“I think it’s safe to say probably never?”
“Never say never.” Cassie had snuck up on them. She was carrying too much, hugging an armful of bottles. Carefully, slowly, she let them slide down her chest, until they thunked onto the polished cherrywood of the bar. He had a sudden vision of her doing the same thing naked. The bottles would compress her ample breasts, and as they slid down her body, those breasts would bounce back to their pertly rounded shape. Jesus. Stop it.
“The point is not the ants.” Cassie spoke to the girl even as she lined up the half dozen bottles and began turning them so the labels faced him. “The point is not even the ‘will I ever have to do this exact equation in real life?’ question. It’s about learning how to think mathematically. To problem solve.”
She looked at him and then back at the girl. No one spoke.
“Oh, I’m sorry! Alana, meet Mr. ah…” She bit her lip.
“Winter,” he supplied. “Jack Winter.”
“Mr. Winter”—Cassie shot him a smile—“Meet Ms. Alana Jamieson.”
“As in Edward Jamieson?” he asked, referencing the owner of the eponymous restaurant.
Alana’s version of the universal eye roll of teenagers everywhere confirmed her paternity.
Just then one of the servers came by, the one he thought of as the least annoying. “Two glasses of merlot.” Cassie nodded and pulled down two balloon glasses. “And, Cassie, nine bucks on a one hundred and seventy dollar check—what’s that?”
“Just over five percent,” said Cassie.
“Goddamn, what do these rich fuckers think? That I’m here for shits and giggles?” Then the server reached out and tousled Alana’s hair. “Sorry, sugar. Getting stiffed makes me cranky.”
Cassie gave a little cough and inclined her head ever so slightly toward Jack. The server’s eyes followed Cassie’s and landed on him. She obviously hadn’t seen him sitting in the corner, but she didn’t even bother disguising her eye roll. What was it about him today that was inspiring feminine eye rolls? “Present company excluded, of course,” she drawled before grabbing her now-filled wine glasses and speeding off.
“Cassie!” said Alana, drawing out the final syllable. “The ants!”
“Hold on! Give me a sec to do the job I’m actually paid for, will you?” She turned to him. “You sure you don’t want to flee to your usual spot? Sitting here in the loony bin, you’re not exactly getting the fine dining experience Edward prides himself on.”
“I’m good here,” he said.
The smile she gave him did something to his throat.
“Well then.” She spread her arms with a theatrical flourish, circling them over the bottles like Vanna White. “What will it be?”
“Surprise me.”
“Really?” She clapped her hands. “Price range?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Well, if I were feeling flush, I would try this one.” She tapped a bottle of Balvenie 30.
“Have you tried it?”
“God, no. Too rich for my blood. I’m a Red Label girl—by circumstance rather than by inclination, mind you. Edward’s supplier sometimes sneaks me sips when he’s wooing Edward with a new bottle, but I haven’t had the pleasure with this one.”
He tapped the bottle. “I’ll have two glasses of this, then.”
“You want a double?”
“No, I want two glasses.”
“I’ll never understand you rich people, either.” The jibe was delivered with a smile as she pulled down a pair of tumblers.
After she’d poured two glasses, he reached for the water jug that was still sitting on the bar. “Allow me.”
“By all means.”
He eyeballed the glasses, filling each with a splash of water. Then he slid one toward Cassie.
Her eyes widened. “Oh, wow, thanks, but I really can’t.” She’d turned a little pink.
“Here’s your chance,” he said, looking around. “No one’s paying attention, and I won’t tell.”
“It’s not that.” A lock of hair had escaped her bun, and she tucked it behind her ear. “I just…I have rules.”
Her too? A woman with rules—interesting. “You have a rule against drinking the finest scotch the world has to offer?”
“No, I have a rule against drinking at work. Once you start doing that, you’re a…”
“Lush?”
“No. A lifer.”
“Excuse me?”
“A lifer. It means you’re going to be working in restaurants your whole life. Not that I have anything against that,” she said quickly, waving her hands energetically in front of her like she was fending off an attack. “But if you’re here for life, you need coping mechanisms. Again—there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just that I don’t…”