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“Here.” The old guy next to me hands me a menu. “I’m done with it.”
I take the menu but don’t plan to order anything.
“Have you seen the waitress?” I ask the old guy.
“Yeah, she ran back to the kitchen to get my tomato juice. They don’t keep it out front. I guess people don’t order it much anymore.”
I can already tell the old guy’s a talker, but I need him to be quiet so I can think. I need to figure out an excuse to tell Tara for why I’m here.
“In my day,” the old guy says, “we always had tomato juice at breakfast. I’ve never liked orange juice. Too much sugar. But my wife used to have it every—”
“Sorry, but could we just not talk?”
He looks at me like I offended him. I’m sure I did, but I can’t concentrate when he keeps talking.
“Kids these days,” he mutters, turning away from me and shaking his head.
The door from the kitchen swings open and Tara comes out, holding a glass of tomato juice. My pulse picks up as I watch her hurry over to the old man.
“Here’s your juice.” She sets the glass down. “Are you ready to—” She stops when she notices me. “Jake. What are you doing here?”
“Having lunch,” I blurt out, because I didn’t have a better excuse.
“You gonna take my order?” the old guy says, sounding annoyed.
“Yes,” Tara says, getting out her order pad. “Go ahead.”
“I’ll have two eggs over easy with hash. And a side of toast. Rye.”
“Got it. And for you?” she says to me, keeping her eyes on the order pad.
“I need to talk to you.”
“I can’t. I’m busy.”
“Don’t you get a break?”
“I already took it.” She finally looks at me. “We’re really busy today and people are waiting for seats so if you’re not ordering something, you need to go.”
“Okay, fine.” I glance at the menu. “I’ll have a burger. And a glass of water.”
She writes it down, then takes off, going back to the kitchen.
“Is that your girlfriend?” the old guy says. He holds up his hands. “Sorry. I forgot I can’t talk to you.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I mutter.
“She’s a good little worker. The way she runs around this place? Never stopping? It’s hard to find kids these days willing to work that hard. Most don’t even show up to their job.” He turns to me. “What about you? You got a job?”
“No, but I need one. I’m in college, so I can only work part time.”
“What can you do? What skills have you got?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. A lot of stuff. Why do you ask?”
“I’m looking for someone to help out with some of my properties. Someone young and in good shape. I’ve got three houses I rent out and they’re always needing repairs. And then there’s the yard work. Snow removal. It’s stuff I either don’t want to do or am too old for.”
“I can do yard work and shovel snow. As for repairs, it depends on what it is.” I notice Tara coming out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of plates and bringing it to some people at the opposite end of the counter.
