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His thumb stops and he stares straight ahead, then leans back and smiles. He reminds me of someone. It’s been bugging me for days. It’s his eyes. They’re blue and remind me of someone else I know, but it’s definitely not Axel—his are inky blue. I guess you could consider this guy attractive if he gained fifty pounds and didn’t radiate serial killer.
“Um, so your regular?”
“I’ve been waiting, you’re late. Happy Birthday, Toni.” I freeze and break into a cold sweat.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s your birthday. Here.” He puts a red package on the table. “For you.” He smiles.
Who the hell is this guy? No one around here calls me Toni. Ever since meeting Axel, I’m Antoinette only. My past calls me Toni.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” My bitch voice is out.
“I’m James. We haven’t officially met, but I saw you perform in New York and just knew.”
My pen drops and rolls away as I try to breathe. Can this be true? “I doubt that. I’m sorry, but you might need another waitress.” I turn, but his voice stops me.
“I did. I saw you.”
Goose bumps trail down my arms.
Ghosts.
I look around, but everyone is busy. He continues, as if my fear is something he enjoys, and for a moment I regret making Axel angry. What if he doesn’t pick me up tonight?
“You were like a dream. Of course you were only in the corps de ballet, but you did get a small solo.”
He picks up his water glass to hold it to the light—I guess to see if anything is in it.
“Then poof you were gone.” He sets it down and focuses his blue eyes on me.
“You can imagine how delighted I was to see you here, in a diner. A ballerina in a diner.” He talks strange, as if he’s a bit off. It’s unnatural, clipped, as if he doesn’t trust himself not to mess up. I try to memorize everything about him. He’s pale with blue eyes and blond eyelashes. Dyes his hair, which is why he resembles a vampire with his coloring. His white button-down shirt and black slacks look rather old or else unkept.
I clear my throat. “I do have other tables. Your usual?” He stares at me, a strange smile spreading across his lips. I smile back, but I’m going to have him eighty-sixed. Then again, who’ll enforce it?
Great. Now we need security because a strange man saw me perform years ago? It’s bizarre, but I guess it could happen.
“No. No food. I wanted to give you your gift.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t accept it. I have a boyfriend who’s a Disciple. And he would not be happy if I accepted that. But thank you.”
His eyes change. This guy’s not right. Maybe he’s on drugs, but I’m done dealing with him.
“The Disciples.” He lifts his water again. “I heard they’re dangerous. Is it true?”
“Yes. Yes, they are.” I’m not engaging anymore. He can go take his weird crazy somewhere else.
I leave him and gratefully greet another table with a baby and grandparents. “Can I get her a high chair?” The grandparents smile, but I’m not paying attention—I’m watching the creepy guy leave.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll be right back to take your order.” Weaving my way around the tables to get to the window, I want to see what he drives. But he’s gone. Vanished. Maybe he walks? No one can pull out that fast. My eyes scan the restaurant. Is he hiding?
“Are you okay? You look… off today.” Joy walks by with a pot of coffee.
“Did you see the creepy guy leave?” I hiss at her, following her to a table.
“He just left.” She pours a cup and smiles at the old man, handing him his check.
“Okay. Antoinette, Charlie called me in today because it’s your birthday. I think you need to rest.” I open my mouth to argue, but when Joy gives you a look, you don’t argue.
Her kind brown eyes have the slightest hint of gold in them, making her lovely inside and out. Joy is studying to be a nurse, so when any of us have medical issues, we go to her.
“Seriously, Antoinette, go home. You look like shit.”
See, Joy’s the positive one. No one messes with her.
“Go home. And work on dance. And getting your classes going.” She gives me a saucy smile then greets the table I just left with the grandparents.
Dance classes. It’s a fantastic idea, but where would I hold them? It’s not like I can invite everyone over to the clubhouse and teach them in the game room. I go back to look out the window again and don’t see him. The parking lot is full, but his godawful dyed black hair would be easy to spot.
Turning, I look up at another loner sitting in the corner reading a book. Which is fine. I mean, most are on their phones, but this guy’s been coming in for coffee and lunch for as long as I’ve worked here. He’s a regular who none of us talk to. He looks up and nods, then goes back to reading and drinking his coffee.
