Page 78 of P.S. I'm Still Yours
I put my phone down shortly after that.
Problem is, sleep was hell-bent on eluding me.
Why did he keep it this long? Why would a millionaire keep a hundred-dollar guitar I got off Craigslist when he can afford the best instruments ever created?
It just doesn’t make sense. I’ve gone years assuming that he forgot all about me as soon as he stepped foot on that plane, but could it be…
Could it be that he didn’t?
“Hadley? You still with me?” I’m transported back into the crowded restaurant in a microsecond.
Shit, I spaced.
Again.
“I’m with you.” I force my focus back onto Jamie. She’s been trying to show me how to operate the register for the last ten minutes.
Her mouth curls into a smile. “Liar.”
I’m lucky she’s the one training me instead of Ania, another waitress. Ania had to call in sick, but she’ll be continuing my training as soon as she’s back, and from what Jamie’s told me, the woman hates having to repeat herself.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I’m focused. Totally focused. Carry on.”
“It’s cool. It’s just me. But word of advice, don’t get distracted with Ania. Patience isn’t her strong suit.”
I give a nod. “Hear you loud and clear.”
“Now, where were we?”
By some miracle, I manage to keep my mind from straying for the next few hours. I write down as much information as I can, nearly filling out the notepad I brought with me.
I’m grateful that Fred said we should start with a few short shifts to avoid overwhelming my newbie brain. It’s already jam-packed with information, and I haven’t even been here for an entire day.
Thirty minutes before I clock out, Jamie asks me to handle payment for a customer with a to-go order.
“What customer?” I ask, examining the empty restaurant. It’s 2:00 p.m., and the place is dead save for an older couple and their grandkid.
“We have an order getting picked up in a bit,” she explains before ambling over to the kitchen and returning with two takeout bags.
The door opens just seconds later, and two guys walk in. My chest inflates with joy, disbelief, and nostalgia from the moment I recognize my childhood friends.
It takes me a solid second to dissociate the two good-looking guys in front of me from the fourteen-year-old shit stirrers they used to be.
Vincent Park was always cute, with his tanned skin, baby blue eyes, messy blond hair, and surfer vibes, and yes, he might be taller and more muscular now, but apart from the stubble on his jaw and the ink snaking down his neck, he still looks like the guy I grew up with.
Cal, on the other hand…
He looks like a whole new person.
Cal was always shorter than the rest of the guys—Gray, Kane, and Vince used to give him so much shit for it. He was the skinny guy who got picked on and friend-zoned by every girl with a heartbeat.
But now… shit…
Not only has he gotten tall, but his T-shirt looks like it can barely contain the muscles underneath it. He’s still a few inches shorter than Vince, but he looks like a man now.
Growing up, he always had a buzz cut, which explains why I never knew his brown hair had curly potential. I swear he looks like he just spent an hour at the hair salon.
Vince flashes a dimpled grin. “Just picking up an order for Park.”