Forgotten Yesterday (2 page)

“Colin,” I half whine. “What about Rebecca?”

Leaning in close, he states in a low voice for only my ears, “You’re really the only one here I trust to do it right. I’m kind of begging you.”

“But I’m scheduled to close tomorrow night, too. That would be three nights in row.”

“What if I find someone to cover for you tomorrow night?”

“I’m not giving up my Saturday night shift. I need the money.”

“You don’t have to give up your shift. I would just find someone else to close tomorrow night. If I do that, would you be willing to help me out tonight?”

Any other time it wouldn’t be a huge deal for me to do Colin this favor, but I already made plans. I steal a glance to where Brian is working on the food prep line. I was looking forward to going out with him tonight, and after seeing Brent, I’d really like to give myself a distraction.
I think I could use one.

Brian angles his tall lean frame toward Jared, one of the chefs on the line, whispering something. Jared quirks his head and mouths, “Really?” Brian spares me a look and then shakes his head
yes
. Jared shrugs his shoulders and then says, “If you want.”

“Hey Colin,” Brian casually calls to us. “I’m closing for Jared tonight. Is that okay?”

Colin flips through his notebook, checking the schedule. “Yep. No problem.”

Brian and I share a look. He’s staying for me—because of me.
Looks like my evening plans have changed after all.

“Okay, Colin. I’ll do it. But tomorrow night, I’m not closing.”

“Thank you,” he says. “I really appreciate it. I’ll make sure you’re the first one off tomorrow night.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” I kid, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“Yeah, there’s no doubt in my mind about that. Thanks again, for staying.” He starts to wander out of the kitchen, scratching behind his ear.

“You’re welcome.”

Leaning back onto the tiled walled, I pull out my phone to check for any emails. There’s one from my cousin, Cody, with
Hey There
in the subject line. He doesn’t email often since his move, but checks in occasionally. I open and scan it for any important information.

Nothing new here. Shauna and I are coming down for a wedding in December. You should come up for Thanksgiving. I’ll buy you that Alterra Coffee, even though my coffee pot hates it. Dragon says hi. Let me know if we can plan on you for turkey. Oh, did you get our birthday present?

Cody

“Table 11 in the window,” Brian shouts.

“I got it,” I call out, closing down my phone and slipping it into my pocket. Setting up a tray, I load the plates. “Sorry about tonight, Brian. I was really looking forward to it.”

“No worries. Maybe we can get out of here before it’s too late and still head over for a drink. “

“Let’s hope.” I lift the tray onto my shoulder. “I bet we can at least make last call.”

“Well if not, we’ll do it another night then.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Backing up, I make my way through some coworkers waiting for the next order of food to come up.

Entering the dining room, the calm is welcomed after the bustle we experienced just an hour ago. It’s now ten, so the last seating has been made for dinner and we’re no longer taking walk-ins.

I beeline straight to Table 11 and serve them their entrees. After filing away the tray, I check on my tables to see how they’re doing. Three of the four are still contentedly eating, while one needs a few drinks from the bar. I put in their order and then proceed to the long granite-topped counter with brass trim to wait for the beverages to come up.

“Hey Pat,” I say, coming up to the end of the bar. “How’s your night been?”

“Not too shabby,” the fortysomething bartender replies in his thick Irish accent. He finishes adding soda to the High Ball glass. “How’d you handle the night?”

“We got slammed earlier and my table seatings were a mess for a while, but nothing too bad. The kitchen was in the weeds for a bit, though. Did you guys feel any of that?”

“Nope. Smooth as butta’ over here.” He sets a tray of drinks for a table in front of me. I pick up the slip and see that the order isn’t for any of my tables, so I leave it. “We had high turnover. If these last folks don’t stay too long, I’ll start getting everything ready for close real soon.”

“You closing tonight?”

“I close every Friday, you know that.”

“Yeah, I do. Just making conversation.” I spot Carl, a new bartender, at the end of the galley talking with some customers. “You should see if Carl would do it sometime. Give yourself a Friday night off.”

