Chapter 114 (1/2)

“We don’t have to stay and eat here if you are busy,” Landon adds.

“No, it’s okay. Really,” I assure my best friend. I know what he’s thinking; I know he feels guilty and worried that bringing Hardin here will ruin the new Tessa. The Tessa who laughs and makes jokes, the Tessa who has become her own person, maybe even stubbornly so. That won’t happen, though. I have myself in check, under control, totally cool and collected. Totally.

I gently pull my wrist from Hardin’s soft grip and grab two menus from the board. I nod to the confused hostess, Kelsey, letting her know I’ll be taking these two to their table.

“How long have you worked here?” Hardin asks, walking with me. He’s dressed the same way he always was, same black T-shirt, same pair of boots, same tight, black jeans, though this pair has a small tear at the knee. I have to keep reminding myself that it has only been a few months since I left for my mother’s house. It feels like so much more time has passed—years, even.

“Only three weeks,” I say.

“Landon said you’ve been here since noon today?”

I nod. I gesture to a small booth against the back wall, and Hardin slides in on one side and Landon on the other.

“When will you get off?”

Get off? Is he making an innuendo? I can’t tell after all this time. Do I want him to? I can’t tell that, either.

“We close at one, so I usually get home around two when I work a closing shift.”

“Two in the morning?” His mouth drops open dramatically.

I set the menus in front of the two men, and Hardin reaches for my wrist again. I pull back this time, pretending not to notice his intentions.

“Yes, in the morning. She works like this every day almost,” Landon says.

I shoot him a glare, wishing he would have kept that to himself, then wonder why I feel that way. It shouldn’t matter to Hardin how many hours I spend here.

Hardin doesn’t say much after that; he just stares at the menu, points to the lamb ravioli, and orders a water. Landon orders his usual, asking if Sophia is busy in the kitchen, and gives me more “I’m sorry” smiles than necessary.

My next table keeps me busy. The woman is drunk and can’t decide what she wants to eat; her husband is too busy on his phone to pay attention. I’m actually grateful for the drunk wife sending her food back three times; it makes it easier to only stop by Landon and Hardin’s table once to fill their drinks and once to clear their plates.

Sophia being Sophia, she wrote off their tab. Hardin being Hardin, he left me a ridiculous tip. And me being me, I forced Landon to take it and return it to Hardin when they got back to the apartment.