Parallel love đ 27
Parallel lov
Clara.
Her ex-supervisor from the factory, the woman who made her life hell. The one person she didn't want seeing her like thisâsweaty, disheveled, in a waitress uniform.
Panicked, Pearl darted behind the door and moved backward slowly, praying not to be seen.
Until she bumped into someone. Solid. Tall.
She spun around. Only to find that festival guy from this morning, what was his name again
"Oh hell no," she whispered.
"Wow. Forgot my name again?" Armstrong asked, tilting his head.
His expensive cologne filled her nose. His shirt was halfway unbuttoned, sunglasses perched on his hair. Still obnoxiously attractive.
Pearl rolled her eyes. "Not now. Please."
He smirked. "You always show up in weird places, you know. First at the festival. Now here. Working, huh? Sexy waitress, I'm impressed."
She tried to move past him, but he blocked her path, arms crossed lazily. "Running from something?"
"Yeah. Move. I can't be seen."
His smirk deepened. "Relax. I can cover you."
Just then, Clara's heels clicked in the hallway. Her voice followed. "Ugh, why is the soap here always soâ"
Pearl was gone in a flash, slipping past Armstrong the second Clara exited the bathroom. Clara saw Armstrong standing there alone, staring down the hall.
"Who were you talking to?" she asked, confused.
He blinked. "Huh? She wasâuhânever mind. Just someone."
Clara narrowed her eyes. "Someone who?"
"I'll introduce you later. She's⊠interesting."
Clara rolled her eyes. "Hmm. I'll see about that."
"Has mom arrived?" he asked, desperate to change the subject.
"Yeah. The party's about to start."
They walked off, Clara still glancing back suspiciously.
Pearl leaned against the wall, heart pounding.
"Why is my life always like this?" she muttered.
Lisa popped her head in. "You okay?"
Pearl straightened up. "Yeah⊠justâlong day."
As she tied her apron again, she couldn't help but wonder: what was Armstrong doing here?
**
The cafĂ© floor shimmered under soft golden lights. The birthday party was now in full swingâguests laughing, waiters weaving between tables, and a jazz band humming somewhere near the cake stand.
Pearl steadied her tray, weaving through the crowd with practiced grace, even as her eyes caught on one particular table.
Clara.
And sitting beside her, grinning like he belonged in trouble?
Armstrong.
Great.
They looked like siblings.
Figures.
Pearl lowered her gaze, hoping Clara wouldn't recognize her now. But fate had other plans.
"Hey, sexy waitress," Armstrong called with that signature smirk, raising his champagne glass.
Pearl froze mid-step.
The entire table turned.
Clara's eyes narrowed in instant recognition. Her perfectly arched brow rose in pure disbelief.
"YouâŠ" she breathed.
Pearl forced a polite smile. "Good evening."
"You work here?" Clara asked, tone already dripping with judgment.
Pearl nodded. "Yes. Enjoy your evening."
But Armstrong wasn't done. "She's the one I told you about. The mysterious bathroom escape artist."
Pearl shot him a glare.
Clara leaned back, sipping her drink. "Charming. Didn't know we were hiring drama queens too."
Pearl's jaw tightened, but she said nothing. Not now. Not in uniform. Not at work.
She turned, walking off quickly.
Armstrong leaned closer to Clara. "Why do you always have to be a storm cloud?"
Clara scoffed. "Why do you always flirt with strays?"
He laughed. "She's not a stray. She's fire. And I like a little heat."
But Clara wasn't done yet
When pearl came to serve drinks the second time .
"Well, well," Clara said with a honeyed tone sharp enough to cut glass. "Never thought I'd see the day."
Pearl ignored her, professionally placing down the drinks without a flinch.
Clara continued. "From grease-stained uniforms to cute little aprons. I suppose Crestville will take *anyone* these days."
Pearl gave her the faintest smile. "Would you like anything else?"
Armstrong smirked, watching the exchange like a spectator at a boxing ring.
"Oh, I'm good," Clara purred, lifting her glass. "But how's school, Pearl? Still hanging on? Or are we counting down to that dropout moment? What was it you said back at the factory? Something about 'doing your best'? Adorable."
Pearl's hands curled around the edge of the tray. "I'm still in school," she said, voice steady. "and doing just fine."
Clara clicked her tongue. "That's a miracle. I figured the pressure would've cracked you by now. Crestville's not exactly known for holding hands."
Pearl looked her straight in the eye. "I'm not here for hand-holding. I'm here to win."
Armstrong gave a low whistle. "That's what I likeâfire."
Pearl gave him a side glance.
This Armstrong deserved a comedy slap from the universe. Preferably in the form of a flying tray.
Clara arched a brow. "Win what, exactly? A degree? A man? Or the Most Dramatic Employee of the Month?"
Pearl just ignored her, simply bowed mockingly and disappeared into the kitchen.
Back in the kitchen she gave herself a subtle thumbs-up and whispered under her breath
"Pearl you did well".