Page 7 of A Little Christmas 4: Teller
“Is there something wrong with that chair? Some of them get loose over time, so I’ll leave a note for the owner if there’s an issue,” I said as I placed his salad and the crackers in front of him.
“No, the chair is fine. I just preferthisview,” he answered, his eyes fixed on me.
A chill went down my spine. His actions were confusing me, but I didn’t have time to ask as several more of my tables prepared to leave. “Can I get you anything else right now?”
“Some water, please.”
I nodded and got him a glass of ice water and a straw, rushing back to his table to drop it off. “I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.”
On my way to the register, I tripped over a chair leg, but thankfully, I caught myself before I face planted on the tile floor. I glanced over my shoulder to see Mr. York’s concerned expression, but I just smiled and went about closing out checks and clearing tables.
When my section was empty and the tables were ready for the next day’s crowd, I grabbed a tub of clean flatware, a stack of napkins, and a pad of self-adhesive paper napkin rings, heading to a table in the back to roll setups for Saturday.
A shadow covered the table after I sat down, so I glanced up to see Mr. York. “Are you ready to go. I’m sorry it got so busy. I’ll get your check.”
“I was just going to invite you to sit with me while you do that.” He pointed to the flatware and smiled.
“I wouldn’t want to bother you,” I responded.
“No bother at all,” Mr. York answered.
“Uh, are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Positive.”
He took the tub of flatware while I gathered the napkins and rings. I followed him to his table and discovered that he hadn’teaten his chicken wings as I’d suggested, but his salad was also untouched. “Was there something wrong with the salad?”
“I’m sure it was fine, but I prefer to eat with a companion.” He slid the salad closer and began to eat as I went back to work.
“So, are you from this area?” he asked.
“Grew up in Jennings Grove, about thirty miles from downtown St. Louis. Mom was a waitress and Dad was an autoworker.” I wasn’t about to add that my mom hated me because I was more effeminate than she wanted me to be, or that my father wanted nothing to do with either of us. I’d take that shit to the grave.
“You don’t drive all the way from there to here, do you?” He appeared to be concerned, which touched my heart.
I laughed. “No. I live nearby. When I moved back from Rhode Island, I decided to live in Hillsdale. I’ve always liked the area. New York was way too expensive, and California is a someday dream…”
“Someday what? Does this have something to do with your design aspirations?” Mr. York asked.
I finished wrapping the setups for Saturday. “I won’t burden you with my issues, Mr. York. I need to cash out for the night. I’ll bring your check.”
Mr. York nodded. “Thank you, Teller.”
I walked to the register and rang up his drinks. I didn’t feel good about adding the charges for the food he didn’t eat, so I comped his food and took him his check.
“Mr. York, it’s a pleasure to see you again. Take care.”
“It’s late. May I walk you to your car?” he asked.
I was embarrassed to admit I didn’t have one. “I’ve got a rideshare scheduled to take me home.”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that. I can take you home.” Mr. York had a big smile on his face, but I didn’t know him well enoughto get into a car with him. I’m sure many serial killers were appealing to their victims at first blush.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine.”
“Then I’ll wait outside with you for the rideshare. I enjoy talking to you.” Mr. York grinned.
Part of me thought he might be a creeper, so why the hell was I still drawn to the man? Something about him had me wrapped around the axle to the point I didn’t know up from down. Maybe I deserved to be eaten with a nice Chianti?
