Ducking back into the narrow hallway where our lockers were hidden, I quietly slipped my phone out of my bag and sighed with relief when I saw that Maisie had texted me right back.
"All is well," she wrote, before sending a series of pictures of Malcolm playing in his jammies. The last one made me grin ear-to-ear. My son gazed up from my phone screen with a triumphantly toothy smile. Both of his grabby little hands were sunk way down in a sea of orange fluff that belonged to Maisie's cat Bonzo, who looked up at the camera as if pleading for help.
I felt my shoulders go down as I exhaled slowly. I'd been worried about him the whole evening. This was his first time at a sitter's in his whole short life — first time away from my Mom and the first night he'd be put down somewhere than his own bed. With Malcolm seeming to be adjusting to Maisie's just fine — even after the mishap on the way over there — my worried focus was able to snap back to my mother and wonder how bad it was going to be this time.
The good times with her were always wonderful. She was helpful and supportive and though she liked to lay the guilt on a little thick, she always came through for me, doubly so once Malcolm was born. People would ask me about being a single mother and I'd say I might be single but I wasn't doing it alone because I had my mom.
But the truth was, I had her for only as long as it took for another bad spell to send her crashing into her bed where she'd lay unmoving for days, only the faintest stifled sob signaling that she was still alive at all.
When I was a kid, my father would shield me from the blackest of her depressions. But when he died, it all fell to me. I was thirteen when I learned the truth. That my mother's mental illness would always be with her. She'd never get better. Just like she’d had to, I needed to learn how to cope.
She'd been good now for so long, I'd made the mistake of thinking she was cured. That her love for her grandson, which was boundless and almost suffocatingly heavy, had pulled her through the worst of it. And for the whole of his twenty months, she'd managed, and because she had, I was able to work to provide for the three of us. I'd been working since I was fourteen because her disability checks just couldn't sustain us and this job at Indigo was the easiest I'd had it in a long time. It almost felt like a vacation. Which, I realized, was really sad.
I tucked my phone back into my purse. She'd pull through it. She always came out the other side. I just needed to give her time.
With that thought, I shoved my purse back into my locker and headed back out onto the floor. Two more hours left in my shift and I could go Maisie's and get Malcolm. He'd be fussy about getting woken up, but it couldn't be helped.
As I walked back into the front of the restaurant, my mind was whirling with all the things I still needed to take care of for the evening's service. I always had a mental checklist running, dashing from here and there to take care of it all. My servers were in awe of me, I could tell, but I couldn't help it. The stress of running a four-star restaurant was nothing compared to the stress of my real life.
And speaking of stress, a major source of it was still sitting at his table, his blue eyes glinting over his wine glass. I'd been avoiding Jameson's table as much as I could, but when their meal came out, there was no getting around it any more. Finn insisted that a member of the management team visit each client's table at least once during their meal, if not twice.
I straightened my spine and whispered a quick prayer that I could get away quickly without stammering or making a scene and headed over with my head held high.
"And I hope you're enjoying your meal so far?" I asked standing at the edge of their table with my hands clasped behind my back to keep them from fidgeting. And also, to keep them away from Jameson's hand. The memory of his touch still lingered on the top of my palm.
"We are enjoying it," Jameson said, leaning back. I kept my gaze focused at a spot just over the top of his head, but out of the corner of my eye I could see him grin and knew that my discomfort was not lost on him. "I don't want to press my luck here," he said.
"So don't," I said quickly interjecting, then reddened. So much for not blushing when I came over here.
He chuckled. "But that's what I do, Charlie," he said. He looked right at Parker. "Didn't you say you have to go to the restroom?" he said pointedly.
Parker lurched like a puppet on his string. "Oh yes of course, definitely have had too much of that good wine," he said, chuckling needlessly to himself. "I'll be back."
"Take your time," Jameson drawled. And then, after watching Parker closely until he had disappeared into the restroom, Jameson turned his eyes back to me. "Have a seat," he said.
"I'm working," I reminded him testily.
"It won't be long," he said calmly.
And it was that calmness that drove me crazy. How could he be so calm? Didn't he understand that he was driving me crazy? Didn't he feel how uncomfortable this was?
But why was uncomfortable? He didn't have the hang-ups I did. Or the stress. That much was clear. He'd probably never had a real problem in his entire life until I hit him with my car. And he'd even turned that into a flirtation. A flirtation that was sending unwanted tingles down my spine, reminding me just how long it had been since...
"I was wondering when you got off," Jameson said, leaning forward with a look in his eye that was downright lascivious.
"Excuse me?" I hissed, reddening further at the thought of getting off...
"From work," he said. And his eyes twinkled with amusement like he could read my thoughts. "I was wondering what time you got off work."
"Why?" I said warily, glancing over my shoulder. I'd been standing at this table for way too long. I need to go check on the rest of my servers, but my feet seemed rooted to the spot. "Why are you asking this?"
"Because I have a confession to make," he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice.
To my everlasting embarrassment, I felt myself leaning forward to catch what he was saying.
"I'm about to close in on a very big business deal. But I need a little luck in my side, and so far, you been a pretty good lucky charm."
"Who me?" I giggled. And then I hated myself for giggling.
"Yes you," he said, and there was no teasing in his voice. He looked dead serious and that's what made me pause for a moment. "I'm just asking you to come with me, and be my good luck charm a little bit longer."
"Me?"
He shrugged and gave me a grin that hit me like a punch to the gut. "Yes you. What do you say? You look like you're working pretty hard. After you're done, want to come out and play?"
I opened my mouth, ready to turn him down, when I looked up to see Finn watching from across the restaurant. He raised an impatient eyebrow. "I have to go work," I blurted and turned to run away as fast as I could. Utter terror gripped me even at the same time I was wondering what it was that had me terrified. I looked back at Jameson talking to Gina, who left and immediately came back with another bottle of the most expensive Cab Sauv on the menu. He took a sip and then caught me looking. Raising his glass in my direction, he then settled back in his seat. Waiting.
Waiting for me to come out and play.