“It’s my fault, I’m in the way.”

“No, he doesn’t really care. He’s just pissed about running at practice that’s why he’s moving his truck closer to the locker room. Lazy ass. ”

“Makes sense, I think.”

“I guess. I’ll see you tomorrow then, Kinsley.”

I nod my head. “Thanks again. Bye, Rhett.”

THE DINNER RUSH is just settling down when a group of punks from the freshman class stroll into my section and plop down in the corner booth. Of course my biggest table is given to bad tippers. Still, I saunter over to them like I’m thrilled to see my new customers. “My name’s Kinsley, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. What can I get you boys to drink?”

“She’s taking care of us tonight guys, you hear that?” The kid closest to me says, as he jabs his friend in the ribs. They all high five each other like they’re about to get laid for the first time.

“What’s your specialty?” Another asks, bringing on a second round of childish cackles.

There’s so much I could say—so much I want to say, but I remain ever the professional while they ogle me like I’m on the menu. I’ve dealt with kids like them more times than I can count. It used to bother me, but now, I’ve learned to either ignore it or dish it back. It’s not like they’re going to spare any of their allowance for my tip, anyway.

“Do you know what you want to drink?” I ask, one more time, but still, there’s no sense of urgency from them.

“What’s your rush, little lady? You have all night to take care of us. This place is open twenty-four hours.”

I point to the name tag pinned to my shirt. “My name is Kinsley. Please use it. And nobody has that kind of time. Besides, I wouldn’t want your mothers coming in here after you. Now last chance for drinks. I have other customers.”

After a collective round of, “I’ll take a coke,” I walk away, satisfied that I won that round.

I take my time filling their glasses, wishing I could dump a little something extra in them, but that’s not how I operate. I may get treated poorly, but I never seek revenge.

After I set their glasses in front of them, they reach for their straws, shooting the wrappers in my face. “Do you know what you want to eat?”

“I’ll take a side of you,” the one in the corner says, not learning from the first time I put them in their place.

“Sorry, I don’t hook up with little boys.”

“None of us are little,” he retorts with a smug grin on his face. They’re the type to sit around measuring their manhood, too. It’s how I know they definitely are little. You don’t need to measure something that speaks for itself.

“You’re freshmen, so cut the crap and order.”

“Does your boss know you talk to customers like that? We can tell on you, ya know.”

“Does your mother know you talk to older girls like that?”

They all roll their eyes, and before long they finally tell me what they actually want to eat. I’m typing the order into the computer for the kitchen staff when Betty, the owner who is more like a grandma than boss, reaches in the basket next to me for another handful of rolled silverware. “I sat another one in your section, honey. You’re full, but the handsome devil requested you, so I couldn’t very well put him in another section.”

“That’s okay. I need the money. My car’s in the shop again. Brian took it home with him when his shift ended.”

“You work so hard for a girl your age. I hate that you got dealt a bad hand, Kinsley. Most kids in this town don’t care about jobs or money, and here you are, working your hind end off for me without having to be told twice.”

“Betty, we’ve been over this. I have no other choice. I need to save as much money as I can, which hasn’t been easy because my car won’t stop breaking down.”

Next thing I know, she’s opening the register, pulling money out and shoving it in my pocket. “What are you doing?”

“What I should have done long ago. Take it, and don’t say another word about it. You’ve never missed a shift in the two years you’ve worked here. You take on extra ones when I ask, even when I don’t. And you skip your free meal more times than you eat it. I owe you, Kinsley. Let me do this for you.”

“But, Betty.” I’ve never accepted a handout in my life. I’ve always paid my own way no matter how tight I had to pinch my pennies.

“Not another word. My daughter didn’t stick around after graduation, and you remind me so much of her. She had big dreams, too. Just like you. Now she lives clear across the world with a family of her own. We don’t get to see each other more than once a year, so my staff is my family now. You’re my family, Kinsley.”

“I don’t know how to thank you,” I whisper, as I finger the wad of bills inside my pocket. It feels wrong to accept such a generous gift which is why I’ve already decided to pay her back once I have the money. I’m in such a tight spot, I have to accept her generosity.

She pats the top of my hand with her wrinkled one. With rings on every finger, and enough costume jewelry wrapped around her wrists and neck to open a boutique, she’s the closest thing to a grandmother I have. “Breathe, honey. You’ll get through this. You always do.”

“Thank you, Betty. I mean it. Thank you.”

She smiles and hands me a basket of bread for my new table. “Not another word about it. Now, go wait on that handsome devil.”

He must be good looking to get her excited. She usually can’t stand most of the teenagers that come in here, but those she does like, she treats well.

I grab a plate of butter for the bread, and walk to my table. I almost toss the entire basket on the floor when I realize my next customer is none other than Rhett.

He looks up from his menu, just as I stop next to his table. “Hi.” I skip the rest of my normal introduction, setting the bread down before I drop it. “What would you like to drink?”

“Kinsley,” he says with a shy smile. “You don’t have to wait on me. I feel bad making you work.”

Even though I’m curious as to why he came here, tonight of all nights, I tell him, “I’m here to work. I don’t mind.”

He stares at his menu, but hands it back to me. “I’m so lame. I already ate dinner at home.” He ducks his head as he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. And then he pierces me with his gorgeous green eyes. “I was looking for an excuse to see you tonight.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, pathetic. Huh?”

I shake my head, but before I can tell him I’ve been thinking about him too, a spitball sails from a straw, pelting me on the side of my face. “Seriously?” I grumble. “Those little punks are on my last nerve.”

Rhett pushes his chair back, but before he can stand up, I hold out my arm to stop him. “I’ll handle it.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

He scoots his chair back under the table, but gives the freshmen a look so menacing, they cower in the corner of the booth.

“They’re mad at me. I guess spitballs are the only form of revenge their pea-sized brains can come up with.”

“Why are they mad?”

“For not swooning when they tried to hit on me with their pimply charm.”

He laughs and reaches into the basket for a roll. “So, I shouldn’t take any notes from them?”

“None, but I’ll stop rambling about them. Are you sure you don’t want anything? A drink, at least?”

“I’m in no rush. How about a root beer.”

“You got it.”

“Oh wait, apple pie, too. Betty’s is the best.”

“It’s my favorite.”

I’m almost certain he stares at my butt the entire way to the kitchen where I hand his order to the cook. I load my tray with the hooligans’ food along with Rhett’s drink and pie, and as I was expecting, they’re all laughing when I get back to their table. They think they’re clever changing seats to try to mess me up. Thankfully, unlike them, I have a brain between my ears. “Do you boys need anything else?”