It was a bad night. Not only did I drop a tray of drinks on myself, I slipped on the spilled soda and beer and landed in it. The liquid soaked into my freshly torn jeans, clear to my panties. I also managed to crash into Yana while carrying a scalding plate of fry bread smothered in refried beans and greasy cheese. The beans and melted cheese clung to my shirt, burning me through the fabric. I tore my shirt off in the middle of the dining room. The college boys I’d been waiting on cheered and clapped, and left me a really good tip.
I got orders all wrong, accidentally giving a child an alcoholic margarita, serving a vegetarian college professor the mutton platter, and serving lukewarm coffee—I had forgotten to put the pot back on the hot plate.
To make matters worse, I’d been too busy to ask Naalyehe about the stranger.
At a quarter past ten, when most of the patrons were gone and no more were coming in, I made my way to the kitchen.
José, Naalyehe, and two part-time cooks were cleaning up the dinner rush, talking and laughing.
“Can I talk to you, Naalyehe?” I asked.
All four men turned to me and their mouths snapped shut.
“Maggie Mae,” Naalyehe said. He put down his washcloth and steered me out to the dimly lit parking lot behind the building. José’s car was the only vehicle parked in back.
Naalyehe studied me for a moment before asking, “Are you hiding something I should know about?”
I sighed, blowing loose wisps of hair away from my face. I was hiding all sorts of things.
“You do not need to fear me,” Naalyehe said, his voice soft. “But I need to know why that man is looking for you.”
“I don’t know why.” That question had been running laps through my brain all night. “Did he tell you his name?”
“I asked. He refused.”
“Well, what exactly did he say?”
“He said, ‘I’m looking for a young woman, goes by Maggie Mae Mortensen. She has black hair and pale eyes and is eighteen years old. I was told that she works here. Have you seen her?’ ” Naalyehe repeated in monotone.
“What did you tell him?”
“I said no one by that name works for me, Magdalena, and my only employees with black hair have dark eyes.”
I ran a hand through my faded plum-colored ponytail and smiled. “Thanks.”
“Are you sure you do not want to tell me anything?” Naalyehe asked again.
“I’m an orphan. Is that what you want to hear?”
His lips thinned. “I am sorry. That must be hard at your age.”
Yeah, I thought bitterly. But not as hard as it was when I was a little kid.
“You wear the yo-ih?” he asked. I held my left arm up for him to see. “Good. Do not take it off.”
He opened the door and I walked into the steamy kitchen, Naalyehe a step behind.
“Gringa,” José said. “Yana restocked the condiments before she left for the night, so you get to empty the trash. Then go home and put your feet up. You worked hard.”
“Sure, boss,” I said, faking a smile. I hated trash duty. My feet dragged as I went back into the restaurant.
Since I was already covered with soda and beans, I figured it was only fair that I tackle the trash. The bags dripped soda and beer as I dragged them out back. The smell of old Mexican food, stale beer, and rotting meat wafted from the Dumpster. I held my breath and slung the trash up over the side.
Light flickered beside the Dumpster. A face, red against the small flame of a lighter, glowed to life. I stumbled backward and almost tripped.
“Hola,” a stranger said, taking a drag on a cigarette. The lighter died and his face went dark.
“Hello,” I squeaked, ready to run to the restaurant.
“I’m Tito. The new dishwasher.”
“Oh!” Yana’s motorcycle guy. I took a calming breath. He chuckled and took another long drag on his cigarette, the end glowing red.
“Nice to meet you. Have a nice night,” I said, turning to leave.
Back in the kitchen, I studied myself in the bright light. Refried beans plastered my shirt, mashed into the fabric. The drinks I’d spilled and then sat in were almost dry and getting stiffer by the minute, and the scale dust, though hardly visible on my skin anymore, clung to the sticky fabric, making the spill brilliantly obvious.
“Ugh. Thank you for sending me home, José,” I whispered.
