by Devon Ashley
Tish and Juan, our day cook, left at six, leaving Nick and me to contend with all the tables for the rest of the night. If he had put out any of the dinners yet, I hadn’t noticed, so I was curious to see if I’d have to send anything back.
When I picked up his first official order, I was stunned into silence, looking down on the most beautiful display I think one could make with chicken fried chicken, mashed potatoes and pot fried corn. The potatoes were perfect, creamy with zero lumps, drizzled with gravy in a spiraled circle on top and sprinkled with minced herbs. The corn nibblets had some type of garnish that included finely chopped red and green bell peppers and a little shredded cheese. And the chicken? Perfectly browned.
“Something wrong?” he asked, clearly trying to suppress a smile.
“Um…” I muttered. “Not at all. Looks good.”
I delivered it to Earl, the beefy, grungy man that worked under cars all day, and he looked at me like I was crazy. He tried to see who the new cook was, probably to call him high-falootin, but Nick was out of view. Didn’t matter though, because when I came back five minutes later, he couldn’t stop raving about the food and ordered another side of the mashed potatoes.
And that was just the beginning. The most popular item ordered at the diner was the hamburger. Nick had reformed the thin beef patties so they were thick and juicy, with additional herbs and seasoning that you could actually see and taste when you bit into it. Pickles and onions were cut with a wavy knife, iceberg lettuce was replaced with spinach. And the French fries? Tossed in some kind of Cajun seasoning to give it some actual flavor.
Even the Salisbury steak, fried catfish and BBQ sandwich looked like masterpieces. And with each plate I had to pull from the food line, another rave review came from the customer, and Nick’s smile got smugger and smugger. When all the dinners had been delivered and the remaining customers began trickling out the door, I had to ask.
Leaning over the stainless steel pass-through to the kitchen, I asked, “Nick, what are you doing here?”
He was just off to the side, wiping down the counters for spilled food. “I thought that was obvious. I’m cooking,” he explained matter-of-factly.
“I mean, why aren’t you cooking in a restaurant?”
He adjusted his baseball cap, sweeping his fingers back through his hair, and I got a glimpse of the wavy one-inch locks underneath, shaded a soft, woodsy sort of brown. It went really well with the honey beige shade of his skin and emerald green eyes. “Last time I checked, this was a restaurant,” he jested.
I narrowed my eyes. “Oh… So you’re one of those guys.”
Amused, he released a weak chuckle. “What guys?” he asked carefully.
“Difficult.”
His head slightly bobbed side to side a few times, his eyes admitting the truth behind my observation. “My last girlfriend concurs.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I mumbled with closed lips in a teasing manner.
Now that the diner had cleared, I returned to my tables to begin busing. It was almost nine, and rationally speaking, I only expected about five more locals for the rest of the night. Any other customers would most likely just be traveling through.
Before I could even finish clearing the first table, Nick came out with a bucket and began busing the one two tables over. “You don’t have to do that,” I said. “We’re just responsible for our own areas.”
“Yeah, I know. But I try to clean as I cook, so my area’s already done.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.”
“So…” he dragged out, thick ceramic plates clanging as he stacked them in his container. “Have you always lived around here?”
“Uh, no. I’m from L.A. actually. You?”
“Washington, originally. So how’d you end up here? I can’t imagine you saw a listing for a waitress in a small town and thought that’s just perfect.”
I playfully rolled my eyes for him, grabbing the dishrag I used for wiping tables. “I was on my way to Portland, but I guess I got a little sidetracked.”
“Portland, huh?” He carried his bucket to the counter, where two more place settings were dirty. “What’s in Portland?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Hell if I know. When I hit the bus station and scanned the boards, it was the only place that called to me.” I grabbed my bucket and followed him to the counter.
“You just up and left for the hell of it? By yourself?”
“My parents passed away.” I focused on my cleaning, but I could feel his stare on the side of my face. Before he could inquire, I added, “Car accident,” and left it at that. “I didn’t really have anything left, so I had nothing to lose.”
“I’m sorry.” And as softly as he said that, I believed he meant it. “My dad died a few years back, too.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, parroting his sentiment.
With only a stool separating us, we stood there silently for a moment, just gazing, feeling one another’s pain behind our eyes. Was his loss as detrimental to his life as well? Newcomers in small towns were usually running away from something.
I would know...
The longer I took him in, the more I realized Nick didn’t belong here. He was a good looking guy, really fit, maybe a couple of years older. An amazing cook – probably a chef even. He could easily be working at a nice restaurant in any major city, or even making a lot of money bartending with those looks. So why wasn’t he?
It wasn’t until a pair of headlights from an old, white truck flashed and drew our attention to the front windows that we moved. I sighed, and said, “It’s Joe. He’s probably going to want the burger deluxe medium-well. And you’d be doing me a huge favor getting it out ASAP.”
His posture stiffened. “Is he a problem for you?”
“No,” I said, tossing the last of the dishes into the bucket. With a forced smile, I added, “He’s harmless.” Just relentless…
“Here,” he said, taking my bucket and stacking it atop his, “I’ll take care of this and get his food started.”
