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  Forgotten Yesterday

  Renee Ericson

  Copyright © 2013 by Amber Maxwell

  Cover Art by Amber Maxwell

  Image: Shutterstock

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Visit my website at: https://reneeericson.wordpress.com/

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ericsonrenee

  Twitter: @EricsonRenee

  DEDICATION

  ~To Fate~

  Thank you for walking in the room.

  Beginnings

  Brent’s fingertips lightly graze mine as we stare out over our hometown lake, saying goodbye. It’s late September and the time has come for us to leave the place we call home. Tomorrow we depart for Chicago, saying hello to new beginnings, together at the University of Chicago. Everything seems possible and easy, especially with him by my side.

  “Are you ready?” he ponders.

  Squeezing his hand in mine, I answer, “I think so.”

  “You better be.”

  In one swift move, Brent sweeps me up onto his shoulder and runs us down the dirt path to our left.

  “Brent!” I mock shout. “What are you doing?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No,” I giggle.

  He continues to run through the wooded path, stopping in a small clearing where some leaves have begun to fall to the ground.

  Setting me down, he searches my face for the person deep inside I know only he can see. He touches his lips to mine and entwines his fingers into my hair. His tongue grazes across my teeth and I close my lids, savoring the warmth of his breath connecting with my own. He pulls me in at my waist and I let out a comforting sigh as his firm chest presses against me.

  I could live in moments like this forever. This, right here, is where I belong. He is my home and my heart belongs to him.

  It doesn’t matter where I may be—Chicago, the lake, or anywhere on this earth—as long as Brent is by my side, I am whole.

  Five Years Later

  One

  Rounding the corner, I blindly bump into someone as they’re coming out of the kitchen. Blonde hair flashes in my view and the glasses on my tray tumble, shattering all over the tiled floor.

  “Shit,” I hiss, crouching down toward the broken fragments. “Sorry, Astrid.”

  “It’s okay,” she huffs, reaching for the broom and dustpan in the corner. “It’s a nightmare out there. They obviously overbooked for the night.”

  “I know,” I agree, holding the dustpan while she sweeps in a pile of broken wine glasses. “And they never seat us right either. I just got slammed, again, with a triple seating.”

  “It’s that new girl. I think they need to get rid of her. She does this to us every weekend.”

  “No kidding, and it’s only Friday. Has anyone said anything yet?”

  “No. But I think I’ll mention it to Colin, once we slow down a little. I don’t think I can handle this tomorrow night, too.”

  “Coming up on 32,” Brian shouts from behind the pass. “Let’s not get in the weeds. Table 27’s in the window.”

  “I got it,” Astrid calls back, handing me the broom. “I’m going to run out that table’s food. Can you get the rest?”

  “Yeah sure, no problem. You go.”

  Astrid rushes to the window and loads the plates onto a tray. She then lifts it onto her shoulder and exits into the dining room. I toss the remaining glass into the trash and then set the broom back in the corner.

  “Table 32’s in the window,” Brian shouts into the kitchen.

  “I got it,” I say, setting up a tray in front of the window. “How are you doing, Brian?”

  “We’re keeping up. Front of the house just said they seated ten tables, so we’re trying to stay ahead of it.”

  “And how’s that working out for you?” I tease.

  “Eh, it looks like we may get slaughtered regardless.” His blue eyes twinkle as he flashes a flirty grin. “So are you closing tonight?”

  “Nope.” I move the final plate to the tray. “My last seating is at ten. I closed last night.”

  “I get off at eleven and was planning to head up to Wrigleyville for a drink. My brother is bartending up there tonight. Would you like to go? They have a band playing.”

  Straightening, I lift the tray, prop it on my shoulder and smile at him between the shiny chrome shelving. Brian has been flirting with me for a week, so I’ve been expecting this—hoping even. He’s really cute with his dusty blond hair and sweet, light blue eyes. He also happens to laugh at my dumb jokes.

  “Sure. Sounds like fun. I haven’t been up there in some time.” Feeling the weight of the entrees on my shoulder, I add, “I better get this out before this table’s food gets cold.”

  He nods and I turn on my heel, walking out into the dining room. Lingering on our interaction, a schoolgirl smile warms my face when I pass the threshold.

  The restaurant is bustling with people tonight. Voices echo off of the high ceilings, creating a life within the rooms of leather and dark woods. When coming upon Table 32, I prop up the stand near the party of four men and then rest the tray on top of it. I quickly get my bearings on the seating positions and pick up the first entree.

  “Porterhouse, medium,” I say, placing the first plate and then pick up the second. Working my way behind the seated gentlemen, I go about serving them quickly. I need to check on my tables. “New York Strip, medium well.” I place the second plate neatly in front of the blond gentleman and then pick up the next. “Filet minion with a parmesan crust, medium rare.” Gently, I set down the plate in front of the dark haired gentleman. Spinning around to pick up the last dish, my hand is caught in someone’s grasp.

