Free Moms Night Out by Tricia Goyer Page A

off her shoulders. They looked good. They looked like Charlie’s Angels, she was sure. A few people looked up from their outside tables and watched them pass. Did anyone guess they were three stressed moms? Not tonight. Allyson could almost hear the theme music to go along with their stride.
    Then, unexpectedly, Allyson’s ankle turned. She shifted slightly, and thought she would tumble to the ground, but then caught herself.
    Just one moment. . . cant I have just one moment of grace? She righted herself and continued on, hardly missing a step. If Izzy and Sondra noticed her fumble they didn’t say a word, and she liked that. They were good friends indeed.

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    They entered the small restaurant and the aroma of garlic, fresh bread, and expensive perfume greeted them. Allyson paused for a moment, realizing this was so different from the restaurants that she usually ate at with Sean and the kids. Instead of loud, kid music, a soft harp played. Instead of the dings and buzzes of video games and the loud clunks of skeeball, low conversation and murmurs filled the room. She glanced around. Every table seemed to be full, well, except for the one that waited for them. She’d been diligent in making a reservation. Izzy and Sondra stood by the large plant in the foyer near the door as Allyson stepped forward.
    A hostess wore a slinky red dress and a large silver statement necklace. She had perfectly arched eyebrows, flawless skin. Her black hair was pulled into a high, tight bun, and she smiled as she greeted them.
    “Welcome to Chez Magique. Your journey awaits.” Her voice oozed out like frosting from a squeeze tube.
    Allyson nearly squealed as she approached. Giddiness bounced in her belly and threatened to escape. “Ohhh.” She cooed and briefly glanced back to her friends, then back to the hostess. “Field. Party of three.”
    “And what is your name?”
    Allyson’s smile fell. She cleared her throat. Her eyelashes fluttered, sure she’d pronounced her name clearly. “Fie-ld,” she repeated.
    The hostess pursed her pouty lips as she used the computer mouse to move over her computer screen. “I cannot seem to find your reservation on my scroll.” She punctuated every word and pushed her lips down into a slight frown. “Uh, sorry.”
    Allyson’s mouth gaped open. “But, I. I—”
    The woman leaned forward slightly and stretched her hand to Allyson, as if trying to ease her concern. “It’s only a two-and-a-half-hour wait, totally worth it,” she said in a valley girl drawl. “And during that time you’re more than welcome to observe the art in the gallery.” The hostess motioned to the wall behind Allyson, and then she smiled and nodded as if pleased with herself that she’d come up with the perfect solution.
    Allyson’s eyebrows scrunched down. “I—I don’t want to observe the art.”
    The woman reflected her scowl. “I know it’s really exhausting, right?”
    Desperation clawed at Allyson’s throat, and she willed her pounding heart to still. It didn’t.
    “I—I scouted, I planned. I got the Groupon. I made a reservation. I did everything that was required of me, so there must be some mistake.” The words spilled out, untamed.
    The woman offered a sympathetic smile. She waved her hands and flashed her painted nails as she spoke. “How about this, why don’t I go back and talk to my visionary for you?”
    Allyson wrinkled up her nose. “Your what?”
    The woman’s sweet plastic smile dropped, and she took on the look of an impatient cab driver. “The manager,” she growled.
    Allyson’s eyes darted from side-to-side, and she hoped Izzy and Sondra couldn’t hear. This was their night. She was their event planner, and once again she was a big, huge failure. “Oh, yeah,” she whispered.
    “Uh, wait here.” The hostess strode off toward the kitchen, taking little steps in her too-high heels.
    Allyson sighed. Frustration coursed through her, and she leaned on the counter