Page 9 of With A Little Luck
And I’m not just defending him because he tipsreallywell.
My regular is always polite and friendly. He’s never given me a weird vibe. Not even once.
Hartley sighs. “Just be careful. Let me know if you need me. I’ll be happy to kick him out.”
Maybe the boredom is finally catching up with him. It seems like he’s desperate for any action.
I laugh, shaking my head. “Thanks, boss.”
Chapter Three
Quincy
After working here for so long, I’ve come to know a lot of the regulars. Some order the same thing every visit. Some try something new on occasion. Others never have the same dish twice until they run out of new things to try. Everyone is different, and I find it fascinating.
Most of the time, I’ll see a regular at the same time every day that they come in.
Some come in daily.
Others pop in for special occasions, like a Friday night date, but it’s almost always around the same time of day.
My newest regular is a bit of an enigma. He always asks to be seated at the booth the farthest from the door, and he always sits on the same side of the table. Perhaps he just likes to people-watch, but I find it cute that he has such a solid routine.
He orders the same thing every visit, no matter if he comes at seven a.m. or if he drops by during dinner hours.
I still always make sure to check before putting his order in. Pushing the cup against the soda machine, I wait for the Dr Pepper to bubble to the top. Grabbing the cup, a straw, a set of silverware, and a few extra napkins, I make my way to his table.
Sometimes I wish I knew his name so I could be more personable. Also because it drives me crazy that I don’t know it.
If he paid with a credit card, I wouldn’t be above peeking at his info that way.
Only, he always pays cash.
He leaves a twenty for his meal, even though it only comes out to a little over fifteen dollars. The leftover four dollars and change would be more than a twenty-percent tip, but every single time he comes in, he tips a crisp hundred-dollar bill in addition to telling me to keep the change from the twenty.
I’m kind of terrified of what happens if he ever gets tired of the food here. Without his generosity, I’d be in even worse shape than I already am.
Babies are damn expensive, and she’s not even here yet.
God, I really need to figure out his name.
That way, I can stop calling him “Smoking-Hot Regular” in my head. Sometimes SHR for short when I’m feeling lazy.
I’ve never met anyone who looks quite like he does. He has short black hair that’s shaved close on the sides, cheekbones a model would kill for, and a jawline sharper than cut glass. He alternates between being clean-shaven and having a few days of growth in short stubble.
I’m normallyallabout a beard, but for him… I could make an exception.
I nearly snort as I approach the table. Much like Hartley is a million times out of my league, so is Smoking-Hot Regular.
Placing down his soda and all the other things I brought over, I shove my hair behind my ear. “The usual?”
“Yes, please.” His head tilts almost animalistically as his dark eyes assess me from behind his black-frame glasses. “Are you under the weather?”
“Just tired,” I say, offering a polite smile.
Some guys might look nerdy with glasses, but SHR manages to pull them off in a way that makes him look almost dangerous. Or that could be the multitude of muscles under his black button-down.
Or the fact that he’scoveredin ink.
