My Waitress (NOT EDITED)

Chapter 13

Malachi casually places the glasses of mousse on trays and stores them in the fridge. I still stand frozen from what just happened. Malachi frikin kissed me on the cheek. He kissed me. Then he just walks off like that's not what you should be contemplating about. I'm replaying the moment over and over again. How is he not embarrassed by that?! Or maybe he is and he's just hiding it. Now I'm debating whether or not there was even whip cream on my cheek.

"Oh, and by the way," says Malachi out of the blue. He turns around and smirks. "There was no whip cream on your cheek." My eyebrows furrow and my face reddens more. That sly little-

"Nicole, you look so much like a tomato I can mistake you for an actual oversized tomato. I can make spaghetti sauce out of you. You wouldn't want that," says Marceline. She chuckles as I cover my face. What did that kiss mean? Is there a meaning to a kiss like that? It's just a kiss on the cheek, I shouldn't be overreacting like this. Ugh, now I'm positive I'm gonna have a dream about the moment.

"Malachi, change your clothes... again," she says, shooing Malachi out of the kitchen. "And have PB get Nicole a change of clothes too." She waits till Malachi is all the way up stairs. She walks towards me and leans on the counter. "PB stands for Patricia Beatrice. She helps me around the house. I really need it."

I nod. "It's nice to have some help around with a house as big as place."

"Yes ma'am." Suddenly her smile slowly disappears. She looks back as if she's trying to see if Malachi is coming back downstairs. After two seconds, Malachi isn't down the stairs, so she leans closer to me, like she doesn't want anyone to hear what she's going to say. Her gaze becomes a little more serious.

"Nicole, are you going to tell Malachi about who you are?" She asks softly.

My heart drops. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." She rests her elbow on the counter. "Are going to tell Malachi that you're Nicole Miller, daughter of the wealthy family Jeremy and Courtney Miller, who comes from New York, and passed away from a fatal car crash. I notice the faint New York accent in your voice. I wonder if Malachi noticed it too."

My face probably doesn't look like a tomato anymore. It's likely a sheet of paper because of the blood drained from my face. Marceline knows about me, my family... the car crash. Well, why wouldn't she? She's Malachi's grandma, she's part of the wealthy community too.

I hesitate before answering her question. "No.. no I haven't told him yet. Should I?"

"You've only known Malachi for a week. If you want to count the many times he's messed with you over the summer, then about 3 months. Malachi does not interfere with his father and his business, he doesn't even want to be part of it. So it's likely he won't know where you come from. I mean, you're here right now. If you want to tell him, tell him. If you want to wait for a good time, tell him that time. Seeing as Malachi is towards you, I don't think it will change anything of how he feels about you."

The blood rushes back to my cheeks and I flush. "I guess you're right."

Marceline examines me for a moment, then takes my hand and squeezes it. "I don't know how the rich would think that," she whispers. "You are not a bad person."

Bad person? "Why would they think that?" I question. "Did my parents do something wrong. Did I do something wrong?" Maybe that's why they were looking at me that way at church. But my family would never do anything horrible... right?

Marceline raises her eyebrows with concern. She abruptly stands up straight to face me. "You mean... you don't know...?" She gazes into my confused expression. "What do you
remember after the crash, Nicole?"