Crossing his arms over his waist, Pat leans against the granite ledge. “Maybe. Not sure I’d trust him, though. Look at him.” He gestures to Carl, whose hands are animatedly waving in the air. “He’s a fool.”

“He’s just having fun,” I giggle. “The customers seem to like him. They seem to be very enamored with him right now.”

“Just cause you can talk
fitbaw
doesn’t mean you can make a good drink. Or close a bar either. That boy be lucky to tie his shoes some days.”

“Didn’t you hire him?”

“Yeah, I had to. He’s my nephew, which makes it worse since I know what a real idiot he is.”

Hiding my laughter, I drop my chin and tighten the strap of my apron around my waist.

“You think it’s funny?” he asks, not amused.

“It’s just pouring beers and mixing stuff. And what does football have to do with any of it?”

“Nothing. That’s my point, girlie. But he sure took to those footy boys at the bar. Been chatting with them and no one else for almost a half hour. We do have other customers.”

Glancing down the long counter again, I take in the sight of Carl laughing and high fiving two men seated together. He snaps his head in our direction and immediately wipes away his boisterous grin when Pat gives him a knowing glare. I wink his way, hoping he doesn’t get too discouraged by Pat. There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun at work as far as I’m concerned. Working with customers can be so stressful and it’s nice when you can let loose a little. I’ve worked with guys like Pat in the past. They’re really dedicated to their job, but sometimes have trouble connecting with each new generation. He and I get along fine, though. Maybe it’s because I don’t act like an idiot. At least I don’t anymore.

The two men chatting with Carl at the bar curiously look our way, and my heart stills.
Brent
.
Of course
. That’s what Pat was talking about when he mentioned the footy boys. He meant soccer, not the Bears game.

“Excuse me, Pat,” I say, focused on Brent. “I’ll be right back.”

As slow as possible, I place one foot in front of the other bringing myself closer to the man I physically ran from not too long ago. Each step feels like an exhausting mile. The pounding in my chest drums out louder, like a marching beat, with each narrowing inch. I attempt not to fidget, not smooth my apron, not finger through my hair, and keep my hands at my sides. Every lack of movement is torture on my nerves.
He’s just part of your past and everyone has one.

Brent twists the stool around when I come to a stop, standing between he and the blond gentleman who was at the table with him before. I steady my breath as it catches in my throat and hope he doesn’t notice.

He looks the same, but different. Better and
god help me
hotter.

Leaning back, Brent sets his elbows on the armrests and clasps his hands together.

“Hi,” he offers. A smirk plays around his features and his flirty dimple is already working its magic.
Fuck you, dimple.

“Hi, Brent. Sorry about not talking with you earlier. We were really busy.”

“No, I get it.” His mouth tightens and his knee moves up and down, nervously. He signals to the man sitting beside him. “Ruby, this is Johan.”

Johan circles around in his seat.

“Nice to meet you, Johan,” I say, shaking his hand.

“Ruby and I—” Brent starts.

“Went to high school together,” I interrupt, stiffly.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Johan says, accent thick. He then turns back around and begins chatting with Carl some more. Carl gives me a measured look and then focuses his attention back on the blond.

“So what are you doing in Chicago?” I ask Brent.

“We have a match on Sunday against Chicago Fire. Final game of the season.”

“An international game?”

“It’s not international. I don’t play for Sweden anymore. Johan and I both play for L.A. I joined them over a year ago.”

He’s been back in the States for over a year?

“Oh, I had no idea.”

“Well, we kind of lost touch,” he says with slight accusation.

“Yeah. I guess we did.” I wisp back the strands of hair falling out near my ear. “So how long are you here for?”

“Just a few more days.”

“The team is heading back on Monday,” Johan adds, apparently listening in.

“Any other plans while you’re in town?” I ask, making friendly conversation, like nothing ever happened. It doesn’t matter. It was so long ago. We’ve both moved on. He has a whole life I don’t even know about.

