Chapter 1 - The First Toast
The midday sun beat down on the brick facade of Juniper Table, casting long shadows across the patio where the tail end of our Saturday lunch rush was beginning to thin. Inside, however, the noise level had spiked to something resembling a crowded train station. Thirty-eight women—members of Nadine’s prominent Blue Ridge social circle—had effectively commandeered three of our largest corner sections, pushing two-tops and four-tops together with zero regard for the reservations we had patiently lined up for the two o'clock hour.
Colby stood beside me near the POS terminal, his tablet clutched in his hand like a shield. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle ticked near his ear.
"They've already flagged down Marcus," Colby muttered, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register he used when he was five seconds away from walking out mid-shift. "Nadine didn't even wait for menus. She told him to start with three bottles of the 'good' Napa cabernet per table. The reserve stuff, Delaney. The one we keep behind glass for the autumn tasting menu."
I looked across the dining room. Nadine was sitting at the head of the newly formed banquet table, her cream jacket draped over the back of her chair as she held court. She was laughing, throwing her head back with theatrical grace, while two servers hovered nervously near her elbow.
"Let them have it," I said quietly.
Colby blinked, staring at me as if I had spoken in Swahili. "Excuse me? That vintage is a hundred and forty a bottle. There are six tables of them. That's twelve bottles before they even look at an appetizer. If we run those tabs together with the wagyu strips and the truffle plates she’s already pointing at—"
"I know the math, Colby," I interrupted, keeping my tone perfectly even. "Give them the best service we have. Every course, every pour, every smile. Make sure the glassware is polished. Make sure the water glasses never drop below the halfway mark."
Colby stared at me for a long beat, searching my face for the panic or exhaustion he was used to seeing whenever Nadine pulled one of her stunts. What he found instead seemed to steady him. He let out a slow, sharp breath, a tiny, wicked grin touching the corner of his mouth.
"You've got that look," Colby said.
"What look?"
"The look you had when that food critic from the Atlanta Journal-Constitution tried to send his cold soup back and you made him pay full price and eat it in silence." Colby tapped his screen. "Copy that. We roll out the red carpet. The very expensive, gold-trimmed red carpet."
For the next three hours, Juniper Table operated like a Swiss watch powered by pure adrenaline. I watched from the pass as our kitchen staff executed tickets with terrifying precision. Nadine’s table ordered without restraint. Oysters on the half shell, seared scallops, imported cheeses, and entrees that normally sat untouched for weeks because of their steep price tags. Every few minutes, Nadine raised her glass, offering another loud, booming toast to her own generosity, her voice carrying over the din of the dining room so every paying customer within twenty feet could hear her philanthropy.
"To dear Delaney!" she proclaimed loudly during the middle of the dessert service, holding up a glass of golden dessert wine while three women at her flanks nodded obligingly. "Who works so very hard to give us all such a wonderful sanctuary!"
A few polite claps rippled through her section.
I didn't flinch. I stood by the service station, wiping down the counter with a clean linen cloth, maintaining eye contact with her until she finally turned away, slightly unsettled by my stillness.
By five o'clock, the crowd began to thin. The laughter grew lower, the chatter turned to traffic and weekend plans, and the chairs began to scrape back against the hardwood floors. One by one, the thirty-eight women drifted toward the exit. A few of them caught my eye on their way out, offering bright, empty smiles and quick waves. Nadine remained seated near the back, leisurely stirring the foam of a cappuccino, completely unbothered by the fact that her party was the last one left in the room.
Colby walked up, holding a long, printed receipt rolled up like a parchment scroll. His eyes were wide, a strange mix of disbelief and sheer satisfaction dancing in them.
"Here it is," he whispered, holding it out. "Subtotal, tax, and twenty percent automatic large-party gratuity. Twenty-six thousand, four hundred and twelve dollars."
I took the slip of paper from his hand. The numbers stared back at me in crisp black ink. It was more than a quarter of our weekly profit, swallowed up in a single afternoon of careless entitlement.
"Good," I said, folding the paper in half and slipping it neatly into the front pocket of my apron.
I walked out from behind the service station, my heels clicking softly against the floorboards, and headed straight toward Nadine’s table.
She looked up as I approached, her oversized sunglasses pushed up into her styled blonde hair, revealing eyes that had spent decades looking down at people she considered beneath her.
"Delaney, darling," Nadine cooed, dabbing her lips with a cloth napkin as if she were paying for the meal herself. "You truly outdid yourself today. The service was adequate, though Marcus dropped a bit of ash from the bread plate, but we won't hold it against him. I told the ladies this is simply the best spot in all of Asheville."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Nadine," I said, my voice entirely calm, almost sweet.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out the folded paper, and placed it gently in the center of the white tablecloth, right beside her empty porcelain cup.
Nadine glanced down at it, her expression shifting just a fraction. "What's this?"
"Your bill," I replied, leaning slightly forward, resting my palms on the edge of the table. "For thirty-eight people. All inclusive. Twenty-six thousand, four hundred and twelve dollars. Front desk is ready whenever you'd like to settle up."
The smile froze on Nadine’s face, hardening into something brittle and sharp.
"Excuse me?" she asked, her voice dropping the public theatricality and adopting the chilly, dangerous pitch she used when a waiter brought her sparkling water instead of still. "What kind of joke is this?"
"No joke," I said smoothly, holding her gaze. "You told your friends lunch was on you today. So I'm letting you keep your promise."
Nadine stared at me, the blood slowly draining from her cheeks, before her mouth tightened into a thin, furious line. "Don't be absurd, Delaney. Charge it to Bryce's business account like we always do. Now, if you'll excuse me, my car is waiting outside."
She stood up, grabbed her cream jacket, and turned her back on me, expecting me to shrink away as I had a hundred times before.
"Bryce's business account won't cover this one, Nadine," I said to her back.
May you like
She stopped dead in her tracks, her shoulders stiffening. She slowly turned around, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "What did you just say?"
"I said," I repeated, stepping around the table to stand face-to-face with her, "Bryce can't help you today. Because as of this morning, he doesn't have a business account anymore."
