Page 30 of All Mine
She spoke to the diners, and they all told her what they’d especially enjoyed– and she promised to pass it on to the chef, whilst simultaneously filing it for her own use. She paused to talk to customers as they paid their bills, she smiled and laughed and chatted as she printed their receipts. She paused by one old man in the restaurant, the only other lone diner, who ate so slowly that she felt like she knew his entire charming life story by the time he left. A retired French teacher at the local school, he told her he ate there every week, but the last three years alone since his wife died. How he’d recently moved into the Heart of Honeybridge home for the elderly and was happily beating everyone at dominoes. Before he left, he smiled the most wonderful toothy smile. His pale blue eyes twinkled so brightly as he thanked her for her company that she gave him a hug on impulse, and he chuckled into his white moustache.
It was all such valuable customer research, but more than that, it was fun. She was enjoying herself. She felt alive, in an environment she loved. Doing something she was good at. She felt eyes on her at one point and turned to see Etienne staring from across the room. He pulled a questioning face, as if to check if all was okay, and she smiled at him, giving the slightest nod. Then made sure to swing her hips as she walked away from him to the kitchen. Might as well give him something to look at.
Mickey eventually turned off the oven after serving the last hot dessert and put the ice cream back in the freezer after adding a scoop of vanilla to the dish. Service was finished and his kitchen porters were cleaning up for the night. Mickey saluted Etienne, thanked Isabella and was out the back door. The kitchen assistants were gone a few minutes later. It was a case now of clearing tables as the stragglers left the restaurant and closing up.
Isabella’s feet were screaming by the time Etienne closed the front door and locked it. She peeled off her apron and slumped into a chair, moaning dramatically.
‘Oh my God! I’d forgotten how brutal waitressing is!’
‘You were right, though,’ Etienne said, turning the open sign to closed. ‘Youaregood.’
She laughed.
‘Drink?’ he asked, moving to the bar. ‘By way of a thank you?’
She couldn’t think of anything better.
‘Surprise me,’ she said and a few moments later he placed a whisky on ice in front of her, and another on his side of the table. It all felt collegiate and friendly and nice.
‘Honestly, I couldn’t have coped without you tonight.’ He raised his glass to her in a toast. ‘Thank you.’
Their glasses clinked together, and she sipped. It scorched her throat on the way down.
‘It was nothing,’ she said. ‘But next time, remind me to change my shoes.’ She unbuckled her strappy sandal and let it drop to the floor, flexing her foot backwards and forwards to relieve the strain. He watched as he sipped his drink thoughtfully.
‘So, where did you get all your front-of-house experience?’ he asked.
‘I waitressed my way through uni,’ she said. ‘The grant was never enough. And I always got good tips.’
‘What a surprise,’ he said, dryly.
She laughed and told him about her experiences in different restaurants. Serving curries so hot they made grown men dribble. Dropping a whole goulash in someone’s lap. Sharing out tips from the jar at the end of the night and going home with pockets so heavy they tore the seams of her coat.
‘What about you?’ She surveyed the dark restaurant. ‘You said you’d been here four years. Where were you before then?’
He glanced away before saying, vaguely, ‘London.’
‘So, why here?’ she pressed, wondering where his easy smile had gone. He shrugged and his face closed down.
‘Change of scene, I guess.’
‘A new start?’ Isabella said, feeling the connection of something in common. Suddenly she wanted to share how excited she was for her new beginning, but also how terrified. But he simply nodded and didn’t elaborate. She pursed her lips, thinking. There was something about him that she liked, and not only the fact that he was hot as hell. She couldn’t think about that for the next couple of months anyway, however delicious he might be. But he was as closed as a clam before baking. How to open him up?
‘So, what can you tell a newbie like me about the area?’
His eyes crinkled then.
‘Not sure I should divulge any secrets. You are the competition after all.’ So, the banter was back. It seemed light conversation and flirting was fine. Maybe he was just a private person.
‘You’re joking, right? After I gave myself blisters for you?’
She pointed her toe at him across the divide between them. He laughed and caught her foot in his hand. She flinched at the thought of it, hot and tired in his palm, and tugged it back but he held on, insistent, before resting her ankle gently on his thigh. They faced each other in their chairs, her foot in his lap, and she wondered for a split second how she’d got there. She’d only come in for dinner.
‘I guess I do owe you,’ he said, lightly.
‘So, what should a fellow restaurateur know?’
He tilted his head, considering, his fingers burning a ring around her ankle, holding it still before speaking.
