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I don’t even own leather pants, and there’s a zero percent chance I’m buying them. This date might not even go well. Dom could meet another woman today who he likes more than me, which would be fine.
Except it wouldn’t. What’s the point of lying to myself? When Dom kissed me the other night, I felt desirable in a way I never have. He lit a match that quickly turned into a blazing fire. I’ve had a small amount of sex since my divorce all those years ago, and it disappointed every time. But that kiss made me feel sexy. Even right after eating hot dogs and tots in my messy kitchen and washing dishes, he wanted me. Not because it’s convenient, because it’s not—at all.
Other men have said they want to date me and they “don’t mind” that I have kids, and I’ve always hated that. My kids are a part of me, and for the first time ever, a man is saying he likes me and wants me because I’m a good mom. I could have cried when he said that. I never realized how much that would mean to me because I didn’t think it was even possible.
Dom isn’t perfect, but he’s genuine. He seems like a good man, and I’ve never had one of those in my life before. It feels pretty damn great.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” our new server, Katie, says when I pass her at the front counter. “I can’t remember all the steps you showed me for separating a check into multiple checks.”
“It’s okay. It’s a lot to remember. One second.”
I pass the plate with the patty melt to Deb. “This is from your customer at table seventeen. She said she ordered no onions and it has onions.”
“Thanks.” She takes the plate and I return my attention to Katie. “Want me to walk you through it?”
“Please. I appreciate it.”
“You’re doing a great job,” I assure her. “This place is a madhouse over lunch hour.”
She laughs. “I sleep like I just ran a marathon every night.”
I show her what she needs and then glance from the diner’s lobby to the dining room. There are around a dozen people waiting and three tables in need of busing. Our busboy is slowly working on one of them, not appearing to be in any hurry at all.
I grab a clean towel from the towel bucket and start helping him.
“Look alive, Chad,” I say in a tone only he can hear. “We’re slammed and we really need these tables.”
He looks over at the lobby. “Whoa. Are they all together?”
I’m pretty sure Chad’s entire paycheck this week will fund pot. He lives in his parents’ basement and is a super nice guy, but if this place caught on fire, he’d for sure be the last one out. Nothing creates any sense of urgency in him.
“You get all the dishes and I’ll wipe the table down,” I tell him, ignoring his question.
Deb takes over on the third table and I return to my table of men in suits.
“Hey, ready to order?”
“What’s the special?” one of them asks.
“Patty melt and fries for eleven ninety-nine.”
The sound of a plate shattering nearby grabs my attention and I look over. At the next table, a toddler in a high chair grins victoriously after dropping the plate full of food. The two women at the table are chattering away, neither of them acknowledging the giant mess on the floor.
I finish getting my table’s order and find Chad.
“Hey, cleanup at table six. You’ll need a broom and dustpan. There’s a broken plate.”
“On it,” he says, grinning lazily.
I’m heading for another of my tables to refill drinks when one of the women at table six gestures for me to stop.
“Excuse me, but we’re going to need a replacement grilled cheese and mashed potatoes here.”
“I’ll ask your server to stop by the table.”
She scoffs. “Can’t you just tell the cook or whatever?”
“No, it has to be added to your ticket and I’m not your server.”
