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Great, just my luck.The first place I choose to visit in this city, and it must be getting robbed. My strangled breaths part my lips, my heart rate picks up, and my palms sweat. This can’t be happening to me.
I arch my neck, needing to see what’s going on. Except… nothing’s happening. I don’t see anyone holding out a gun. No one is yelling demands. People aren’t scrambling to hide under tables. No, they’re all just looking at me, or trying to inconspicuously look in my direction.
I peek down at my coat and wipe at my face. What the bloody hell are they all gawking at? I can feel the red creep up my neck. My hands shake a little as I fidget with my purse. I pull my phone out, deciding to focus on that. Maybe they’ll all turn away once they realize I’m no one special.
I scroll through my Insta feed—but the more I scan the photos, the more homesick I feel. I hear the chime signaling someone’s entrance. Do not look up, Holly.
I keep my eyes on my phone, like it’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen. The hair on the back of my neck stands up and chills sweep over my body. This is more than just a room full of people staring at me. This reaction is different. I remind myself not to look up.
My eyes stay on my screen, even when I hear a gravelly voice say something loudly in what sounds like Italian. As much as I want to sneak a glance, to see who the owner of that voice is, I don’t. I count to ten. My knee shakes as I fight my body’s response to that voice. I get to five before I give in and raise my eyes. But all I see are the backs of two men walking through a door labeled:staff only.
Maybe they’re the owners.
When I peer around the café again, I note that everyone has gone back to eating, drinking, and whatever else they were doing before they were staring at me like I’m the new circus freak in town. Even the waitress appears to have recovered from whateverthatwas. She strolls over to me with a huge smile on her face and a notepad in her hand. I notice a slight tremor to her fingers as she grips the pen tightly.
“Good evening, what can I get for you, ma’am?” she asks politely.
“Oh, hi! Um, I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu. What’s good?”
“Oh my, you’re Australian?” Her smile is genuine now.
“I am,” I answer, unsure what else to say to that.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Australia. It’s on my bucket list.”
“Oh, you should. It’s a great country,” I urge, picking up the menu from the coffee table in front of me.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! You asked what’s good. But honestly, the chef will make whatever you want.”
Huh, whatever I want?Weird.“So… if all I really wanted was some Vegemite toast, he’d be able to rustle that up for me?” I deadpan.
“Uh, um—sure, he’ll do it. It might just take a little while. But if that’s what you want, I’ll pass it on to the chef.” Shit, she looks nervous.
“I’m only joking. I don’t want Vegemite toast. But it’s interesting how far this place will go to serve the customer. Can I just have a ham and cheese toastie—oh, and the biggest chai latte you offer?’
“Ah, sure thing.” I watch her write down my order, then she looks at me again. “So… a toastie is like… what, exactly?” Her eyebrows draw down in confusion.
“Oh, it’s a toasted sandwich with ham and cheese on it. You know, I can just look at the menu and order something that’s already on there.”
“No, it’s fine. That’s what I thought it was—just wanted to make sure. Your order won’t be long.” Then, with a slight smile and a nod, she leaves me to my thoughts.
The tiny hairs on my neck prickle again. I feel as if I’m being watched, but when I glance around, no one is paying me any mind. If anything, it looks like they’re all desperately tryingnotto look my way.
My order comes out really quickly, especially considering how busy this place seems. Twenty minutes later, I’m ready to go back home, shower, make the bed, and sleep for another few hours.
“How was everything?” the same waitress asks when I approach the counter.
“That was probably the best toastie I’ve ever had.” I smile. I’m telling her the truth. If toasties could have five stars, that would have been a five-star toastie.
“Oh, I’m glad. Here, before you go, this is for you too.” She hands me a small white box.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Red velvet cake.”
“Oh, I didn’t order this.” I try to hand it back to her, but she holds her palms up, refusing to accept it.
“I know you didn’t. Someone else wanted you to have it. Thank you so much for dining with us. We hope to see you again soon.”
