Changing Scenes (Changing Teams #2) (5 page)

Chapter Seven

Donnie

I got to the restaurant a little after six in the morning and unloaded the van. No one else had come in yet, and I liked my alone time in the kitchen, setting everything up just so. It was one of the reasons I liked going to the market myself, so I could come back and organize things while the place was quiet.

Of course, usually I got back from the market around three, which meant that after unloading I still had plenty of time to go home, grab a shower, and a couple hours of sleep. Even though Astrid and I hadn’t lingered too long at the market or over breakfast, I didn’t know if I had a spare hour before the day’s deliveries arrived; extra deliveries, since we had that holiday brunch happening later on. I figured I’d catch a quick nap in Christa’s office, deal with the deliveries, start the meat roasting, and then head home to shower. Not my best plan, but I’ve had worse. Way worse.

Once the seafood was happy in the walk-in cooler, I went to the office and lay down on the couch. As I did I remembered Astrid’s smile, the way she kissed me, and how good her butt had looked in those jeans. Who cares about missing a few hours of sleep when a woman like her is concerned?

***

“Donnie.”

I blinked awake and saw Christa standing over me. “Morning,” I croaked. “Daylight yet?”

“Yeah.” She looked over my rumpled clothes, her gaze lingering on my jaw. Not going home for a shower meant no shaving either. “I’m just going to be blunt here—you look like a homeless person.”

“Hey,” I protested as I sat up.

Christa waved her hand in front of her face. “And you smell like one.” She eyed me for a second, then asked, “Are you hung over or something?”

“No, I am not hung over,” I grumbled. “I went to the fish market last night. I didn’t get back until a couple hours ago and figured I’d grab a nap before setting up for the buffet.”

Christa nodded. “Was the market busy?”

“Nah. Pretty light, actually.”

“Then why so late?”

“Oh, ah.” I stood and rubbed the back of my neck. “Remember Britt Sullivan’s friend, Astrid? I took her with me, then we had breakfast. I kind of lost track of time.”

Christa raised an eyebrow, then she laughed. “All right, Romeo. Why don’t you go home and make yourself presentable?”

“Romeo?” I repeated. “And do I have time for that, what with the brunch and all?”

“We’ll make time,” she replied. “In your present state you’re not fit to touch people’s food. Especially not today, when we’re sold out for brunch.”

“That’s just mean,” I said. “I’ll remember this the next time you pop in after a day of gardening with manure under your fingernails.”

“You do that. Now go.”

“Thanks, boss.” I left the office and headed toward the parking lot, grateful that my boss was Christa. Most wouldn’t be half as understanding.

“Hey, Romeo,” she called after me.

“Yeah?”

“Is she worth it? The lack of sleep, and the unholy stench that comes with it?”

I grinned over my shoulder. “You bet she is.”

***

Less than an hour later a showered, shaved, and much better smelling version of myself was ready to head back to the restaurant. I got in my Jeep and put the key in the ignition, but instead of starting the engine I grabbed my phone. After thumbing through the contacts I found Astrid’s number and hit call.

“Hey,” she yawned into the phone.

“You sleepy?”

“I’m frickin’ exhausted. Some crazy chef kept me out all night,” she replied. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Man, until she started talking I hadn’t realized how much I wanted to hear her voice again. I could spend all day just listening to her. “I called you my girl earlier.”

“I remember.”

“You okay with that?”

“Yeah.” I could hear her smiling. “I am.”

“Good.” I sat there by myself, grinning like a fool. Then I remembered the hundred and twenty reservations for the brunch I was supposed to be cooking. “Listen, I’ve got to get to work. You got anything planned for later?”

“I have a session, but it will be over around four. Text me when you get home?”

“I will, babe.”

“Bye for now.”

She ended the call and I started the engine and drove back to work. I was going to have to get used to not sleeping on Thursday nights.

Chapter Eight

Astrid

After my late night/early morning with Donnie, I grabbed what rest I could in anticipation of my shoot that afternoon. It was supposed to be a low key session, just some outdoor shots in the city for some national department store chain. I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower around nine. When I emerged and checked the missed calls on my phone and saw one from Archer Modeling Agency, I knew without checking my voicemails the session had been cancelled.