As he passed me on the way to the back, I whispered my thanks. I stepped around the counter and pulled a beer from the cooler just as Joe came through the front. I met him at the corner table, where he always sat when it was available.
“Hey, Joe,” I said sweetly, setting his beer on the table. “How are you doing tonight?”
“Fine.” But his eyes were focused on the pass-through. “Who’s that?” he asked curiously.
I didn’t bother turning to look. “Nick. New cook. You want your usual?”
“Yeah, thanks,” he muttered.
Something seemed off about him. Normally, Joe was all smiles and ready to talk my ear off, but tonight he was uncharacteristically aloof, seemingly more interested in what Nick was doing than bother with me. Hallelujah.
Nick had Joe’s food ready within minutes, and Joe too, seemed surprised by the plate before him. Of all days for Joe to be quiet on his own, because Nick’s food was so good they all hushed up long enough to devour it. I gave him a few minutes, all the while cleaning the area behind the counter. I could hear Nick running some dishes through the wash, and when he finished, he came up front to quietly ask me if everything was alright.
“Yeah, fine.” His body blocked my view of Joe, and he was close enough for me smell the fresh rosemary lingering on his hands. “I told you, he’s harmless.”
I wrote up Joe’s total from memory, then walked his ticket over to him and cleared his plate. He sat there, drumming his fingers on the table, eyes staring across the restaurant at nothing.
“Joe? You okay?”
He shifted in his seat a bit, then drank the last of his beer. “So are ya’ finally gonna be ready to date now that pretty boy’s working in the kitchen?”
Pretty boy? Hardly.
“No,” I stated firmly. “I’m not interested in dating right now. Anyone. Especially not someone I have to work with every night.”
“Yeah, right,” he muttered rudely. He pulled a ten from his wa
llet and I stepped aside as he jerked out of the booth and stormed out the front door. Okay then… Guess I wasn’t getting a tip tonight.
The rest of my shift went by quickly enough, as I spent a lot of my time between customers cleaning the floors and restocking the shelves underneath the counter. With an hour to go, Nick stood beside me as I stacked clean glasses onto the shelves. “Do you want me to make you something to eat?”
Looking up from my spot on the floor, I replied, “I’m not hungry, but thanks.”
“It’s a ten hour shift and you haven’t even taken a break yet.”
“That’s because the moment I stop, I’ll crash.”
He squatted, bringing our heads closer to eye level. “You should still eat something.”
There was something beautiful about his eyes, like translucent sea glass tinted vivid green. And the way they gazed openly at me was a little distracting. Quite honestly, I’m not sure how I formed the words, “I’ll make myself something when I get home.”
“Liar,” he accused calmly.
Surprised that he saw through my fib, I blabbered, “How would you know?”
“Because if you knew how to cook, you’d be back there making yourself something to eat.”
“I told you, I’m not hungry,” I repeated firmly, but my stomach took that very moment to rat me out. Traitor.
His head tilted. He knew I was lying again. “Megan.”
I silently sighed my defeat. “Okay, fine,” I stammered. “I’m hungry. It’s just…Look, don’t tell Paul, but I lost interest in the food here a long time ago.”
He was silent for a moment, and I tried not to smile at the seriousness of his face, because I think that’s what he was going for. Finally, he replied, “Fair enough,” and returned to the back.
Ten minutes later, I was on my knees trying to organize the to-go containers that always seemed to be a mess. I swear they had invisible legs that sprouted and moved about each day just to screw with me.
“Order up!” Nick called.
Curious, I jumped to my feet thinking I was completely oblivious to a customer, but there was no one seated in the restaurant. “What’s this?” I asked. Nick was standing opposite the pass-through, a plate of food between us.
“Something off the menu. Fried chicken club sandwich with honey-mustard dipping sauce.” When I didn’t take it right away, he encouraged, “Try it. You’ll like it.”
Like everything else he cooked, it looked incredibly delicious. I dipped a sandwich triangle into the sauce and took a bite. “Oh, wow.” Covering my mouth as I chewed, I added “This is good!”
A natural smile crossed his face as I moaned in pleasure. “See? Always trust your chef.” He whipped a towel over his shoulder and disappeared from view, leaving me to devour the food on my own.
Not long after, we shut down the restaurant and stepped out the back to head home. Nick immediately asked, “Where’s your car?”
“I can walk,” I said weakly, my legs suddenly locked with fear as I scanned the dark alley. I didn’t like the darkness, or being alone while in it. Every night, Paul had always driven me home. Why hadn’t I thought of that yet? As much as I hated the night, I should’ve realized that before now. And even though it took less than ten minutes to walk home, I really didn’t want to walk it.
Nick flashed me a disapproving look. “That’s not safe,” he said slowly. “Hop in. I’ll give you a ride.”
Normally, I would think twice about getting into a car with a guy I just met. But I also knew Paul thought of me like a daughter in some ways, and I believed him when he said Nick checked out. Still, my legs were a bit shaky climbing inside, but in truth, they had done that the first time Paul gave me a ride too. Nick drove me the half mile to my apartment without incident and bid me goodnight. And I hated to admit it, but his smile warmed my heart a little, despite the hardened shell I kept around it for protection.
