By the time I went back into the dining area, my section had exploded. Erin and Francie had shown up and Dixie had even called Shayla in early. Lewis was there, too, to help bus, and Thiago, the second-shift cook, was putting on his apron.
"What about her?" Cookie asked me as she blurred past.
I was still trying to process the evil fog. I turned to Reyes. He was the only person present who had black smoke cascading off his shoulders like a cape.
Cookie rushed past again and said, "The blonde at ten."
I glanced at table ten while picking up an order from the pass-out window. Reyes was cooking, completely oblivious to the evil fog in the storeroom. At least he seemed to be.
"What about her?" I called out.
The next time Cookie and I passed like ships in the night, she paused long enough to say, "I can see a resemblance."
I snorted, sounding much like a foghorn on a ship passing in the night. "Please. She looks nothing like me. And I rarely walk around with a stick up my butt."
"She doesn't have a stick up her butt." She gave her a once-over, then said, "Not a big one."
I walked over as the blonde put her Louis Vuitton on the seat beside her. She probably didn't buy hers off Scooter.
"Welcome to the Firelight."
The woman gazed up at me, her eyes glistening, and I felt a strong sense of expectation coming from her. Hope welled inside me. Could Cookie have been right?
"Hi," she said, letting a shy smile soften her face. "I'm Gemma."
"I'm Janey."
We both seemed to be waiting for something, and I realized she couldn't know me. Wouldn't she say something if she did?
"I'll be your server. Can I get you something to drink?"
"I'm here on vacation."
"Oh, nice. Welcome to Sleepy Hollow."
"I just got here. I had to clear my schedule."
"Okay, then." This conversation was quickly leaning toward strange and unexplainable. "Are you a fan of the story?"
"The story?" she asked, blinking mascaraed lashes over blue irises. "Washington Irving? 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow'?" Mine weren't even close to blue. They were more of a golden amber.
"Oh." She laughed into a hand and cleared her throat. "Yes. The story. Big fan. Absolutely." She looked up at me again, her oceanic gaze full of expectation and … something else. Something warm. "You?"
"Love it," I said, having no idea if I'd ever actually read it or just saw movies about it. I might need to make a trip to the library. "Have we met?" I asked her.
"I'm not sure. You do look familiar."
I sat across from her uninvited. "Really? Do you know me?"
She leaned forward, an expectant air about her. "I don't know. Do you know me?"
I squinted and thought as hard as I could. Tried to get past the veil that had been pulled over the last few decades of my life, but I just couldn't penetrate it. After a valiant effort, I shook my head, frustrated.
"I'm sorry. I have -" I almost told her about the amnesia, but I'd learned not to tell customers. It was like they suddenly didn't trust me to know the difference between an egg and a hamburger. I stood, because it hit me where she probably knew me from. The news. I looked familiar because of the news coverage when I first woke up. "You look familiar, too. Must have one of those faces. Can I get you something to drink?"
She seemed to wilt a little. "Sure. Iced tea?"
"You got it."
I had walked to the drinks station to fill a glass of ice when I heard a loud pssst. Only one person psssted at me. I chuckled and looked through the pass-out window at Lewis.
He peeked over his shoulder, then said, "I need to talk to you about today."
Oh, holy crap. I almost forgot. Today was the big day. And it was such bad timing. We were way too busy to pull off a fake robbery.
"Number four needs a refill," Erin said, her voice full of derision. That woman hated me so.
"Thanks!" I graced her with a killer smile and sassy hair flip, wondering how I was going to lift her phone. I might have been clueless about what I did in my past life, but I felt reasonably safe in assuming I wasn't a pickpocket.
Cookie and I made it through the lunch rush relatively unscathed. I managed to get a death threat from one of the giggling preteens when she noticed Reyes watching me, so that was a first. Cookie had to buy another man his dinner when he accused her of trying to sell her wares.
Who knew a simple "Would you like to take some of my buttery cream pie home?" could be taken so metaphorically? She'd made a pie. It was buttery. She was proud.