Page 8 of Wasted Memories
Checking my watch, I let out a sigh of relief seeing that the restaurant was closing soon. After closing, once I’d cleaned all my tables and swept the floors, I was good to go. I couldn’t wait to get home and take these shoes off. I’m pretty sure my feet would be sore for a year.
Hearing RJ, our chef, call my name, I grabbed the warm plate and brought it over to my quiet, infuriating customer.
“Thanks,” he said as I set the plate down.
“Can I get you anything else or are you ready for the bill? Take your time, of course. I just need to start closing everything out.”
He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out his card and setting it on the table in front of me. I didn’t take it at first. Instead, I stood there biting the inside of my cheek.
Could it kill him to say anything more than a couple words? I couldn’t say why it bothered me, it just did. This guy strolled into our little town on the coast of Washington and thought he could be all uncanny and closed off. It was almost like he thought he was above us.
Grabbing the card off the table, I headed to the POS. I swiped the card a little too aggressively, then closed out his bill.
I wasn’t sure why I did it, but I checked the name on his card. Wesley Barton. I’d definitely never heard the name around here so his story checked out. So far.
Oldport was such a wet, cold place - you’d be crazy to move here willingly. The locals adapted to the weather, loving to watch the storms roll in from the ocean. We appreciated being in walking distance to everything we needed; and delighted in knowing that mostly everyone who visited here was just passing through.
Until Wesley Barton, I guess.
I brought his card back to him and began clearing the dirty tables, piling plates and utensils in a plastic tub. Rita was sweeping the floors while Logan washed and dried glassware at the bar. I untied my apron, the material getting in the way as I cleaned, and tossed it on the leather cushion of the booth closest to the bar.
Herald, one of the old fishermen who frequented here, sat at the bar finishing off his beer.
“How’s my favorite smokeshow doing?” he asked, giving me a smile as he angled his body in his barstool to face me.
“Trying to close this place up so I can finally get out of here. You gonna babysit that beer all night so I’m stuck here?” I joked, blowing a stray strand of hair out of my face.
Herald had been coming to the Tavern any time he was in town since well before I worked here. He flirted too much for his own good, but he didn’t mean any harm by it. I took no offense to his comments, I was used to it by now.
With the reputation I held in this town, the nickname was expected. The guys around Oldport flirted with me more often than not, but anyone with a lick of common sense knew it wouldn’t go anywhere. Jett made that clear to everyone when we started dating.
They could look, but they couldn’t touch.
Herald downed the last of his beer in one gulp, set some money on the bar, and got to his feet, pulling his coat on. “Doll, you know I would never hold you up. Enjoy your night. Say hey to Jett for me, will you?”
I gave a closed lip smile and nodded, grabbing his glass off the bar as he headed past me for the front door. I looked over my shoulder to check if Wesley had finished his meal and saw he was standing up, adjusting his jacket. I started to walk over, intending to grab his plate, but stopped in my tracks as I got closer to him.
I had definitely underestimated how much he filled the room. Standing this close to him, I had to angle my face all the way up like I was practically staring at the ceiling, just to look at him. If I didn’t, I was practically staring right at his chest.
I had been drawn to Jett’s physical features since the day I met him outside the bar all those years ago. He was muscular in a blue-collar type of way, but nothing drastic. He had bronze Italian skin that tanned easily in the summer and close shaven dark brown hair that matched his eyes. Wesley and Jett were like night and day in terms of physical appearances.
While Jett reminded me of a stiff tiger always ready to pounce, Wesley made me think of the quiet calm before a big storm.
Wesley’s short facial hair covered the entire lower half of his face, which accentuated his emerald eyes. His hair was messy, but it only added to his careless demeanor. I felt sorry for whoever got stuck dating him. He didn’t look like he had a humorous bone in his body.
To my surprise, he picked up his plate and glass.
He turned around to face me and I realized I was still standing there like a deer in the headlights. “I can bring it over to the counter, if you’d like. You look like you could use a second off your feet,” he said, gesturing to the kitchen.
“As much as I would appreciate that, I can’t let you. My boss probably wouldn’t be too happy seeing a customer cleaning up after themselves. Thank you, though.” I grabbed the dishes from him, the tips of my fingers brushing over his as I grabbed the glass.
I pulled the cup to my chest as sparks crawled up my arm with awareness. My pulse raced for seriously no good fucking reason. Was I an idiot for thinking I felt something? The answer was yes.
He gave no indication that he had the same reaction. Afterall, it was just our fingers grazing each other.
Just your hangover fucking with your head, Emerson.
He nodded once and turned to leave. Clearing my throat, I brought the dishes to the counter by the kitchen. Inhaling a deep breath, I went back to his table to wipe it with disinfectant.