“I don’t know why it’s been cancelled,” Mindy’s voice said into the phone. “The client cancelled a different session last week, so maybe they have some internal trouble? I’ll keep you posted.”

I deleted the voice mail and turned my phone off, then I went into my kitchen. After microwaving a mug of tea, I took stock of my cabinets. My dry goods consisted of dried soup, crackers, and granola bars. My fridge contained sliced turkey, orange juice, seltzer, and one of those fancy water filtration pitchers, and the freezer had a couple frozen meals. Since I didn’t know if I wanted to expend the energy to go out and charge groceries on my last remaining bit of open credit, I went back to bed.

Of course, all that quality time with my pillow meant that I was up with the sun on Saturday, the start of the most boring weekend of my life. Britt and Sam were off looking at possible studio locations, Melody was spending time with her family, and Michael had some new boy toy occupying all of his time. I considered going out and doing some window shopping, but staring at designer clothes without being able to purchase them is just depressing. With my luck an enterprising salesperson would convince me to open yet another store credit account, and dig me deeper into debt.

That hole was deep enough, thank you very much.

Since my finances, or lack thereof, had doomed me to spend my weekend in my apartment, I was determined to make the most of it. I organized my closets, moved my spring and summer clothes to the guest bedroom and set up my cool weather items. I put together several outfits, complete with shoes and jewelry. I finished that overhaul by noon on Saturday. Since my apartment was already spotless I couldn’t binge clean, and I lacked both the desire and ingredients to cook, I reread my favorite romance series.

Needless to say when Monday morning arrived I was thrilled to have my first full shift at Al’s. Normally, I would have styled my hair and glammed up my makeup, but I was no fool. I understood that at a place like Al’s you didn’t want to be too attractive. I was also hoping that none of the patrons recognized me from my real career. The last thing I needed were fans talking about my new job. What if that talk got back to my agency? I would die before I let John know how much these cancellations had hurt me.

I arrived at Al’s with my hair up in a high ponytail, no makeup, and wearing a blue sweater, jeans, and running shoes. Al took one look at me, asked if I always dressed like the Queen of England, and jerked his head toward a tall skinny redhead.

“I’m Padraic,” the redhead said, “Al’s son. I take it you’re Astrid, our new waitress.”

“I am.” I grabbed my apron from the cubby where I’d stashed it after the hour I’d worked last week. “I’m just supposed to take orders and deliver them, no mixing drinks or anything, right?”

“No mixing,” Padraic replied. He eyed me for a moment, and asked, “You’re not surprised we have so many drinkers on a Monday at eleven a.m.?”

I shrugged. “I’ve seen weirder.”

Padraic laughed. “You’ll do just fine here.”

***

Despite Padraic’s confidence, at the end of my shift I didn’t feel fine.

I’d only been there for three hours, but my feet ached, my legs burned, and, thanks to the professional drunk at table three, my left side was soaked in the cheapest draft beer we offered. I was going to have to boil myself to get rid of these germs.

I stomped into the office and saw Padraic at the desk, hunched over some paperwork. “How’d it go?” he asked.

“I changed my mind. I don’t know if I’ve seen weirder.” I launched into a description of the lunatics I’d been forced to interact with, when Padraic held up his hand.

“First of all, I know,” he said. “They’re our regulars.”

I crossed my arms. “You need a bouncer.”

“Tell me about it,” he said with a grin. “How much did you make?”

“No idea,” I said, scooping wads of cash out of my apron’s pouch. I hadn’t paid any attention to the tips, other than to keep them away from the mysterious sticky puddles that appeared on all the horizontal surfaces in that place. By the time I was done straightening out the bills, I was in shock.

“One hundred twenty-three dollars,” I said. With that kind of cash, I could take a cab home, shower, go out to lunch, and have money left over to get a few things for my apartment. “Is this typical for the lunch shift?”

“Nah. On weekends you’ll make a lot more.” Padraic handed me a manila envelope, and I stuffed my cash inside. “See you tomorrow, same time?”

