Quinn snorts. “There’s a thin line between love and hate, Anna. Remember that.”

A few hours later I find myself immersed in loud chatter of the restaurant patrons, trying to keep up with the orders. The crowd at Larry’s tonight is insane. It’s Bike Nite, and who knew there were so many riders in Detroit? Andy says tonight’s revenue helps sustain the business throughout the month when it’s not as busy. There’s not even a spare moment to chat with Quinn or the guys back in the kitchen.

As I punch in my next order I glance down at the clock on the computer, calling to Quinn, “We close in two hours. Does this slow down soon?”

She props her tray on her hip. “Yeah, this should be the last of it. Once we get these customers served, things should begin to die down.” I slide over and allow her to punch her order in. “Speaking of dying, did you see how pissed Alice got when X came in and avoided the bar area, heading straight for your section? I thought her head was going to explode. Her face was as red as her hair. You would think after all the times he’s been in here and passed by her section, she would accept he’s not interested.”

I laugh. “She hates me.”

“Fuck her,” Quinn barks. “There’s a word for girls like her that starts with a ‘c’. That bitch is mean, and I think it’s funny X doesn’t give her the chance to shove her fake boobies in his face.”

I shake my head. “You’re too much.”

“Believe me, she deserves a little torture. Alice has had things go her way around here far too long.”

“Order up, Quinnie!” Brock calls from the kitchen. “You too, Anna.”

She sighs. “Duty calls.”

I load my orders on the tray and head out to deliver them on the floor. This is the most intimidating part of the job for me, carrying this heavy tray filled with food, but I’m becoming more comfortable with it.

I balance it carefully on the palm of my hand, praying I don’t spill it. The second I pass by the bar my foot gets caught on something, and I stumble, losing my balance.

Everything feels like it happens in slow motion. The momentum of the tray moving forward is unstoppable, along with my fumbling steps. A collective gasp fills my ears, and I watch helplessly as the contents of the tray hit the floor and the plates shatter before both of my knees hit the ground.

It takes everything in me not to cry. Even though I know accidents happen, I feel like a failure. The sight of the broken plates confirms my earlier speculation that maybe I’m not so cut out for the real world after all.

“What the hell happened?” I glance up at Andy, who is sizing up the mess with a furrowed brow. “Are you hurt?”

“Are you kidding?” Alice snickers. “Her ass is fat enough to cushion her landing.”

“Watch it, Alice,” Quinn barks as she helps me up and asks, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” I dust off my knees and pause when I see the scarlet liquid on my fingertips.

Xavier pushes past my cousin and scans me from head to toe.

“You’re bleeding.” He scoops me up into his massive arms and shifts his gaze to Andy. “Where’s your first aid kit?”

“On the wall in my office, through the kitchen,” Andy replies, and Xavier takes off in that direction.

My eyes trace Xavier’s concerned face. “I can walk, you know.”

He shakes his head. “There could be glass in that cut. No walking until I look at it.”

“I didn’t know you were a doctor too,” I tease.

He smirks. “Don’t be a smartass. I just know a lot about fixing wounds.”

Xavier sets me on Andy’s desk and grabs the kit off the wall. Without any hint of hesitation he rifles through the box, searching for the correct supplies to treat my leg. His last words ring in my ears, reminding me there’s so much about him I don’t know about.

He brings over a bottle of peroxide and gauze and sets the open box next to me. He pours a capful of solution and opens one of the sterile bandages. “This won’t hurt. I just need to clean it up.” After I nod, he holds the gauze below the small cut on my knee and pours the peroxide into the wound. It bubbles and fizzes—flushing the germs out before he dumps another capful into it. His eyes inspect the cut, and I know the logical reaction would be for me to be worried about the pain, but all I can focus on are his large hands on my body. The tenderness of his touch causes my stomach to flip. “You don’t appear to have any glass in there—looks like just a bad scrape.”

He dabs some triple antibiotic ointment on a clean wad of gauze and applies it to the cut before covering it with a bandage. His skill amazes me. My father would never have been able to do that. Injuries like this were always handled by my mother, which makes me wonder why Xavier is so good at it. “Where did you learn how to do all this?”

He shrugs. “Just something I learned over time. I’ve always had to take care of myself, you know.”

One corner of my mouth pulls down into a small frown. “Did your mom teach you?” I know the question is prying, and he’s told me he doesn’t talk about his family, but I can’t help wondering what happened to him when he was a little boy.

Xavier blows a rush of air through his nostrils. “My mom died when I was a kid.”

I gasp and instantly wish I could take back my nosy question. “I’m so sorry. That’s terrible. How old were you?”