chairs and wait for Miss May to speak. I’m suddenly less intimated by the tablecloth and more grateful for it because it hides my hands fidgeting like mad in my lap.
“So, you know Arden from school?” I can tell by the look in her eyes she thinks I’m dating him.
“He’s in a few of my classes,” I say. I don’t want her to think we’re dating, but what if she’s only considering giving me this job because she thinks we’re dating?
“He’s a sweet boy.” She’s baiting me.
“Is he?”
She laughs. Out of the corner of my eye I see a waitress tucked into a corner table on the opposite side of the room. She’s counting a giant wad of cash, bill by bill, and I can tell they’re not all ones. I’m hoping Miss May doesn’t ask me directly if I’m dating Arden, because now I’m tempted to lie just to get this job.
I need a job that offers wads of cash that aren’t all ones.
“He is when he wants to be,” she says. “So. Down to business. When can you start?”
Okay, good. No lying involved. “Today. Right now.”
She smiles, nodding. “That’s a good answer, Carly. But I won’t put you to work on the spot like that. Can you come in tomorrow morning? And I’m talking early, about six o’clock. I need you to replace one of my openers. Is waking up early an issue for you? That’s the one problem I always have when I hire a teenager.”
“I’m a morning person,” I say, and it’s actually the truth, but by now I would tell her anything to get this job. I visualize in my head how many shifts and wads of cash it would take to get my parents back to the States. I imagine a huge box that I keep stuffing money into and then presenting it to Julio with a big bow on the top.
“Good. We’ll do all the paperwork today so you can start training first thing in the morning. I’ll supply you with a couple of our logo T-shirts and an apron, but you’ll be responsible for wearing nonslip shoes and nice black pants to work.”
I nod, relieved that I already have those things from working at the Breeze Mart. “So that’s it? I’m hired?”
“You’re hired. Any friend of Arden Moss is a friend of mine. I just hope you’re a good friend and a good waitress.” She chuckles. “But there’s a secret to making money here, Carly. Would you like me to share that secret with you?”
I nod.
“Secret is ‘yes.’ That’s your answer to everything our guests ask of you. If they ask if they can have an extra plate with butter on the left side, you say yes. If they want their coffee mug heated in the microwave before you even pour the first cup, you say yes. If they want you to take a picture of their family sitting at the table—even if you’re up to your eyeballs in work and don’t have time for it—you say yes. Yes makes money for all of us. Think you can manage that?”