Hot Mess

Grabbing my purse, I got out of my car and headed toward the restaurant. I pushed open the large, driftwood-esque door and stepped inside.

It was almost empty.

Relief made my shoulders sag. The beach on the other side was packed and it was the middle of the afternoon, so that was probably why. The only people in here were a few people who looked to be in their early twenties, two older couples, and a family with three young kids, one of whom was currently pretending to be a walrus with two straws in his mouth.

“Hello, darlin’! Are you eatin’ inside or outside?”

I looked around at the thick, Southern drawl that had greeted me. It came from a tall, curvy woman with wildly curly, blonde hair and a homely smile. She beamed at me, little wrinkles forming at the corners of her eyes.

“I ain’t gonna bite ya, sugar,” she chortled. “Just you?”

Lord, I needed to get a grip on myself.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve been driving for hours and I’m exhausted. Yes, just me.” I returned her smile with as much warmth as I could muster. “Thank you.”

“Don’t you worry about it.” She pulled a menu card from the stand on the hostess’s station with a flair. “I got you the perfect table. Come on now.”

“Thank you so much.”

I followed her across the restaurant to a tiny, two-person table in the corner. That sounded bitchy, but it wasn’t—it had an amazing view of the golden sand beach and turquoise ocean that disappeared into the horizon.

“You sit yourself down here,” she said. “My name is Charity and I’m gonna be your server today. Would you like a drink or do you want a minute?”

“Some water would be amazing. And a coffee, if you have one.”

She chuckled. “Of course we got us some coffee. You give me 5 minutes and I’ll bring that over for ya, honey.”

I smiled as she turned and sashayed away, humming a tune I recognized as Post Malone’s latest song.

Seriously.

That song had been stuck in my head for at least three weeks.

It was gonna be there for another three.

With a sigh, I opened the menu and perused it. I swear to God my mouth drooled at the items on offer—there was everything from mac and cheese to burgers and fresh fish.

Oh, man. The burger was calling my name, and so was a bowl of bacon mac and cheese.

Well, that was the easiest decision I’d ever made in my life.

Charity returned with both my coffee and a huge glass of iced water. “Are you ready to order, honey?”

“Sure am,” I replied, then relayed my order.

“That mac and cheese is to die for,” she said, scribbling it down. “Is that everything?”

“Yes, thank you.” I smiled and handed her back the menu.

She took it and beamed at me. “I’ll get that sent back. Won’t be long!” she sang, turning and leaving me again.

I sagged down the moment she was out of sight. Instinctively, I reached for my phone, but there was nothing there.

Obviously.

I’d left my actual phone in my apartment in New York, and the cheap smartphone I’d purchased to get me to here was dead in my car.

If this journey had taught me anything, it was how ridiculously reliant I was on my phone and social media. How much validation I needed from both of those things.

If and when I returned to the online word, I was going to make a difference.

I was going to show the real life, how many shots it took to get the perfect photo, how long it took to edit the videos I posted.

If I was ever able to show my face again.

Dramatic, but whatever. I’d had my entire world pulled out from under me. I was allowed to be dramatic.

“Now I don’t wanna hear that you’re bein’ bad for your daddy,” Charity said, making me look up from the splodge on the table I’d been staring at. “Otherwise I’mma hafta put you to work here.”

The little girl she was talking to sighed and flipped her blonde curls over her shoulder. “Miss Charity, I’m being good. I vacuumed today!”

“Darn straight you did, Ari!” She winked at the little girl who looked around nine or ten years old. “Now take a seat and I’ll bring you a lemonade while your daddy—wait, where is he?”

With a heavy sign, the little girl slipped into a chair at an empty table a few away from me and shuffled herself into the table. “He’s on the phone to “that bloody plumber” because “that bloody bath is still leaking.” He said he’ll be right in.”

Charity barked out a noise that sounded half way between a cough and a laugh. “Arielle! You can’t repeat those words.”

The girl—Arielle—looked up at Charity with innocence shining in her eyes. “You asked. I told you.”

“The good Lord must have given your father patience in buckets,” Charity muttered.