Maine Squeeze by Catherine Clark Page B

I’m not working for them. They kept saying pitiful stuff like, ‘Well, we’re about to go under, not that you’d care about that.’”
    I smiled. I could just picture Haley’s mom saying that. “She thinks guilt is one of the food groups.”
    â€œOh, yeah. She’s horrible. And she’s good at it, too, which is the worst part. So I’m going over there at two to help out.” She rolled her eyes. “I cannot wait for September.”
    I was on my way back into the kitchen to put in two orders and grab some food when I saw Evan delivering a trayful of plates to one of my tables.
    There. He was doing it again.
    I hated how he kept bringing food to my tables, as if I needed help, as if I couldn’t handle it on my own.
    Ten minutes later, I walked into the kitchen to pick up another order that was ready and caught him doing the same thing. “What are you doing?” I asked. “I can get those.”
    â€œI know, but I’m right here.” Evan shrugged. “Besides, all my tables are parking right now. I don’t have much to do.”
    â€œYeah, but I can still handle it,” I said. “I don’t need your help.”
    Evan turned to look at me. “You know, last summer you loved it when I did this.”
    â€œYeah, well, last summer I loved a lot of things you did,” I said before I could stop myself. I bit my lip, wishing I could take it back. I couldn’t believe I’d just said that. I had to follow up with a witty retort immediately. Danger, danger! Actual feelings emerging!
    Evan was grinning at me in that annoyingly seductive way of his. It’s amazing how far nice green-blue eyes can get a person in life. It’s like a get-out-of-jail-free card.
    â€œBut, you know, as the saying goes … that was then. This is now.” I gave him what I hoped was a withering, devastating look. Probably I just seemed really crabby. Not the soft-shell kind, either.
    â€œWow. Deep. Insightful .” Evan nodded. “I bet Bates can’t wait to get a hold of your mind.”
    I took the plates of food off his tray, briefly considered tossing them into his face, thought he might get burned, and instead started loading them onto my own. If only I were closer to the refrigerated pie case, I thought. I’d love to see his annoying, charming smile covered in blueberry or coconut cream.
    â€œWe could just swap trays,” Evan said. “You know, an empty one for a full one? Or do you have a close personal attachment to that one—you guys go way back or something?”
    I heard a laugh behind me, and glanced back at the coffee machine. Blair was standing there, laughing at Evan’s ridiculous tray joke. Great. Now we were amusing other people. Even more than we usually did.
    I hoisted the heavy tray and headed out to the dining room. When I walked through the swinging door, somehow the tray slipped from my fingers—sweaty, no doubt, from my Evan encounter—and tipped a little, and I jostled a side dish of coleslaw off the tray. Of all the luck. It landed right on my foot, then I almost slipped on it and fell down.
    I hate coleslaw. What or who is “cole” and what is “slaw” about cabbage and mayo, anyway? If I ever had a side dish named after me, I hoped it would not resemble a “slaw.” Colleenslaw. That’s about how good I felt about myself as I scraped it off the carpet five minutes later.
    It was all Evan’s fault. Everything was.
    (a) The fact that I had coleslaw shoe.
    (b) The fact that I’d just had to get up close and personal with the carpet.
    (c) The fact that Ben wasn’t speaking to me and probably wouldn’t be for the rest of the day.
    I pulled off my apron and tossed it into the laundry hamper beside the kitchen door. “What are you doing?” Evan asked. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
    â€œNo. I’m taking a break.” I