Midday sunlight filtered through the dusty windows of the town square, but inside my mind, a storm of restlessness swirled. It was past the usual hour Grey would pop by — usually around eleven — but today, no sign of him. My fingers toyed nervously with the strap of my bag as I decided: maybe I’d find him at his bar. Besides, Aaron handed me two hundred dollars yesterday, insisting I take it. I told him I didn’t need it, but he was relentless—like a sugar daddy in training. I’d never admit that out loud, though.
With a craving for something sweet, I treated myself to a caramel iced coffee from the café before turning down Red Street. The familiar chime of the bar’s doorbell sounded as I stepped inside, but instead of Grey’s warm, mischievous smile, I found myself facing an unfamiliar figure leaning against the counter, looking about as eager as a cat at a bath.
“Can I help you?” his voice was low, reluctant, like he’d rather be anywhere else. Not exactly the hospitable greeting I expected at Grey’s place.
I hesitated, scanning the room, then blurted, “Table for one? Or maybe two? I guess there’s no such thing as a table for one.” My words stumbled over themselves as I realized the guy standing there was the same one who had caught Grey and me in that awkward moment not long ago. Life loves to serve me humble pie.
He grunted, handing me a menu, his eyes barely meeting mine before waving me off with a dull motion of his hand to choose my own seat. I chuckled softly, amused by the sheer amount of misery he seemed to harbor at work.
I settled into a small table for two near the corner, flipping open the menu. My heart did a little happy dance when I saw waffles listed. I shifted in my seat, cracking my knuckles in excitement — syrup was a must.
Minutes stretched like hours. First, the waiter appeared with a tired mumble of “Drink?”
“Sweet tea, please,” I replied, voice hopeful.
He shuffled away, disappearing into the kitchen, leaving me with the hum of muted conversations and clinking glasses. Ten minutes passed before he returned to take my order, still without bringing my drink.
“Belgian waffles,” I smiled, “with plenty of syrup.”
He wrote something down, but his posture screamed disinterest.
Forty-five minutes later, a plate of golden waffles arrived—gorgeous and steaming—but syrup was nowhere in sight. I blinked, disappointed. And my sweet tea? Still a ghost.
My patience thinned as I flagged him down for the bill, which was a staggering thirty dollars. I frowned, noticing charges for a cheeseburger, fries, and chicken that I never ordered.
“This isn’t right,” I told him, holding up the receipt.
He shrugged, indifferent. Probably thought I’d swallow the mistake. I paid, silently vowing to treat my family with the accidental bounty while I’d be stuck with a lone plate of waffles.
No tip for Mr. Grump, that’s for sure.
“No tip?” His eyes rolled with a drama only a teenage soap star could pull off.
“Maybe if I’d gotten my sweet tea, I’d consider it,” I shot back with a sly smile.
“Bitch,” he muttered under his breath.
Just then, my favorite waiter, Jai, appeared beside him, a calm presence amid the tension.
“Wouldn’t call her that if I were you,” Jai warned, slapping the irritable guy on the back.
“He sucks, by the way,” I whispered conspiratorially to Jai, nodding toward the dude.
“You swallow,” Jai said with a narrow-eyed smirk.
I blinked. “For your information, yes, I do.”
We stared each other down like middle-schoolers arguing over lunchroom territory.
“I hope you fall off your high horse and break your little butt,” I retorted, “which, by the way, you don’t have.”
“You have no boobs,” he shot back, arms crossed smugly.
“I beg to differ,” I said, puffing out my chest just enough to emphasize my point.
“Your peepee is tiny,” I snapped, unable to resist.
Jai broke into a fit of laughter while the guy glared, shoving his pad into Jai’s chest before retreating to the kitchen, defeated.
“He deserved that,” Jai chuckled.
I nodded in agreement, feeling a flicker of triumph.
“He’s my brother,” Jai said quietly, his laughter fading into something softer, more complicated.
I winced, imagining what that must be like.
“You poor soul,” I said, reaching out to touch his arm. “If you ever want me to come back and put him in his place, just say the word.”
Jai smiled, grateful for the offer, and the moment softened between us. Even amidst the clumsy edges of this awkward afternoon, a small warmth settled in my chest. Maybe, just maybe, some places — and people — were worth the trouble.