Page 50 of Hawke

Hawke was the only other person I’d been around, and he didn’t have a dog. Not unless he randomly petted a few before he saw me yesterday.

Hawke sat in a secluded corner of the restaurant. He was only wearing dark-colored jeans and a plain black t-shirt. He ordered a big breakfast for himself and tried to feed me while I worked. He had stayed there all morning until I got questions from Simon. He didn’t seem thrilled that my friend was here and wouldn’t leave.

It wasn’t like we were packed. There were plenty of tables, but the vibes most people got from Hawke were overwhelmingly dark and uncomfortable. I was just used to his demeanor and that of those in the Iron Fang.

Every time I thought of them, I felt a wave of sadness wash over me. But I couldn’t return until I knew Hawke was going to be true to his word.

Hawke didn’t like me talking to Bram, though. Hawke scowled each time I passed by Bram’s table. That heated gaze never left me for long, but it seemed to burn holes in my back when I talked to the handle-bar-mustache man.

“No, my friend doesn’t have a dog,” I said distractedly, then Bram perked up his head and stared into the back corner of the restaurant where I was staring.

Bram’s mouth opened, closed, then he resumed cutting into his pancakes like he wasn’t bothered. “Is that your friend?” He stuffed another piece of bacon in his mouth.

Damn, he’s hungry.

“Yes, he’s my friend. Why?”

Hawke dropped his fork on the table, loudly, causing others to stare.

“He stares at you a lot, like he’s going to gobble you up.” Bram chuckled, until his laughter grew, and he started coughing on his pancake. I went to pat him on the back, but he scooted away from me.

Bram waved his hands in front of him. “Oh, no, I’m fine.” He wiped his face with his napkin. “I don’t want to start any trouble.”

“Trouble?” I raised my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

I mean, yeah, Hawke was trouble. He didn’t like me serving customers, and I’d been paying a little more attention to Bram than I should have. He was just interesting, and I was trying to figure him out. Besides, not even the lower level wait staff would come and refill Bram’s drinks when I was busy, so I had to attend to him.

“Delilah,” Simon barked.

Great Balls of Fire, what now?!

I carefully carried the empty plates over to another dirty table. I wiped my hands on my apron as I walked over to Simon. His appearance was quite disheveled, his shirt was not tucked in, and his hair was messier than usual.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

I knew my tables were taken care of and lunch was about over. If he was asking me to stay late again, I think I was going to have an aneurysm. I had too much to think about with Hawke and doing dishes wasn’t something I was ready for.

“Despite being relatively new, you have done an exceptional job, and I rarely permit inexperienced servers to take care of the special clients and businessmen who visit our restaurant. But I’m going to need you to work for me because these are very important clients and your qualifications are exactly what they’re looking for—” His eye twitched and sweat beaded on his brow. “Can I trust you to handle these customers, Delilah? You cannot let me down.”

I smiled, nodding enthusiastically. I was excited that he trusted me, even in my short time working here.

During my tour of the restaurant, they’d shown me a special conference room. It was overly ornate with a beautiful chandelier, bust statues of famous people, and greenery throughout. Only the most experienced were allowed back there to serve, and the tips were astronomical.

“I’m going to need you next Friday morning. They should arrive by ten a.m., and you are strictly to serve the men in that room. I need your best behavior and no taking care of”—he nodded to Bram’s table—“or your friend that day.” Simon looked at the back of the restaurant where Hawke was sitting. Hawke was glaring back at him, his hand in a fist. “He isn’t going to be here every day, is he?” He slumped his shoulders.

“I mean, he is a paying customer?” I said. “He’s tipped well, too.”

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. Food here wasn’t cheap, but Simon seemed awfully annoyed.

“Just don’t have him here the day our special guests arrive, and you are no longer to serve him. Have one of the other servers do it.”

I nodded in understanding, about to return to clear tables.

“Delilah?” Simon asked again, his face softening. “Did you happen to catch…” He nodded again at mustache-man’s table.

I just knew it!

“Um, no sir.”

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