it clings to his broad shoulders. Her hand is hooked in his elbow, her face tilted up to his.
The image of them slams into me.
His worried eyes find mine.
Dandelion, they say.
Sucking in a breath, I turn away and drop salads off at an eight-top table then head back in for another tray.
When I come out, the only table that doesn’t have salads is theirs. You got this. Chantal sits next to Troy and Bambi is next to Sawyer, their heads tilted together in conversation. Dillon looks up as I approach, and I feel the weight of his gaze. My spine straightens, and I give myself a pep talk. A hundred bucks for this job. Plus, with Romy’s part, we’ve got her competition fees covered this month.
Bambi and Chantal give me cautious looks, and I force a smile. “Your salads,” I say, placing them around the table.
“Yummy!” Bambi says. She’s wearing a slinky gold dress and her hair is in beach waves.
Moving to Ashley’s left, I ease her plate down. Her green eyes narrow as she sniffs. “Blue cheese? I thought we decided on raspberry vinaigrette when we made the menu. Girls? Am I right?” Her gaze sweeps to the others.
Her mouth twisting, Chantal replies, “It’s a wedge salad. Traditionally, it calls for blue cheese.”
I give her a mental high-five.
“Oh, it does, but I find blue cheese so…unsavory,” Ashley insists as she looks at me. Her lashes flutter. “Would you run back and check, Serena? I’m sure the catering team must have forgotten to offer us a selection.”
How about I just dump it in your lap? I smile tightly. “Of course. Anyone else?”
They say no. My hands shake as I set down Dillon’s salad, starting at the scent of his cologne. It’s new and foreign and rattles me. Where’s his signature smell? Did he put on something different for her?
He says my name and tries to take my hand, but I tug it away, flip around and leave.
“What’s wrong?” Romy hisses as I fumble around in the fridge then check the counters in the small kitchen.
“Nothing,” I mutter. “You see any other salad dressings?”
“Let me take their table. Zena has me on the floor with food now.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Why are you torturing yourself?” She puts her hands on her hips.
Maybe I need to see them together. I pause. I didn’t have to accept this job tonight. I could have skipped it and picked one up in a week or so.
I wanted to see them together.
Because…
Do I want him to screw up? Am I self-sabotaging? Maybe. My throat tightens.
By the time I return, Ashley’s tapping her fingers on the table.
“No raspberry vinaigrette, sorry. I brought what we had: French and oil and vinegar.” I plunk them down.
“How disappointing.”
“Get over it, Ashley,” Chantal grouses.
Ashley’s fork falls to the carpet, and her stiletto knocks it under the table. “Oops. I can’t reach it. Can you get that for me, Serena?” She looks up and smiles at me.
“I’ve got it,” Dillon says as he bends down and snatches it. He stands from his chair and gives the fork to me. He clenches my hand. “Look at me, Serena—”
I push away from him, my voice cool. “Excuse me, let me get a new one.”
“And extra lemons for my tea,” Ashley calls to my back.
I hear Dillon arguing with her as I march off.
Romy waits at the door in the kitchen. She’s been working the other side of the room, delivering the entrees. She pulls the tray out of my hands. “Your face is red, sis. I’m taking over before you jump on the table and pull her hair out. You work my tables and I’ll get yours.”
“No.”
She stomps her foot. “What are you trying to prove? She’s trying to get a rise out of you! Alexa, play ‘You Need To Calm Down’.”
But I have to do this.
When I bring out the chicken and roasted vegetables, Ashley complains hers is cold and asks for a new plate, her water glass needs more ice, her rolls require more butter, and when I bring out the chocolate soufflé, she whines that hers has fallen and can I see if the chef has one that is adequate.
Dillon sits stiff and tense, his jaw popping as I turn around to get a new soufflé. I hear a chair scraping the floor and footsteps behind me. He’s followed me and grabs my elbow. “Jesus, Serena. I’m sorry—”
“Please go back to your table. I’m busy.”
He gets a panicked look on his