Amanda glanced up at her, eyebrows raised, and said, “Yes, please.”
Willow didn’t look her in the eye as she rattled off the specials.
“Can I get you guys started with something to drink?” she added, unsure where to look, but desperately wanting to get away from the table. She didn’t want to look at Ethan, so she looked at Amanda instead.
“Iced tea for me, our daughter will have the fruit punch, and do you have chocolate milk for our son? I didn’t see it on the menu.”
Her fingers tightened on the order pad but she forced herself to keep a cordial expression. “We don’t, technically, but the owner does usually keep some in the back. I can check and see.”
“That would be great, thanks.” Amanda smiled, but it didn’t reach her chilly blue eyes.
Willow’s eyes narrowed slightly on the other woman’s, but she caught herself and turned her head—with effort—to face Ethan. “And for you, sir?”
He was not playing it as cool as she was. He never had, so she shouldn’t be surprised. Asshole.
He shook his head, averting his gaze to the table. “I’m okay.”
“You don’t want anything to drink?” she asked, more sharply than she intended.
Pressing his lips together, his eyes flashed to hers. “Got whiskey?”
Smiling sweetly, she said, “We do, but I’m underage, so I’ll have to have someone else get that for you.”
She heard him release a breath as he broke her gaze, looking at the table again, and Willow—realizing she hadn’t written a single thing on her order pad—spun on her heel and headed back to her station.
Seeing her boss lingering by the server station, staring right at her, took a little wind out of her sails and she slowed down.
She hoped he hadn’t overheard that last part. It had been a little bitchy. If Ethan and his stupid wife got her fired, she was going to be pissed.
Cautiously glancing at Aaron as she approached the computer, she waited for him to say something, but he just stood there with his arms crossed, appraising the unwanted table.
Her heart palpitated. Her palms felt clammy. Her stomach—well, she wasn’t going to need a lunch break, to put it that way.
She wanted to go home.
“What are you doing, Willow?” Aaron finally asked, quietly.
His tone threw her and she glanced at him, eyes widening slightly. “What do you mean? I’m putting in a drink order. I need a whiskey for my table.”
“Did you check ID?” he asked lazily.
“He’s 33.”
The owner sighed heavily. “How old are you again?”
“Nineteen,” she replied briskly, inputting the last beverage and grabbing some cups.
“What are you doing, Willow?” he repeated.
Ignoring him—since she didn’t know what he was getting at—she asked, “Do you have chocolate milk in the back?”
He nodded, pushing off the stand. “Kid’s cup?”
Willo
w nodded jerkily.
He headed off to get her drinks and Willow quickly filled the drinks for the two girls, taking them over to the table and announcing the other drinks would be right out.