  “Excuse me?”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I trace the arm of the person holding my wrist, meeting with a set of anxious, piercing, green-grey eyes.

  “Ruby?”

  My heart jumps into my throat—pulsing, beating and pounding into every forgotten crevice of my consciousness. Loudly pulling out stored away memories. His grip tightens…

  ~Past~

  His hand slowly, languidly, and with precision, made its way up my arm to my naked shoulder. Lifting my chin, his lips seared my neck with their delectable heat, making my knees weaken.

  “God, you’re so beautiful,” he said, his breath skating its way up my throat. His wicked tongue licked the sensitive space behind my ear and everything around me ceased to exist.

  “Oh god,” I gasped.

  His agile fingers floated up my side, caressing my bare breast, while the other hand tangled into my damp hair. I let the towel fall completely to the floor and pressed my body against his. Skin on skin. Baring it all.

  He pushed me gently and I fell onto the bed when the back of my knees hit the edge. I scooted myself further up the mattress as he made his way on top of me. The feel of his naked form all over mine, made the space between my legs open…waiting…wanting.

  ~Present~

  “Ruby,” he says again, hand softening around my wrist. “Wow. I had no idea you were back in Chicago.”

  “Brent.” His name on my lips feels like a familiar lullaby. “Hi. Yeah. For a while now.”

  Pulling out of his grasp, I go back t
o the tray and pick up the final plate. With a shaky hand, I set it in front of the last seating and then grab the empty tray and stand.

  “Is there anything else I can get for you gentlemen?” I ask, looking at everyone but my past. What would I even say to him?

  “No, I think we’re good,” the blond replies with a thick accent, oblivious to the tension.

  “Well, enjoy your meals.”

  Quickly maneuvering around the white linen tables and their occupants, I rush to the kitchen, place the tray in the pile with the others and make my way down the side hallway to the cooler. Spreading apart the plastic strips designed to keep in the cool air, I march to the back without any thought other than—calm the fuck down. My hands grip the metal shelving piled with fresh tomatoes and lettuce. Shutting my lids, closing myself off as much as possible, I inhale the cool air from the room.

  “Ruby?” Astrid calls.

  “Yea-ah?”

  “Is everything okay?” she asks, entering the cooler. “I saw you come back. Did something happen?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I just need a second. Can you check on my tables for me?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” She waits, unmoving. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yep.” I take in one last inhale. My hands release the bar, falling to my sides as I face her. “I’m good. Just got a little overheated is all.”

  “All right. I’ll get your tables started for you,” she says, stepping backwards toward the door. “See you in a few.”

  “Yep. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  She leaves and I bring my fingertips to my forehead. Shutting my eyes and sealing off the rest of the world, the man at the table calls my attention behind my closed lids. His green-grey eyes—the very ones that speak volumes over any word ever spoken in the history of my life—stare back at me. I never expected to see them ever again, but there they were, connecting us without my permission.

  Two

  An hour later, I’m a coward standing on one side of the restaurant, refusing to go anywhere near Table 32. That’s Brent’s table. When I saw him, everything came slamming into me at once and I freaked out a little. Okay…maybe a lot.

  Tonight has been really busy, typical for a Friday evening, but the big push of orders is finally starting to even out and the front of the house will be closing the doors shortly. My tables are currently full and my customers just got served their meals, so I’m experiencing a little break at present.

  Since the initial shock of seeing Brent has finally subsided, it’s time to face him and properly say hello and not run away like a little baby. We’re both adults and can be cordial to one another. I just wish I had handled myself better the first time.

  Taking a quick peek at my reflection in the ice bin, assuring that my brown hair is still tidied up neatly, I tentatively make my way out onto the floor and past the partition to the section where he’s seated. On the other side of the wall, the restaurant is full and bustling. I hone in on Table 32, which is now empty. I’m too late.

  Uncurling my clenched, clammy fists, I relax as the tension alleviates from my skin. A mild pain, or maybe it’s a nudging, floats through my stomach as I look at the lonely table. The water glasses are still half-full from the previous customers. He was just here and I missed him.

  It’s probably for the best. If he wanted to talk to me, I’m sure he would have requested so from one of the staff members. Coincidences happen, but not necessarily for a reason. Getting hung up on what could have been has no merit. This is one thing I know to be true.

  Accepting what is, I go back to my section, check on my tables and then enter into the kitchen. The clatter and rush of the evening has died down and early clean up has begun at each prep station. The staff appears tired, but relieved to be past the slam of customers and is working at a more leisurely pace.

  “Ruby,” Colin, the evening manager, calls from the end of the kitchen. He raises his hand and waves me over to him. Moving around two servers, who are plating trays, I sidle up next to him as he examines his clipboard.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “Can you close tonight? Veronica had to go home sick.”

