old enough to serve drinks, so you probably ought to help out in the kitchen. Sarah and Addy, one of you helps Grace wait tables, the other can bus them and set ’em up. Gracie’s done this all a million times, so she’ll tell you what to do.”
And with that, he’d walked away to answer the phone, leaving her with a stack of aprons and order pads and four women looking to her for direction.
“Great, Tyler. That’s just great,” she muttered, and thought furiously about what to do next. She’d seen at once as Tyler passed out assignments that Sarah was terrified about waiting tables and that Max was annoyed to be stuck in the kitchen with her mother.
But I’m not in charge here, and according to what I’ve told Tyler, all I’ve ever done is wait tables in a diner. I don’t want to look too comfortable with authority here, if I’m going to convince everyone that I’m just another waitress.
Her first question was for Susannah, Tyler’s mother.
“Do you think you’ll be able to make everything on the menu? If you have any problems, we can always say that we didn’t receive a delivery of something crucial and apologize for the dish not being available.”
The older woman raised one eyebrow archly and smiled. “Tyler came to me for help in designing the menu, because he likes my cooking. If I have problems with anything on that list, he’ll laugh me out of kitchen.” She turned and walked off to the kitchen.
“Terrific. Two minutes and I’ve already pissed off the boss’s mom.” She kept her voice low enough that she hoped no one heard her. Then she caught Sarah grinning at her.
“Okay, everyone grab an order pad. We’re going to make cheat sheets, so you don’t have to keep looking at the menu for prices. You, too, Max, just in case,” she said, trying to include the girl who had her arms crossed over her chest and a shuttered stare.
She kitted them all out with a three-pocket apron, order book and pad, and a tray for serving drinks. When she wrapped the apron strings twice around her waist, tied them in front of her and stuffed her book in the center apron pocket, she was surprised at how at home she felt. It had been years since she’d worked as a server at a restaurant, but apparently waiting tables was like riding a bike.
Once you did it, you never forgot how.
“Okay, ladies. Lesson number one. The customer is always right.” Grace waited a beat. “Except when they are obnoxious, crazy or just plain wrong.”
They laughed and then listened as Grace gave them a crash course in how to wait tables. From greeting the customers and taking orders, to serving food and cashing out a check. When the three sisters were temporarily occupied with an argument over the most efficient way to abbreviate garnishes and side orders, Grace took a moment to search out Tyler.
She found him in a tiny office, hidden behind a door off the kitchen. When she turned the knob, the door opened and she carefully peeked her head into the room.
Tyler sat at a desk overflowing with paperwork. Grace saw stacks of invoices teetering precariously on one edge and a hastily assembled pile of applications at Tyler’s other elbow. The man himself was on the phone and as she listened to the conversation, she understood that he was trying to find more permanent help than his sisters and mother for the restaurant.
“No, thanks, Jorge. I’m covered for the weekend. But if you could start on Monday, you’d be a lifesaver, man.”
He noticed her waiting and waved her into the office with a flick of his hand. She leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms to wait. He was off the phone in short order, after thanks and goodbyes.
“How are things on the floor with my crazy sisters?”
“Everything’s in order, bossman.” She snapped him a two-finger salute that was lacking enough in respect to have her doing two hundred push-ups if she’d been at boot camp. But she couldn’t hide her fondness for the women arguing loudly in the front of the house as she kept speaking, her voice forceful. “And your sisters aren’t crazy. They’re wonderful. You should be proud to have them for family.”
“I am.”
His simple answer stopped her and made her flush. She couldn’t keep on overreacting and being this easily flustered around him. She’d managed herself well enough around the rest of his family. Well, except for his mother.
The fact that she was basically comfortable around everyone except the only man in the restaurant did not escape her.
I’ll get over it, Grace told herself.
I’ll have to.
“Sorry.” Her apology was awkward. “I just came in to ask if you had a price list for drinks.”
“Of course.” Tyler stood and reached out to a shelf above her head, abutting the door frame. He deliberately crowded her as he searched for the price list in the stack of papers piled haphazardly on the shelf. He waited for her to back up, and smiled to himself when she just glared up at him, those lake-blue eyes flashing with waves of irritation.
He’d left his door open a crack after walking off and leaving Grace to whip his sisters into shape as a waitstaff. He heard her unintentionally insult his mother and flinched in sympathy. And then, after a moment of silence during which he could somehow feel her take a deep breath and take charge, he heard his fragile, blond smart-ass launch into an entertaining and informative lecture on how to wait tables like a pro. After five minutes, he’d shut his office door and tackled the phone.
Now he listened to her making huffy little noises of irritation as he pretended to continue his search for a price list and he wanted to laugh out loud at what a bundle of nerves and brashness she was. Making a noise of sudden, pleased discovery, he exaggerated his relief at finding the laminated sheet of paper and sat again, handing it to her in the process.
“Thanks.” She started to glance over the list as she turned to go, then stopped short in the doorway.
“This isn’t going to work.”
“What isn’t going to work?” he asked, his voice sharper than he’d intended. He’d put a lot of thought into the pricing of his drinks, after all, searching for that delicate balance between maximizing profit and convincing the customer that he was getting a good deal. Ten years of serving drinks in someone else’s bar had taught him what worked and he knew his price list was exactly right for the house.
He saw Grace turn and glance guiltily at him, and wondered what misdeed she thought she’d performed now. When she brushed off his question with a shrug and an apology, he realized that she was afraid to point out to him something she didn’t agree with. He gentled his voice. Another of his goals was to be the kind of boss that employees felt comfortable talking to.
“It’s okay, Grace. I’m not going to be mad at you. If you’ve got a suggestion, let me have it. It’s our opening night, you know. I probably don’t have everything perfect yet.” He smiled to encourage her.
Grace fumed and kept the timid smile plastered across her face. Not until Tyler had snapped at her had she realized that she’d slipped and started talking to him as a restaurant manager would. That level of confidence and analysis would certainly be out of character for her cover story.
“No, you do. Have things perfect, I mean. The prices seem right-on
