“Fashion,” all the women, even Britt, said aloud at once.
That was as cryptic a word as you could say to Glenn.
“I was so much happier when I didn’t know that,” he muttered. “If young women have that much time on their hands, they should learn a useful skill, like plumbing, or Olympic pole vaulting, or knitting. Orwaitressing,” he said meaningfully.
But not without sympathy. It’s just that Glenn always thought that being useful was the cure for anything that ailed you.
Britt numbly shifted herself. She couldn’t quite feel her limbs, but they seemed to be doing what they ought to do. She dutifully moved from table to table. She probably wrote down orders. She couldn’t remember any of it.
Time ceased to move normally. The afternoon was a desert now. A barren, J. T.-less wasteland.
And when it became clear that he wasn’t coming back, Britt started to bump into things. Like a broken toy.
Maybe... maybe he’d been expecting Rebecca all along.
It was so counter to everything she thought she knew about the man that her mind all but ejected it violently.
And yet she’d been profoundly wrong about a man once before.
And eventually Glenn cleared away J. T.’s table as if he were cleaning out a deceased loved one’s closet.
And instead of excited murmurs and speculation, which is what one would expect after what was probably the most famous movie star in the world had strolled in and then out with another famous movie star, the Misty Cat remained almost funereally quiet, apart from clinks of silverware on the plate. Her tips were a little larger than usual, too.
This tender solicitousness managed to reach in through the numbness. Shewastouched. She knew this was because they had all been rooting for her and J. T. And just a few weeks ago she didn’t think anyone gave a whole lot of thought to her at all.
She wondered how many of them anticipated this as the inevitable end.
It was, appropriately enough, like something out of a bad movie.
Her phone rang and she gave a start. And just like that, her heart boomeranged between joy and fury.
It was J. T.
It rang and it rang.
And it rang.
Fury won.
She stabbed it to voice mail.
The sun was cruel to nearly everyone today, high and hot as a blow dryer aimed straight into the face.
Cruel to everyone, that was, except Rebecca. She looked spectacular in any light.
J. T. aggressively pushed his sunglasses onto his face. As far as he was concerned, looking at her head on was like looking into an eclipse.
“What the hell are you doing here? And where’s your bodyguard, Rebecca? Aren’t you usually flanked by a couple of brutes these days?”
“Hello to you, too, Johnny. You look great! Not even an air kiss? No? Fine. Don’t you have a black belt now? Something else you did in your downtime? I told them to stay at home and you’d look after me.”
“That was presumptuous as hell.”
“When have I been otherwise?”
Fair point.
“How did you know I was at the Misty Cat? And what the hell are you doing here in Hellcat Canyon?”