April rubbed her lips together. “Whatever. She’s still mad at me for working at a bar and trying to make it as a songwriter instead of marrying a doctor. We’re both huge disappointments.”
At that, they laughed. “They’ll deal with it eventually,” April continued. “Besides, if you want my opinion, they should be proud to have two daughters who make their own way instead of becoming clones of their parents. At least we’re not spoiled rotten. Or, at least one of us isn’t.”
Kristin jabbed her in the side. “Very funny. But speaking of opinions . . .”
Now that she was in a slightly better mood, April tried to focus once again. “Okay, what color is this? Purple? Violet? Mauve? I don’t remember what you told me.”
“It’s a pale wine.” Kristin fluffed her hair and shook it a little, then turned her face from left to right, examining and critiquing her image from every angle. “I think I’ve narrowed it down to this one or the nude theme. Which one did you like better?”
If she’d had a coin in her hand, April would have flipped it over and called out the lucky answer. As it was, she had nothing in her possession right then but an old hairbrush and her sister’s well-used tube of L’Oréal lipstick. Neither one was all that flippable. She came up with an answer anyway.
“I say go with the nude. It’s safe, it’s classic, and it goes with everything. Plus I don’t have time to see anything else. I have to get to work.”
Jack started sweating when he hit the parking lot. He hadn’t been here since he walked out three years ago—his last night on a job that had opened more doors than he ever thought possible. Since then, life had been a whirlwind of opportunity and introductions and press junkets and travel on his rapid rise to stardom. He wouldn’t trade a minute of it. Wouldn’t change it for the world.
Except now he felt like he was walking into a time warp of delayed disaster—the whirlwind of fun quickly morphing into a hurricane of impending doom.
April still worked here. He’d found out that awesome piece of news earlier when he called in to check on the performance he was set to give an hour from now. And presently, he was begging his Maker that tonight might be her night off. And begging wasn’t an exaggeration. The words please, I’ll do anything you say had gone through his mind at least a million times in the last hour, coupled with the phrase I’ll even start going to church.
Not that he shouldn’t have been doing that already, but still.
It took less than two seconds to realize all that begging was for nothing. The door had barely shut behind him when he saw a familiar apron skimming the thighs of a not-so-familiar set of legs that would have sent any red-blooded American male’s pulse racing. He remembered those legs from three years ago, and from the five minutes he’d spent alone with them in a parking lot yesterday. April had changed in a lot of ways, all of them favorable. All of them positive. All of them pretty darn good.
His eyes traveled upward until they connected with hers. He swallowed and took an involuntary step backward; the scathing glare she nailed him with wasn’t so favorable. He guessed some things hadn’t changed after all, despite a hot set of legs.
Jack squared his shoulders and walked forward, thinking he was Jack Vaughn. Jack Vaughn didn’t cower. Jack Vaughn didn’t worry about what other people thought. Jack Vaughn certainly wasn’t intimidated by a waitress in a bar, especially not one who just dropped a tray of beer all over an unsuspecting dude’s lap. When the man looked up and sent April a murderous look, Jack forgot his hesitation and moved forward to help.
“I’m so sorry,” April was saying. The horror in her voice tore at him a little. “I don’t know what happened, the tray just tipped before I could stop it.” She set the now empty tray on a nearby table and yanked a few napkins out of a metal holder, using them to pat the guy down. Jack didn’t think she realized how inappropriate she was being, but he didn’t stop her.
“Lady, quit pawing at me.” The customer ripped the napkins from her hand and used them on himself, swiping at his shirt and pants and leaving a trail of paper napkin dust all over himself. “Look at me! I’m a mess!” He flung his hands in the air and stood, pushing his chair back in the process and creating the beginnings of a small scene. “This is going to cost you.” He pointed a thick finger in April’s face, a gesture that made Jack’s blood simmer. “I want to see your manager right now.”
April nodded. “Okay, I’ll—”
Jack couldn’t take watching anymore. “Hey, man, I’m pretty sure that was an accident. Why don’t you let the girl get back to work, and I’ll buy another round for your table?” Jack fished a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to the guy. “And maybe this will replace the pants.”