Just then Penney and José burst into the kitchen, José speaking about a mile a minute in Spanish, fanning his face with his hand.
“I already gave him a seat in the best booth!” Penney interrupted, flinging her hands about as she spoke.
“Well, go out there and see what he wants to drink … and don’t mess it up!” José barked.
Penney nodded, put her hands on her curvy hips, and hurried out the door to the dining room.
“What’s going on?” I asked. Naalyehe watched us from the other side of the kitchen.
“An important customer.” José’s voice was a little too loud. He looked at Naalyehe. “If the town knows he’s eating our food, this will be the most popular restaurant around!”
“I thought it already was,” I said.
José smiled, walked over to the sink were I stood, and gave me a one-armed hug, squeezing the air from my lungs. “Oh, you sweet little thing! If only my sons weren’t already married …”
Just then the kitchen door burst open. Penney walked in with her hands on her round hips and stared at me like I’d stolen her favorite lip gloss. José let go of me.
“What?” José and I asked at the same time.
“He wants Maggie Mae to wait on him.”
José took one look at my filthy clothes and started spewing Spanish again.
“Who wants me to wait on him?” I asked.
“Bridger O’Connell,” Penney answered.
“What?”
“Don’t panic, Magdalena,” José said in obvious panic, handing me a damp washcloth and motioning to my filthy shirt. “You’ve become a fabulous server. Just don’t mess up! And don’t drop any drinks on him!” He turned to Penney. “Can you fix her up a little or is it a lost cause?”
Penney studied me and yanked the washcloth out of my hands. Pulling the hair tie from my ponytail, she let my hair spill around my shoulders. She tugged her fingers through it a few times, fluffed it around my face, and then looked at me.
“Better,” she said. “But wait!” She fished in her jeans pocket and pulled out a tube of glittery red lip gloss—as if I didn’t have enough glitter on me. Without a word, she coated my lips. “Hopefully he won’t notice the stain on your pants,” she mused, cringing. “On second thought, hopefully he won’t care.” She smiled apologetically at me. “All right, chica. He’s in the booth by the window. Go take his order.”
My hands were trembling as I stepped into the nearly empty dining room. I felt like José and Penney had thrown me out to appease a hungry pack of wolves. The booth by the window is the one farthest from the kitchen. Bridger sat facing the front window. I approached slowly, studying his back.
He was wearing black pants and a dark blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled around his elbows. He must have seen my reflection in the window, because he turned around.
“Hey,” he said. I watched his eyes slip from my face to my shirt to my spattered jeans, and my cheeks started to burn. Then his eyes lingered on my name tag. “Magdalena?” He studied me a moment before I remembered to speak.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked nervously.
“Coke.”
I nodded and headed toward the kitchen. Penney and José were peering at me from the kitchen door.
“So far, so good!” José said, giving me a thumbs-up.
“What does he want to drink? I’ll get it for you,” Penney said. I wondered if she was afraid I’d spill it.
“Coke. But why are you guys freaking out? He’s my age.”
“He is an O’Connell,” José snapped. “His family owns the old mine.”
“There’s an old mine in Silver City?”
“Why do you think it is called Silver City, gringa?” José answered, tugging his mustache. “Now go back over there and recommend my fish tacos.”
I strode over to Bridger. He’d been watching my reflection in the window with an amused grin on his face. “Do you want to order, or would you like to try our chef’s specialty?”
“What’s your favorite entrée?” he asked.
“The fish tacos. They’re awesome.” And the only thing I’d ever eaten.
“All right. I would like two servings of fish tacos. And another Coke. I’m expecting company.”
My shoulders slumped. I looked at him, so gorgeous and dressed to kill. Of course he’d be expecting a date.
“You’re frowning,” he said.
I forced a smile to my mouth. “Two fish tacos and another Coke coming up.”
“Wait. May I speak with José, please?”
“Two fish tacos, one Coke, and one Hispanic chef, coming right up,” I amended and hurried to the kitchen.
