Bottom Dollar

Three| Pancake special

"You gave it back?" Stacy asked for the third time that evening, her eyebrows still furrowed in disbelief. "But why?"

I sighed, slipping on my Barney's apron before readjusting the mini skirt our boss, Roy, forced us to wear. He loved to claim Barney's was a classy establishment, but the tight white blouses and the red, plaited skirts said otherwise. Still, if I'd learned anything in my two years here, it was that you didn't question management, not unless you wanted to be fired.

And God knows I needed this job.

"I already told you," I said, pulling my long, auburn hair into a ponytail. "I didn't earn it."

"Who cares?" Stacy asked, her red lips pulled into a grimace. "When someone offers you that sweet old Benjamin, you take it."

"Who's offering you their Benjamin?" Lacy turned from where she stood at her locker, her sparse eyebrows raised suggestively.

Lacy was considered the baby of the Barney's diner family, though she'd been working at Barney's for longer than all of us combined. She'd started off as a waitress fresh out of college, looking to earn money while she searched for a career in journalism. She was twenty-seven now, her dreams of becoming a journalist all but dead and buried.

That was my biggest fear. That I'd be stuck working as a waitress in Barney's diner for the rest of my life, and whenever I looked at Lacy, I found myself even more determined to get out of this town or die trying.

"Well," Stacy began.

I shot her a pointed look; a look that told her to keep those glossy lips shut. "Nobody," I said, making my way onto the diner floor.

I headed over to the booth in the corner, which was now occupied by a lone man. Good, the less diners there were on a table, the less mess I had to clear up.

At least, in theory.

"Welcome to Barney's," I said once I got there, my eyes fixed on my pen and notepad. I didn't exactly need them, I was able to remember orders the length of my arm most of the time, but it gave me something to do with my hands, an excuse to avoid unwanted eye contact. "What can I get—"

I stopped when I looked up to see him again, the guy from last night. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and put the Benjamin flat on the table before raising his gaze to mine.

A dashing half-smile crossed his lips. "This time, I'll let you work for it."

I stared at the tip with narrowed eyes, overcome with the urge to tell this guy just where he could stuff it, but from the corner of my eye, I could see Roy patrolling the diner floor. Reluctantly, I gave the man before me a tight smile, placing my pen to the paper. "What would you like to order, sir?"

"Nate."

The corner of my eye twitched. "I'm sorry, that's not on the menu."

I didn't have to look at him to know he was smirking, that same look of amusement etched onto his ridiculously chiseled features.

"My name," he said, his voice warm and deep, "is Nate."

"I'm glad we've cleared that up, Nate. Would you like to order now?"

He ended up ordering several things: coffee, the pancake special, a side of bacon and a glass of orange juice. I headed into the back and relayed the order to our chef, Bernie, before Stacy grabbed my hand and yanked me into the bathroom stall, slamming the door shut behind me.

"Some of us come here to work, Stacy," I said drily, my body now sandwiched between her and the restroom door.

The staff restroom was only a single cubicle, barely able to accommodate one person, let alone two, and now Stacy and I were standing closer than humanly possible, her exposed bosoms heaving against my stomach.

"It's him," she exclaimed, her neck craned up at a ninety-degree angle in order to meet my gaze. Even with heels on, Stacy only came to my chest, though it was down to her lacking in the height department rather than me overachieving in it.

"I know," I replied, glancing at my reflection in the mirror behind her. For some reason, my cheeks were flushed, and I took a deep breath, willing them to revert to their normal color.

"Just think of how much money you could get out of him if you actually tried," Stacy was busy saying, her brown eyes fixed on a smudge on the wall in a dream like state.

I snapped my fingers in front of her face, bringing her back to reality. "Is this what you pulled me into the bathroom to talk about?" I asked. "I thought there was an emergency."

"This is the emergency," Stacy said. "How are we going to get him to overlook your prickly exterior?"

I looked at her dark, curly head, unable to stop myself from smirking at her absurdity. Stacy and I were about as different as two people could be, but in the world of waitressing, all lines and boundaries became obscured, forcing you to befriend people you'd never have gotten along with, otherwise. Now I couldn't imagine my life without her.

"I'm leaving next year," I reminded her curtly. "Come hell or high water, I'm getting out of this dead-end town, and I don't need some guy coming along and potentially asking me to stay."

That was my second biggest fear. Falling in love with a small-town boy. I spent my days dreaming not about boys, like Stacy usually did, but about making it out of Pinewood. About exploring the great unknown and getting away from my alcoholic mother–none of which I wanted to jeopardize by falling in love with a boy who might make me want to stay.

No, it was better to avoid love completely, at least until I made it out Pinewood alive.

"Always thinking about the future," Stacy said, getting out her lipstick before coating her lips. Russian red, she'd explained to me at the mall when she bought it. It was what they used in all of the makeup tutorials, supposedly.

"Because the future is all I have," I said darkly, straightening out my apron. "You're going to get me fired, you lipstick fiend," and then I pushed past her curvaceous frame and made my way over to the kitchen.

Nate's food was already waiting on the cooling rack, and Bernie gave me a disapproving look when Stacy sauntered out of the restroom after me, her springy black curls bouncing with every step.

"I hope you both washed your hands," he said.

I ignored him before grabbing the tray and heading over to Nate, placing it before him with a tight smile on my face—the kind I had to work hard to maintain.

Nate gave me a dashing smile in return, and I noticed his eyes looked almost black under the dim lights of the diner, his hair the color of dark licorice.

"You might as well put that away," I said lightly, glancing at Benjamin Franklin's oblong face. "I'm still not going to accept it."

"Oh, come on," Nate said, his eyes flashing with mischief. "You didn't even get my order wrong this time. I'd say that deserves a tip."

I folded my arms, wondering why this stranger was working so hard to give me that tip. "What, is it fake or something?" I took in Nate's rugged looks and thick, muscular arms. I wasn't the type to judge based on appearance—that was Stacy's department—but if Nate had told me he'd been arrested, I wouldn't have been surprised.

He cocked a thick eyebrow in return. "A guy wants to leave you a tip and all of a sudden he's a criminal? You need to work on your self-esteem, Meg."

"Don't call me that."

"What, Meg? That's your name, isn't it?" His eyes fell to my name badge for confirmation.

"Look, did you need anything else?" I glanced at my watch. The sooner this shift was over, the sooner I could crawl into bed and start the whole thing again tomorrow.

"No thanks," he replied, his eyes still on mine, and as soon as he uttered the words I was moving onto the next table, though I could feel him watching my every move.

A/N

Hey readers! What country are you guys reading from? 🇬🇧