“Are you kidding? You’re waiting on my own version of a dream team there.” She shot a lustful look toward my zone.

Understanding dawned on me at seeing her hooded eyes. “Of course.” Her next fascination was sitting at the table. For a horrible moment I wondered if it was Dalton. Not that it should matter. Dalton wasn’t mine. He never had been.

I returned to their table with their food, resolved to make the best of the situation.

“So, how have you been?” Dalton asked as I dished out their plates. “It’s been ages since we had a chance to talk.”

“I guess some of us just got busy.” My answer had a little more snap, despite my intent to play it cool.

He frowned, rubbing a hand over his head. It was a habit I remembered him doing when we were kids. It meant he was confused. “Yeah, I guess so.”

I excused myself, telling them I would be back in a few minutes to refill their drinks.

Somehow I managed to keep it together for the rest of the service. I checked on them a few times and inquired about dessert, but I could barely suppress the pent-up breath I’d been holding when they paid their checks and headed out.

After Gruby’s finally closed for the evening, I spent the last hour of my shift doing side work and cleaning the restaurant with Amanda and Chuck while Chris headed to the office to take care of whatever managers did. Chuck handled the kitchen and prepared a bucket of water for Amanda, who tried to bribe me into taking her turn at mopping. Throughout our closing duties, I finally learned that Amanda had set her sights on Collin. I didn’t know anything about him other than having just served him, but Amanda was absolutely gaga.

Once the restaurant was prepped for the following day, we all headed out together. Amanda followed me to my car since I was her ride home. She was from sunny Phoenix and had chosen to leave her car with her parents while she attended school in Michigan. I’d become her unofficial chauffeur after we became friends. I didn’t mind as long as she didn’t complain about Lucy, my car. Lucy was old and had been labeled a piece of crap by Earl, the mechanic I’d been taking her to for years. “Don’t call her that,” I had to chastise him every time I took Lucy for an oil change. “You’ll hurt her feelings. She may be older than all the other cars you work on, but she’s the toughest,” I’d point out, patting her rusty hood. I loved Lucy. I purchased her after I turned sixteen. I logged more hours at Denny’s than I cared to think about and even fit in some babysitting jobs on the side, all so I could buy Lucy free and clear. She might not be as pretty as she once was, but she sure as hell was reliable. I’d kick anyone’s ass that dared to argue.

“Gaaaaaaaaah, what is with the heat in this car?” Amanda wrapped a scarf around her neck and face until only her eyes and forehead were visible. I should have expected her to complain considering the frigid nighttime temperature.

I fiddled with the controls, hoping to coax a little more heat from the vents to pacify her. “You mean Lucy, and she doesn’t want to spoil you.” Lucy was a bit temperamental when it came to certain things, like heat and air-conditioning. Both wheezed from her vents like she was struggling to breathe. Earl claimed it was because she was going to drop dead at any moment. He’d been saying it for years, so I didn’t put much stock in his words. Deep down I think he liked Lucy.

By the time I pulled up to Amanda’s dorm building on the east end of campus, Lucy was slightly warmer than the current temperature outside, but Amanda’s teeth were still chattering. “I’m buying a blanket to keep in here.”

“It could be worse. You could be freezing your ass off waiting for the bus,” I reminded her, smiling sweetly as she stuck out her tongue before slamming the door so it would close properly. Lucy was a bit temperamental about that, too.

Whipping a U-turn, I headed toward Hamilton Street, where I shared a house with my friends Indy, Misha, and Chloe. We’d been strangers when we all moved into the cute house, but we quickly found out how well we meshed.

All the lights except the living room appeared to be off at Hamilton House, which was the name we christened our abode with when we moved in. (I wasn’t the only one who liked to name inanimate objects.) I pulled into the driveway, parking Lucy in my usual spot in front of the house, and got out to trudge through the foot of snow that had been too stubborn to melt since Mother Nature dumped it on us the previous week. I slid my key into the lock and stomped the snow from my boots before quietly pushing the door open. It was almost one a.m., which was the only downfall to working at Gruby’s. Thankfully my earliest classes were at ten on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The other days I didn’t have anything until noon, so I was able to get some sleep in.