“José, he wants to see you. And he wants fish tacos. Two plates. He’s expecting company.”
“Ah! Good girl. Penney, go home. Magdalena will finish up tonight,” José said before removing his apron and hurrying out to the dining room.
Penney looked at me and shrugged. She removed a wad of tips from her apron pocket and crammed them into her jeans pocket. “Good luck with Bridger,” she said, pulling her denim jacket from a coat hook on the door.
“Thanks.”
She studied me for a moment. “Yana told me about the creepy dude. Be careful.”
“Don’t worry about—” I started to say, but José came running into the kitchen all frantic and out of breath.
“Change of plan!” He gasped, tugging the jacket from Penney’s shoulders and handing her a clean apron. “Penney, you stay and wait tables. Magdalena, go talk to Señor O’Connell.” Without a word, he untied my apron and set it on the counter.
Penney and I exchanged confused looks. “Well, go on,” she prodded.
My palms turned cold and damp as I approached Bridger’s table. When he saw my reflection in the window, he stood and watched me. I stopped in front of him.
“Maggie?” he said.
“What?”
“I was hoping you would have dinner with me. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering your favorite entrée.”
I swallowed hard and studied him for a moment. “Are you serious?”
“Totally.”
“Did you get stood up? Am I your last resort?”
“No. You’re my first choice. And José said you’re done for the night.”
He was so gorgeous, I would be a total idiot to say no. And it had been hours since I’d eaten. But on the other hand, I didn’t want to get attached. I looked down at the A on my shirt and felt the sting of tears in my eyes.
I bit the inside of my cheek in an attempt to stop the tears and turned my back to him, blinking furiously. I turned back around.
“Thanks, but I really don’t think dinner would be a good idea,” I said. “I’m tired.”
“So … we’ll eat fast and then you can go home to bed,” he reasoned.
“Look, I don’t want to … I don’t want to date anyone.”
“Anyone? Or me?”
“Anyone.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to get attached. Every time I get close to someone, I get hurt.” And I didn’t mean cute boys. Every time I got close to a foster family, I was removed from their house, never to hear from them again.
“And what makes you think that eating a meal with me is going to hurt you? All I want is to get to know you a little better.”
Well, that right there’s the problem, I thought. Knowing me better is what makes everyone despise me. All right, I told myself, just dish and he’ll never want to see me again. I rushed in before I had time to chicken out.
“You want to get to know me better? I’m a dirt-poor orphan that has been passed around to more foster homes in the past thirteen years than I can remember. I had fifteen run-ins with the law before the age of eighteen. Yana is my first and only friend. I’ve never had a boyfriend. The only date I ever went on, my date was so miserable he ditched me and left me standing on the dance floor. The scar in my eyebrow? I got it from an abusive foster father. Wanna know why I stayed with his family for two years even though he hit me? His wife was southern and cooked the best food I ever tasted … on a regular basis. You think I look like a nice person, and I am nice, but I come with a lot of nasty stuff.” I crossed my arms and hardened my face into my best “I won’t take crap from you” look.
“Interesting. So tell me the part that is going to make me hurt you,” he said sarcastically. “Don’t you realize that everything you’ve said makes me think you have the potential to be one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met?”
I struggled to keep my jaw from hitting the floor.
José arrived with two steaming bean-and-cheese-covered plates of fish tacos. My stomach rumbled.
“Sit, Magdalena!” José ordered, setting a plate down on the table.
“Come on. Just one painless meal,” Bridger coaxed, sliding into his seat.
I looked between José and Bridger, then gave in and sat across from Bridger. I didn’t know what else to do. This totally hot, smart guy wanted me to eat dinner with him, even after I gave him the dump truck version of my past? Well, minus the turning into an animal. Maybe I hadn’t made it clear enough?
“So, if you’ve never had a boyfriend, have you ever been kissed?”
