Smart Mouth Waitress by Dalya Moon Read Free Book Online Page A

“That is a fact. And my name is Perry, short for Peridot.”
    “Perry. The smart mouth waitress.”
    The train whistle blew—the one that means there's a food order up. I didn't have to look to know it was the breakfast burgers for my three painters.
    “Thar she blows,” I said, and I turned to walk to the kitchen window, leaving a surprisingly flummoxed Marc behind me with his coffee.
    Now, you're probably way ahead of me here, and you've figured out exactly what went horribly wrong on Tuesday, besides Courtney getting ticked at me.
    Let's review the facts: I'd just had a rather dramatic hairstyle change, and I'd been wearing no makeup the day before. Coincidentally, Marc had gone from treating me rudely to suddenly being sweet and nice, as though I were a completely different person .
    The world filled up with water and I moved in slow motion, my feet thudding on the brown and black checkered floor. The skin of my face felt like it was trying to slide off my cheekbones in horror.
    As I reached the kitchen window, it all locked together. Marc had been friendly to me the day before because he thought I was a different person. He fell for a mirage, a character.
    As I loaded all three plates on my left arm and grabbed the ketchup with my right hand, I felt a flicker of anger in my belly.
    How dare he like a version of me that wasn't the real Perry?
    I peeked over at him, with his cute face and even cuter glasses. He had really good lips—not too thick or thin. They were the kind of lips you could imagine kissing, and, girls, you know what I mean.
    I dropped off the food for the three house painters, who were so hungry, they began grabbing for fries before the plates were even on the table. Normally, I would have said something about their manners, but my mind was elsewhere.
    Marc may have confused me for someone completely different, but now I wanted to be that girl. I wanted to kiss him. And what's more, I wanted to take off his glasses and invite him to touch me on my bathing-suit areas, where I'd never been touched before.
    You know how sometimes you don't realize how hungry you are and you order a Diet Coke, but when your friend's cheeseburger arrives, you are suddenly famished? That sweet look Marc had given me on Monday had been like … well, a whiff of cheeseburger.
    And I'd been hungry a long time.
    More people came in the front door—some singles for seating at the bar, as well as some four-tops. I got busy seating, serving, and sassing, relieved the morning rush was starting and I could lose myself in my work, not thinking about my personal life. Courtney worked her side, and soon we were deep in the magical flow of foodservice, trading off tasks and working as a team, dancing and weaving between the chairs, as graceful and entertaining as The Cirque du Soleil, except with airborne salt shakers instead of flaming sticks.
    I did not let my gaze pass anywhere near Marc, much less make eye contact with him.
    My solution to unwanted feelings for Marc was this: I wouldn't go to the art show that night, and he'd find a new Monday breakfast place, and that would be it for our torrid twenty-four-hour imagined affair.
    As for my pent-up feelings, one of the painter boys left me his business card with his cell phone number written on the back. I did have other options.

Chapter 5
    After our shift, Courtney and I sat at the back, counting our tips, and discussing what may have happened. She wasn't as sure about the identity mix-up as I was.
    She handed me a bag of red cinnamon hearts, which had been a Valentine's day gift from Britain, and told me to help myself as a favor to her, so she wouldn't eat them all.
    With the candies in my mouth, my appetite—for food, not boys—flared up with a vengeance. When you work in a restaurant, constantly smelling food, it messes with your head. You get so used to telling your hunger to shush now , because the fresh-strawberry-laden fruit salad is for a customer, and the