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I send my coworker of the last few years a wry smile. “When would I have time?” Not to mention money. “I work fifty hours a week.” And barely keep my head above water.
“Then why’d you apply in the first place, sugar?”
Isn’t that the million-dollar question. A glutton for punishment?
Perhaps. I have more in my life than I can handle as it is. “So, how’s Teddy feeling?”
Marlene livens up my shifts daily by showing pics and videos of her adorable pug mix. He’s had a skittish temperament ever since she got him several months ago, and from the stories she tells, her new boyfriend is only making matters worse.
Marlene frowns. “Good.”
Lowering the container, I look over. Her expression and words are at odds with one another.
She shrugs. “Wayne got wasted last night and went on a tirade, screaming his head off about all kinds of junk. I found Teddy an hour later huddled under the bed, shaking like a leaf.”
Ugh. Yes, I worry some about Marlene, even though she insists this newest man in her life has never lifted a hand to her. I also know she’s tougher than I could ever hope of being, though, so I think she can hold her own—but when she tells me stories about Wayne terrifying that poor little dog, I see red. If there were any way I could afford another mouth to feed, I’d push the issue.
The bell out front rings as I unscrew the lid of the first shaker. The night’s stormy weather has been bad for business. Personally, I was hoping we’d seen our last customer before locking up, which happens some thirty minutes from now.
“Well, well. Speak of the devil.”
My head pops up at the mischievous quality in Marlene’s voice. She’s leaning, peering around the soda fountain. I do the same, and my breath catches.Him.The tall, lean man I’ve been thinking of all evening slides into one of a roomful of empty booths.
Marlene turns. “Here’s your chance.”
I wipe suddenly slippery palms down my apron. “You really think so?”
She plants a fist on her popped-out hip. “Honey, it’s practically an engraved invitation. Aren’t you the one’s been telling me all night about your problems and wishing you could talk to someone in the business for advice?”
True, but…John?
Okay, yes, John Whatever-his-last-name-is is the very face that has come to mind every time I’ve dreamed of finding help for my current set of troubles.
Oh, what troubles they are.
I don’t know the man at all, but I’ve served him scrambled eggs plenty of mornings. The only reason I know his first name is that one morning—and one morning only—there was another man with him and I overheard as I refilled their coffee cups.
I guess he’s friendly enough, though not one for chit chat. He doesn’t flirt either, a gift I appreciate more than he could know. His smiles are rare, but when one slips out…
Marlene pokes my sleeve. “Go on, girl. At least take his order, for crying out loud.”
She has a point. Even as I watch, I see him looking around, a small frown around his mouth:Waitress, please?
Well, regardless of what I say when I get there, serving the man is my job. Yet, as I approach the table, ridiculous butterflies ping pong around my stomach.
His frown erases itself when he sees my approach, and maybe I catch the hint of a smile. My usual customer greeting tips my tongue, but he goes first.
“You work nights, too?”
I set a water glass onto the table. “Saturdays I do. And some Sunday lunches.”
“That’s a lot of days.”
Yep, seven a week. Breakfast shift Monday through Friday and then the weekend. I shrug. “Gotta pay the bills somehow.”
“What a hassle, right?”
I tilt my head, acknowledging. Not the word I would have used, but spot on. “Can I get you anything else to drink?”