  “I kind of have plans,” I respond, glancing through the chrome shelving at Brian as he pretends not to overhear our conversation.

  “I’m in a really tight spot. I know you just closed last night, but you’d be doing me a huge favor. I don’t know who else to ask.”

  “Colin,” I half whine. “What about Rebecca?”

  Leaning in close, he states in a low voice for only my ears, “You’re really the only one here I trust to do it right. I’m kind of begging you.”

  “But I’m scheduled to close tomorrow night, too. That would be three nights in row.”

  “What if I find someone to cover for you tomorrow night?”

  “I’m not giving up my Saturday night shift. I need the money.”

  “You don’t have to give up your shift. I would just find someone else to close tomorrow night. If I do that, would you be willing to help me out tonight?”

  Any other time it wouldn’t be a huge deal for me to do Colin this favor, but I already made plans. I steal a glance to where Brian is working on the food prep line. I was looking forward to going out with him tonight, and after seeing Brent, I’d really like to give myself a distraction. I think I could use one.

  Brian angles his tall lean frame toward Jared, one of the chefs on the line, whispering something. Jared quirks his head and mouths, “Really?” Brian spares me a look and then shakes his head yes. Jared shrugs his shoulders and then says, “If you want.”

  “Hey Colin,” Brian casually calls to us. “I’m closing for Jared tonight. Is that okay?”

  Colin flips through his notebook, checking the schedule. “Yep. No problem.”

  Brian and I share a look. He’s staying for me—because of me. Looks like my evening plans have changed after all.

  “Okay, Colin. I’ll do it. But tomorrow night, I’m not closing.”

  “Thank you,” he says. “I really appreciate it. I’ll make sure you’re the first one off tomorrow night.”

  “I’ll hold you to it,” I kid, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

  “Yeah, there’s no doubt in my mind about that. Thanks again, for staying.” He starts to wander out of the kitchen, scratching behind his ear.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Leaning back onto the tiled walled, I pull out my phone to check for any emails. There’s one from my cousin, Cody, with Hey There in the subject line. He doesn’t email often since his move, but checks in occasionally. I open and scan it for any important information.

  Nothing new here. Shauna and I are coming down for a wedding in December. You should come up for Thanksgiving. I’ll buy you that Alterra Coffee, even though my coffee pot hates it. Dragon says hi. Let me know if we can plan on you for turkey. Oh, did you get our birthday present?

  Cody

  “Table 11 in the window,” Brian shouts.

  “I got it,” I call out, closing down my phone and slipping it into my pocket. Setting up a tray, I load the plates. “Sorry about tonight, Brian. I was really looking forward to it.”

  “No worries. Maybe we can get out of here before it’s too late and still head over for a drink. “

  “Let’s hope.” I lift the tray onto my shoulder. “I bet we can at least make last call.”

  “Well if not, we’ll do it another night then.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Backing up, I make my way through some coworkers waiting for the next order of food to come up.

  Entering the dining room, the calm is welcomed after the bustle we experienced just an hour ago. It’s now ten, so the last seating has been made for dinner and we’re no longer taking walk-ins.

  I beeline straight to Table 11 and serve them their entrees. After filing away the tray, I check on my tables to see how they’re doing. Three of
the four are still contentedly eating, while one needs a few drinks from the bar. I put in their order and then proceed to the long granite-topped counter with brass trim to wait for the beverages to come up.

  “Hey Pat,” I say, coming up to the end of the bar. “How’s your night been?”

  “Not too shabby,” the fortysomething bartender replies in his thick Irish accent. He finishes adding soda to the High Ball glass. “How’d you handle the night?”

  “We got slammed earlier and my table seatings were a mess for a while, but nothing too bad. The kitchen was in the weeds for a bit, though. Did you guys feel any of that?”

  “Nope. Smooth as butta’ over here.” He sets a tray of drinks for a table in front of me. I pick up the slip and see that the order isn’t for any of my tables, so I leave it. “We had high turnover. If these last folks don’t stay too long, I’ll start getting everything ready for close real soon.”

  “You closing tonight?”

  “I close every Friday, you know that.”

  “Yeah, I do. Just making conversation.” I spot Carl, a new bartender, at the end of the galley talking with some customers. “You should see if Carl would do it sometime. Give yourself a Friday night off.”

  Crossing his arms over his waist, Pat leans against the granite ledge. “Maybe. Not sure I’d trust him, though. Look at him.” He gestures to Carl, whose hands are animatedly waving in the air. “He’s a fool.”

  “He’s just having fun,” I giggle. “The customers seem to like him. They seem to be very enamored with him right now.”

  “Just cause you can talk fitbaw doesn’t mean you can make a good drink. Or close a bar either. That boy be lucky to tie his shoes some days.”

  “Didn’t you hire him?”

  “Yeah, I had to. He’s my nephew, which makes it worse since I know what a real idiot he is.”