“Not really. Mostly just team practices until the match. It’s more of a quick trip. Playoff games start next week.”

“Oh. Sounds like you guys are pretty busy, then.”

“A little.”

Brent looks at me in expectation.

Not sure what else to say, I glance behind me, letting my eyes wander at anything but him. I don’t want to seem overly interested, even though my brain is dying to know everything about what he’s been up to for the last four years. Not to mention, the obvious—
Is he seeing anyone?

It’s not healthy to know any of it. I’ve already let him go, and the less I understand about him the easier it will be to forget he was even here.
But I can’t help thinking about everything we’ve been through.

Everyone’s life has major events and he’s linked with my biggest tragedy.

Time to cut this off, now.

“Well, I should get back to work.” I reach behind my back, tightening my apron.

Brent lets out a small gust of air, drawing my attention to his mouth.
Damn you, soft lips.

Tilting in Johan’s direction, I say, “It was nice meeting you.”

“You too.” He nods.

“Brent.” I pause, openly taking in what I decide to be my final look at him,
ever
. “It was good to see you.”

“You too.” His hand reaches out to mine, squeezing it gently, causing the blood in my veins to send a flashing pulse of urgency. Involuntarily, my fingers apply pressure to his and his eyes dilate slightly. I see it. And then words, unspoken words, pass between us.

Regret.

Longing.

Take care.

What if?

“Bye,” I breathe, releasing my hand from his.

I leave, not allowing myself even a last tempting glimpse of what’s behind me.

I count each step.

They are heavy.

Seventeen.

I enter the kitchen.

Don’t go back
.

Three

After seeing Brent, I spent a lot of energy thinking about him, trying not to think about him, and avoiding the bar. Eventually though, I made another pass by the bar only to find that he and Johan had left. 

It’s late and the restaurant is closed and I’m the only server left. I’m exhausted, physically and mentally. It’s been a whirlwind evening of customers, expected and unexpected.

The dining room is empty and the tables are clean. As part of my duties as closing server, I check everyone’s sections and all of the side service stations. The place appears to be in good order.

Making my way back to the office, I remove my apron, unbutton the top of my blue blouse, and let my hair out of its bun. It falls down the length of my back and I toss it a little, so it covers my shoulders. In the small back room, I spot Colin at his desk going through the night’s numbers. Knocking gently, I alert him of my presence before entering.

“Dining room’s set and here’s my report for the night,” I say, holding out my pile of receipts. 

Focused on the computer screen at his desk, he takes the pieces of paper into his hand and says, “Thanks.”

Plopping down in the seat next to the desk, I wait as he goes over my night’s till.

“Any cash sales?” he asks.

“No. Nobody pays in cash anymore.”

“I know, but we’re required to ask.” He shuffles through each of my sales receipts, making sure all of the numbers line up. He fastens them together with a paperclip and then sets them into a pile with some others. “Looks good. You’re all set.”

“Don’t you need to check out the front of the house before I log out?”

“No, not really,” he sighs. “But I will because I’m supposed to.”

Standing up, Colin stuffs his hands into his pockets and leads us out into the dining area. We go through each separate section briefly, making sure that every table is pristine, clean, and set for tomorrow night’s service. Entering into the final mahogany-walled room, Colin stops at the entry.

“It all looks good,” he says, angling in my direction. “So, did you hear that Olivia is leaving?”

“Yeah, I did. She’s moving, right?”

“She is. Going out west to be with her family.”

“That makes sense. She mentioned that her mother’s health wasn’t so good.”

“No, I guess it isn’t. She’ll be gone in two weeks and we’re currently looking for another manager.” He rubs his chin with his fingertips. “Do you think you might be interested?”

“In what? The manager position?”

“Yes. You’re more than qualified and I think you’d do really well here.”

Biting my lip, I focus on my feet, thinking about the proposition. I’m sure the money is good, but the hours and expectations would likely increase and get in the way of what I’m striving to do. Coming back to Chicago has one purpose and I can’t lose sight of that.