Part two

“Addison,” my ears perked up as the chef called me, and I hurried to him, wiping my hands on the apron. “Order for table 2.” I nodded, taking the order from him, and I walked towards the table, placing it gently.

“Your pasta has been made with love.” I recited with a practiced smile, and oftentimes I wanted to bury my head when first-timers heard the cheesy line, but I was immune to it now, and the job paid the bills, so I had no choice.

I stood at a distance as they began to eat, pushing up my glasses that had slipped down my nose, and I...