I caught my bottom lip in my teeth and shook my head.
“Huh. If the A on your shirt is for ‘Adulterer,’ but you’ve never even been kissed … isn’t that the slightest bit contradictory?”
A smile lit my confused face. “Yeah. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Very. So, tell me about your foster families.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. And sorry I ditched you.”
I talked while we ate, yet even with me doing all of the talking, I finished my food long before he did. Penney kept our drinks full and asked if we’d like to see a dessert menu when our plates were empty.
“Would you like dessert, Maggie?” Bridger asked.
I looked at my watch. It was past eleven.
“No, I’m good,” I said.
After Bridger paid for the meal and left a pile of bills on the table for a tip, we left the restaurant.
“So, where are you parked?” he asked, pausing beneath a streetlamp. In the dim light, his eyes were sparkly black.
“Parked?”
“Your car?”
“Oh. I don’t drive myself home from work. I walk—”
“You walk to Mrs. C.’s house? Alone? In the dark?” Bridger asked incredulously.
“No, I don’t walk. I …” I change into an animal. That slip of the tongue would have gone over well.
“You ride a bike?” he guessed when I didn’t continue.
“No, I … run,” I said awkwardly. It was true—I did run. Usually in the shape of a mountain lion or a coyote. They were faster than other animals.
“In your work clothes? In the dark? Aren’t you afraid you’ll trip and fall?” Bridger glanced at my freshly torn jeans and frowned. “Aren’t you exhausted by the end of the day? Aren’t you afraid some psycho will see you and hurt you? There are really dangerous people out there.”
Every single thing he said was true. Were I a normal girl, I’d worry about those things. But I was abnormal. “I run fast,” I said lamely.
“I know you run fast, but still. It seems dangerous. Can I drive you home?”
The night was dark, a thin layer of clouds hiding the moon. I thought of the man looking for me and wrapped my hand around the bracelet. “I suppose you can give me a ride,” I told him.
Relief softened his beautiful face and my heart felt full of sunshine.
“Let’s go.” He looked me over once, his eyes lingering on my hands, before he shoved his own into his pockets and walked down the sidewalk. I walked half a block beside him till we came to his car. It beeped, the lights flashed, and the doors unlocked. I opened the passenger door and climbed in, hoping my dirty jeans wouldn’t ruin the seat.
“What kind of car is this?” I asked. I’d never seen anything like it.
“Toyota FJ Cruiser. And it is definitely not a car. It’s an SUV.”
His FJ Cruiser was really nice. If I had to choose between some of the foster homes I’d lived in or Bridger’s SUV, I’d live in his SUV in a heartbeat. The seats were soft and lined with pale gray leather, and when he turned the car on, Native American music filled it. I was immersed in sound, swimming in music.
Eagle feathers and beads hung from the rearview mirror, swinging with the movement of the car as he pulled away from the curb. We drove to Mrs. Carpenter’s house in silence, just listening to music. When the car stopped in front of the porch, he glanced at me and turned off the engine. The car became pitch black inside.
“Why did you turn off your car?” I asked, instantly nervous.
“It’s dark out. I thought I’d walk you to the door,” he said as if this should have been pretty obvious. I glanced at the house. The porch light flooded the night and the windows glowed.
“I’ll be fine by myself. Thanks for dinner. And the ride. It was nice, not … running … home in the dark.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you to the door?” he asked, unhooking his seat belt.
“No!” I blurted, reaching for the door handle.
“Wait,” he said.
“What?”
“Thanks.”
“For what? You paid for the meal.”
“Thanks for giving me a second chance.”
“You’re welcome.” I opened the car door and the interior light flashed on, giving me one last look at his face. My gaze lingered on his lips and the truth was, I wanted him to walk me to the door. Really wanted it. Because I could imagine him kissing me good night.
I climbed out of the car and darted to the front door. “Don’t get attached, don’t get attached,” I chanted as Bridger pulled out of the driveway.