“Girl, you really want a bunch of strange guys pawing through your underwear? It was no big deal. All I had to do was empty the drawers and closets into boxes. Didn’t take long. Everything’s ready for the moving crew. I’m in your apartment now, as a matter of fact. I swung by on my way to work to do one more walk-through. Trust me, this is more zen-like than the chaos waiting for me at the restaurant.”

A soft mist began to fall, and Christi felt around in her purse for her keys. “I sink deeper in your debt every day.”

“No, you do not. Put that out of your mind. This is what friends do. So tell me how it’s going up there. You like the job?”

“Yes. The woman who owns the shop couldn’t be nicer. I hope I can manage the place for two weeks on my own, until she’s able to come back part-time.”

“Piece of cake.”

“Easy for you to say.” She pulled out the keys.

“And easy for you to do. You have an excellent mind, even if you didn’t have much opportunity to demonstrate that in your prior position.”

“Like none.”

“That will change. I predict your days of waiting tables are over.”

Christi glanced at the restaurant behind her.

If only.

“I don’t know. I could pick up a few extra bucks if I got a part-time serving gig.”

“You want my two cents? Focus on the job at the shop and devote the rest of your energy to finding a position that taps into your brain.”

“I’ll think about that.” She unlocked her door and angled away from her new place of employment.

Several beats ticked by.

“You’re gonna go back to waiting tables, aren’t you?”

“Not full time—but a few hours a week would help fill the coffers. And I can’t spend every waking minute hunting for a permanent job.”

“Promise me you’ll think about it before you heft another tray.”

Christi slid behind the wheel. “I can think about it.” And she would. But that wasn’t going to change the facts. The job was a done deal. The paperwork was filled out, and her first shift was Saturday night. Two days away. “How’s everything with you?”

She listened while Tasha regaled her with a hilarious story about one of the sous chefs in the restaurant, and as they said goodbye, her spirits were lighter.

But as she put the car in gear and drove past two young guys in the parking lot who were likely getting a jump on happy hour, she had to fight back a rush of nerves.

Waiting tables in a family diner in Dallas wearing jeans and a T-shirt was one thing.

Waiting tables in a male-oriented sports bar in this restaurant’s uniform was another.