“You bet.”

***

I skipped the cab ride home; it wasn’t too far of a walk, and I didn’t want to blow all my cash in one day. Ha! When did I get frugal?

I stopped in a drugstore and picked up a few necessities, along with some coffee and yogurt for tomorrow’s breakfast. Then I stopped at a bodega and purchased some bananas, a few cups of instant soup, and a turkey sandwich. Living high on the hog, that was me.

I’d just left the bodega when a text came through.

Donato: Happy Monday, babe.

Astrid: Happy Monday to you, Mr. Chef.

Donato: What’s the most beautiful girl in NY doing?

Astrid: Shopping. Trying to decide on dinner.

Donato: Ha ha, me too. Can I call you when I get home?

Astrid: Of course.

I slid my phone into my back pocket and smiled. I had cash in my pocket, food in my bags, and I was going to talk to Donnie later. This waitressing job was suiting me in more ways than one.

Chapter Nine

Astrid

My Tuesday shift at Al’s Place was much like Monday’s, with one notable exception—I made even more money, a total of one hundred fifty-four dollars to be exact. It was nowhere near what I’d make at a shoot, but it was pretty good for three hours of delivering warm, tasteless beer to people who should be doing things other than drinking.

Britt called just as I was leaving the bar and invited me to lunch. After I stopped by my apartment for a shower and change of clothes, I met her at Catalonia, also known as Sam and Britt’s love nest.

“You make it sound like we did it on the bar,” Britt said, when I told her my nickname for Catalonia. “All he did was return my jacket.”

“And you two spent how many hours here afterward?” I asked. “Drinking wine and eating oysters and such?”

“Shut up,” Britt said, tossing her napkin at me. “Anyway, Sam and I looked at a ton of places for our studio. We even looked at some land a little ways north of the city.”

“Plain old land?” I asked. “Would that be for outdoor sessions?”

“For us to build on,” Britt replied. “You know, a custom studio from scratch.”

“Wouldn’t that be expensive?” In my opinion, a ready-made building would be cheaper, and easier, to obtain.

“Sam thinks building our own place might be a good option,” Britt explained, and launched into a cost benefit analysis complete with possible tax implications. All this talk of expenses got me thinking about my own, so I grabbed my phone and accessed the calculator. If I made at least one hundred per shift, times three shifts per week, I’d have enough for Visa Number One and Number Two’s payment, with some cash left over for—

“Texting Donnie?” Britt asked with a smirk.

“Maybe.” Normally I was straight up with Britt about everything, but I didn’t want her knowing about my side job. I mean, since it was a temporary gig until John unwound and started booking me again, soon enough there’d be nothing to tell.

“I can’t believe he took you to a midnight market,” Britt said. “That’s so romantic.”

I wrinkled my nose. “You would have liked it there, all weird seafood and funky shelled creatures.”

“Would you do it again?”

Before I could reply, a text came through.

Donato: Babe.

Astrid: Yes?

Donato: Miss you.

Astrid: Miss you too.

Britt leaned across the table, read Donnie’s and my mushy exchange and smiled. “Aww, you miss each other.”

“Oh, hush,” I said, but I was smiling when I said it. “Like you’re not missing Sam right now.”

“Of course I miss him,” Britt said. “But Sam’s the love of my life. Donnie’s fresh meat and all.”

“Fresh meat?” I repeated, and Britt laughed. “I’m so telling him you said that.”

“You know what I mean,” Britt said. “So, you like him? Going to see him again?”

“Yes, and yes,” I replied. I swiped to my pictures, and to the one of him and me taken right before we left the fish market. Even though it had been freezing, and we were both exhausted, we were grinning ear to ear. I slid my phone toward Britt, and said, “This is us at ugly o’clock, on our way to get some breakfast.”

“You look happy,” Britt said. “Happier than I’ve seen you in a while.”

I bit my lip; were my problems changing me? Was I really so obvious? “Yeah, he makes me happy,” I said, and realized it was the truth. Donnie made me very happy. “Maybe as happy as Sam makes you.”

Britt raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

I looked at the picture of him and me again, and smiled. “Yeah, really.”