Finally he smiled slowly and crookedly, as if he couldn’t help it.
Glory’s heart seemed to sort of obsequiously roll over on its back.
“What’s that name tag for, Glory?” Eli said finally. “I would have thought a warning label would be more appropriate. Something like, ‘contents under pressure’ or ‘handle at your own risk.’”
She wouldnotblush.
“Ha. This is my job. People need to be able to call me something when they want refills on their coffee. Hence—” She wagged a finger to and fro at the name tag.
There was a beat of silence.
“You’re workingherenow?” His eyebrows dove.
There ensued a strange little moment where he was clearly trying to get a grip on a number of conflicting emotions, one of them amusement, another confusion before the blandly non-judgmental expression he was clearly aiming for was able to settle in.
“I can be a waitress,” she said defensively.
He pressed his lips together.
She was becoming less and less certain that this was true. Given that the rich pageant of her personal history kept coming in the door.
“I’m so sorry,” Eli said suddenly, remembering the blonde. “I’m being rude. Bethany Walker, this is Glory Greenleaf. Glory, this is Bethany Walker. Her grandmother is Mrs.Wilberforce.”
“Mrs.Wilberforce at Heavenly Shores? With the rhododendrons and the grand prizes?” How had this come about?
“Yep, that’s her, Glory! Gosh, I love small towns,” Bethany gushed. “Everyone knows everything about everybody.”
“Yeah,” Glory said flatly. “That’s what’s so great about them.”
Bethany was willowy and delicate featured, and she had big, brown, friendly eyes, like a cocker spaniel’s, skillfully mascaraed lashes, and the most symmetrical eyebrows Glory had ever seen. She thrust out a hand to shake, and Glory took it. Her manicure was flawless.
Her handbag was quite stylish, a floppy orange leather number that spoke volumes to Glory’s color-loving heart, and her hair was about fifteen exquisitely nuanced shades of blond, only about one of which was natural, if Glory had to guess. Casey Carson would know.
“I’m one of the freelance makeup artists onThe Rush,” Bethany volunteered. “I’ll be staying here in town while they film a few scenes on location.”
Eli was still staring at Glory. And then his face transformed, as if he’d finally figured out what was bugging him.
“What’s... going on with your hair?”
“It’s just a braid. Jeez,” she added. Like a ten-year-old.
“You look about ten years old. And a little alarmed.”
That would be due to the upraised eyebrows.
“That’s not whatIwas thinking atall,” Franco volunteered from over her shoulder. “And I’m ready to order, Glory.”
Glory turned a smile toward Franco. “Oh my goodness. My apologies, Mr.Francone.”
“No worries, Glory. I’m happy to wait for you. Or waitonyou. Or even open the passenger side door of my Porsche for you.”
He grinned to let her know he knew this was smarmy as hell. She grinned back.
She turned back to Eli and his... “date.” Even in her head she put that word in quotes. As if she could make it less real that way. Though it was pretty clear that’s what this was.
She was surprised to see that Eli’s face had gone thunderous and almost pensive. It was a familiar expression. She realized it was very similar to the one he’d been wearing when he’d threatened to break Leather Vest in half.
She suspected, exultantly, it had to do with Franco Francone.