Misha was on the couch reading a thick novel with her boyfriend’s head in her lap as I quietly closed the front door behind me. “Hey,” she greeted me softly after sticking a bookmark between the pages.

“Hey, what are you guys doing up so late? Don’t you have class at like eight tomorrow morning?” Placing my gloves and hat in the pockets, I hung my heavy pea coat on the rack by the door, draping my scarf on the hook along with it. It was a routine Mom had trained me into years ago after I kept coming home with either my hat or one of my mittens missing. Raising a kid on a shoestring budget meant every cent counted, so lost mittens and hats were never a good thing. Mom had a good job that she loved at the Department of Children and Families, but the pay sucked. Still she had always managed to stretch the money so I never went without. Not that designer clothes or electronic gadgets ever showed up under our Christmas tree, but I never missed them. I admired Mom greatly for the work she did. Lots of kids were less fortunate than I was.

“The class was canceled, so I figured I’d catch up on a little reading. I’ve been dying to finish this new novel.” She stroked a hand over Darryn’s forehead, gently waking him.

“Lucky you. I wish one of my classes would get canceled. Professor Zeal is trying pretty damned hard to ruin early American history for me. He couldn’t be any more boring if he decided to start showing bowling videos in class. His voice is the most monotone thing I’ve ever heard.”

Misha chuckled as Darryn opened his eyes and grinned sleepily at me. “Consider it future practice for when you’re poring over classic art or whatever other things you would do as a museum curator.”

“But that won’t be boring. That will be—” My words ended with a sigh. My lifelong dream of working in an art museum seemed distant at the moment. Getting through the required classes had become daunting. Who knew history professors would be so freaking boring?

“Don’t worry. You got this. You ready for bed, babe?” she asked Darryn, rising from the couch and reaching down to help him up. He stretched and yawned before draping an arm across Misha’s shoulders, pulling her close. “Are you heading to bed, too?”

“Yeah, after I wash the fried food stench off me.” She clicked off the lamp in the living room as I walked away, waving.

The sounds of smooching filled the darkness almost immediately. They were a cute couple, and I loved Misha to death. I was happy for her. I switched on the hallway light so I wouldn’t kill myself walking down the hall. “You guys have fun.”

“Night, Court,” they said in unison, which would have been nauseating coming from any other couple.

“Night, MD.” I could hear more face sucking as I headed wearily toward the bathroom. Hence the nickname. They were always attached at the hip anyway. Admittedly I felt a tad envious even though I had no energy for a boyfriend. The only thing on my agenda was a shower and bed. Not that thoughts of Dalton hadn’t crept into my head. I was sure tonight wouldn’t be the last time I saw him. I would do my best to avoid him from now on, and we could continue on the separate paths our lives had taken.

* * *

Early American history the next morning proved to be as boring as always. Taking endless notes on my iPad while Professor Zeal droned on about the first transcontinental railroad would have been interesting if he could have injected any kind of enthusiasm into his voice.

My afternoon was spent in the campus library working on a paper I had due the following week. I got so wrapped up in research I nearly forgot to head to work. Luckily I managed to make it through the front doors of Gruby’s at five o’clock on the nose, despite the snow flutters that had started midday.

“Wow, for a minute there I thought you were going to be late,” Jill, one of the hostesses, greeted me as I walked in shaking a light layer of snow off my jacket.

I grinned, knowing I had probably ruined a bet for someone. “I’m never late,” I said, draping my jacket over my arm and heading to the back room to stow my belongings.

“It could happen,” Jill called after me before turning to greet three middle-aged men dressed in business suits.

Her words cracked me up. The staff had a standing bet on when and if I’d ever show up late. In all the years that I had been out in the workforce, I’d never been late. Only once when I was a teenager and working at Denny’s had I ever called in, and that was because my mom was sick with pneumonia and refused to go see a doctor. I practically bullied her into going, and had to drive her there myself to be sure.

The kitchen was buzzing with activity as I walked through the swinging doors that separated the back from the dining area.

“Hey, girl, how they hanging?” Jimmy, one of the line cooks, called out.