After a few days, Nick and I fell into a routine at work. We talked about little things and favorite things, but steered clear of the really personal topics. Like parents. He didn’t seem too keen on discussing his or mine, which was a relief, as it was still a painful subject on my end. And after every shift, he was kind enough to drive me home. I liked him. He was easy to be around, and it almost felt like we’d known each other forever.
When I came in Saturday night, Darla was all in a huff over something, cursing phrases only a backwoods redneck could fully understand. Asking me to cover her station for a few minutes, she disappeared into the office with a disgruntled Paul. When she emerged once again, I asked her if she was alright.
“Megan, sometimes I just wanna throttle that man’s neck until he’s as red as a freakin’ hot rod!”
I pinched my lips to keep from laughing as her face reddened enough to compete with her frizzy strawberry-blonde hair. Jokingly, I asked, “Is it time for Paul to return to the night shift already?”
“Might be!” she snapped, but she really meant no ill-will towards me.
Continuing the tease, I said, “Well, you managed to share schedules for a whole six days. You had a good run.” I even patted her shoulder condescendingly.
She glared at me with evil eyes, her heavy eyeliner really adding to the effect. “You little bitch,” she replied slowly, humor smothering every word. “You remember what it’s like to live in a house with him!”
“I do.”
“You spent two months in that guest room of ours.”
“I did. I remember.” Being similar heights made it easy to wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her tight. “But Darla, you’ve got a good man there. Not too many people would be kind to a girl that showed up homeless and penniless. Not like Paul. He’s a good man.”
Begrudgingly, she let loose the growl rumbling in her throat. “He is, isn’t he?” I nodded, and she reluctantly said, “Oh, all right. I’ll be right back. Again.”
She disappeared behind the office door, yelling, “Oh, hush up a minute, you old fart!” before closing it behind her.
My chest vibrated with quiet laughter, but stopped the moment I realized Nick was watching me through the pass-through, grinning at my display. Then he simply winked as if to say good job and disappeared from view.
The night went by as any other, but a swarm of customers hit us after eight. Apparently, word had gotten around that the diner had a new hottie of a cook and the teenage crowd couldn’t resist coming in to check it out for themselves. Every single table had questions for me. How old was he? Was he single? Did he really have a tattoo of a serpent slithering down his cock? Uh…twenty-one, think so, and Ew!
I playfully gave him a hard time for all the attention he’d drawn, but he shook off its ridiculousness with an eye roll – right after cringing and saying ouch over the tattoo part.
With only two tables in the diner, and them already eating, I took a few minutes to clear the counter of dirty dishes. When I came into the kitchen to dump the bin beside the dishwasher, I caught Nick standing before our employee bulletin board. Standing there with his legs spread apart and his arms crossed around his chest, I noted that it wasn’t the placard explaining his employee rights and responsibilities that he was so focused in on. It was the flyer for that missing Claire girl.
“Weird, huh?” I probed, bringing it up before he could.
“I’m assuming this isn’t you, unless you’re hanging it as a joke for some reason.”
“God, no!” I blurted, disturbed at just the thought. “Her sister came in not too long ago. Poor girl. I think seeing me really did a number on her, you know? Thinking she’d finally found Claire, only to be told otherwise.”
His eyes still hadn’t pulled away from the flyer. “Sounds heartbreaking,” he replied sadly.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I didn’t want the flyer displayed outside for obvious reasons.” I knew it would make me an instant celebrity. Head down. Stay off the radar.
“Can’t blame you.” He finally walked away then, lightly patting the
back of my shoulder as he passed, heading towards the grill to continue cleaning.
Joe dropped in at his usual time and ordered the same boring meal. He was clearly jealous of Nick and the time we got to spend working together. He’d given me the cold shoulder all week, and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why he continued to come around if it truly bothered him. Especially since he had to know Nick intentionally came out to keep me company when he came around. I privately rolled my eyes over the two, but I’d take Nick’s attention over Joe’s any day. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I felt a sense of safety when Nick was around.
By eleven, the diner had died down. I was sorry to say it, but I really didn’t care to work Friday and Saturday nights after midnight. Never in all my shifts did those nights not fail to produce some type of drunk coming in after hitting up the bar down the road, and tonight was no exception.
I didn’t recognize the three men, so I could only guess they were traveling through or visiting someone for the weekend. They ranged between early thirties to early forties, topped their heads off with grungy baseball caps and all three of them were due to shave their five o’clock shadow two weeks ago.
I groaned when they sat down at the four-top, loud and obnoxious all the way, blurting profanities left and right. I turned my back to them and pulled my hair back in a knotted mess. Making sure to get off a necessary preempted eye roll, I made my way towards them with a forced smile. This was exactly why I wore loose-fit clothing and praised myself for my lack of make-up.
I passed them menus, ignoring the suggestive leers that came from two of them, and asked them what they’d like to drink. Beers, of course…