It is a big deal.
She realized she couldn’t tell him about it in a restaurant over dinner. It would have to wait.
Marrana’s was jam--packed last night, and short--handed. Mick was single--handedly bussing tables as the other busboy, Zach Willet, took orders.
“Did you get promoted?” Rowan asked him, surprised when he came over to wait on them.
“Nah, one of the waitresses didn’t show up so they asked me to fill in. I’ve never done this before,” he added nervously.
“I’m sure you’ll do a great job,” Jake said.
He was wrong.
Poor Zach fumbled their order and fumbled their plates—-dropping Rowan’s soup and Jake’s dessert.
“The only thing he hasn’t figured out how to drop is the check,” Jake whispered after they’d sat waiting for it, yawning and trying to get Zach’s attention.
When he finally brought it over, he apologized and said, “You don’t have to tip me.”
“Poor kid,” Jake said to Rowan, pulling out his wallet as Zach hurried away.
“You’re leaving him twenty percent, right?”
“Nope.”
She frowned and started to protest.
“I’m leaving him fifty percent.”
They smiled at each other, and she realized how much she loved him and how much she dreaded hurting him.
But she knew she had to do it, and she meant to, she really did . . .
As they drove Mick home from work, Rowan asked if he’d also been asked to pinch hit for the absent waitress.
“No, just Zach. I’m not good enough.”
“Is that what they said?” Jake asked.
“That’s what I say.”
That evolved into a predictable and unpleasant conversation—-between Jake and Mick, anyway—-about taking pride in your work and being ambitious, which led to slammed car doors on the driveway and Mick stomping up the stairs to slam his bedroom door, too.
“We were supposed to talk about his schoolwork,” Jake protested to Rowan, who could only shrug helplessly.
They were supposed to talk about a lot of things.
He walked Doofus, and she pretended to be asleep when he came to bed.
Long after Jake really had drifted off, she lay awake thinking about the snow globe.
She knows what she has to do today. She has to talk to Rick, and she has to talk to Jake. She’s not sure in which order.
He comes whistling into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Is that a new skirt?” he asks, gesturing at the gray wool plaid one she has on.
“I’ve had it forever.”
“I like it.”
Oh, Jake. Why do you have to be so sweet today, of all days? Why can’t you pick a fight with me the way you do with Mick?
“Thanks,” she murmurs, and heads for the hallway. “I’ve got to get going.”
“Firing up the griddle? Bacon and omelets again? I’ll take extra cheese this time.”
“Jake! I told you, that was—-” Turning back, she sees that he’s grinning.
“I was kidding. Have fun on your field trip, babe. Don’t forget that I won’t be home until really late.”
“I already forgot. Why?”
“The dinner.”
“Which dinner?”
“The one at Hattie’s.”
Hattie’s . . . ?
“You mean Hattie’s in Saratoga Springs?”
“What other Hattie’s is there?” he asks with a grin. Hattie’s Chicken Shack is a Saratoga institution and one of their favorite places to eat whenever they get up that way for a long weekend—-which they haven’t done in at least a few years.
“Today is the regional sales meeting,” he adds. “Remember?”
“Of course I remember. I just didn’t know about Hattie’s.”
“I told you about it the other day.”
Which other day?
The day I was sneaking around the city meeting Rick Walker for lunch?
I don’t deserve Jake. And he deserves the truth. Tonight.
“Well—-good luck with the meeting, and have fun at your dinner.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later. Love you,” he adds, because they always do.