Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Teller
“Here’s your order of Don’t Ghost Me hot wings. Can I get you anything else?”
I placed the plate on the table and smiled at the two gentlemen in my section who had ordered the hot wings that were made with ghost peppers. I wished them luck. I’d licked some of the sauce off my finger once when the kitchen had us taste the wings, and I thought I’d died and gone to hell.
The bar was packed, which wasn’t unusual for a Friday night.
Lots of bros were there to play darts—the league was ending just before Christmas, and tonight was the first round of the championship tournament.
I didn’t understand the game at all, but I loved collecting the tips for delivering their beers.
Greta, the hostess, tapped my shoulder. “A guy at the door is asking to be seated in your section. You don’t have any empty tables, so what do you want me to do?”
“Uh, okay, ask if I can have one of Maggie’s tables. Her section is nearly empty. I’ll share the tip.” Maggie wasn’t the most pleasant server in O’Malley’s Pub, but we got along okay.
Greta walked over to Maggie and tapped her shoulder, speaking quickly. They both turned toward me, and Maggie nodded. I gave her a thumbs-up.
When Greta led the customer to the table Maggie had surrendered, I was stunned. “Oh, uh, hi. Can I…? What can I get you?”
It was the man who’d bought the ugly ties and the gorgeous jacket. He didn’t seem surprised to see me at all. Was this a happy coincidence?
Silver Bear grinned and opened the gorgeous bomber jacket to show me he was wearing the ugly tie with an ivory button-down. He was absolutely stunning. “Hello, Teller.”
“Hi. Uh, I don’t believe we were introduced when you were at Bloomfield’s.”
He grinned. “I’m Briggs York. It’s a pleasure to officially meet you, Teller.”
“You too, Mr. York. What can I bring you?”
“I’ll have a Macallan’s 15, neat, please. What do you recommend as far as food?” He pointed to the menu in front of him, so I stepped closer so I wouldn’t be overheard.
“I don’t actually eat here. The food isn’t very healthy, but if you’re set to eat here, the best thing you could get would be the chicken wings with celery and carrots—and then don’t eat the wings.”
Mr. York nodded with a bright smile. “I’ll have that with blue cheese, please.”
I jotted it down and went to the bar, pecking in the order on the register, adding a note to double the veg. I stood at the end of the bar and stared at Mr. York as he scrolled through his phone. Damn, the man was fine.
When the drink came up, I carried it to his table. “Macallan’s 15, neat. You ordered an app, which should be up in a few minutes. Did you want to order an entrée?”
Mr. York glanced from his phone. “When’s your break? Can you sit for a minute?”
I glanced around to see that those in my section were fine, so I sat across from him. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” That was no damn lie. How had he found me?
He took a sip of his drink and placed it on the table. “You mentioned that you worked here on Friday and Saturday nights. I’m sorry you got screwed out of your commission at Bloomfield’s. What can I do to make it up to you?”
“My comm— Oh, that’s not your fault. That’s Mr. Kerry’s fault. He couldn’t resist taking over the transaction. I’m afraid that’s how he operates. I’m used to it by now, Mr. York. No worries.” I stared at him, waiting for any reaction. He only nodded, taking another sip of his drink.
The bell at the pass-through rang. “Teller!”
“Excuse me, Mr. York. I’ll be back in a moment.”
I left the table to grab Mr. York’s wings and another customer’s burger and tots from the window, delivering the burger to a table in my section. The customers dug in and didn’t engage me in conversation, so I hurried over to Mr. York’s table, placing the wings in front of him.
“Sorry about that, sir.”
“What time do you get off?” Mr. York’s gaze was steady on me, giving my nerves a run for their money.
Why’s he asking me that? “Uh, I have another hour.” I glanced at the digital clock over the prep station to confirm the time.
Mr. York nodded. “Okay. I’ll have another drink and a side salad with Italian vinaigrette. Take your time bringing the salad.”
I nodded and hurried away, tapping Mr. York’s second order into the register as I stared at him. The man was certainly an interesting mystery.
His eyes were a light green, and they settled on me as I moved around the wait station. His gaze had my heart pounding.
Ida, another unfriendly waitress, stepped behind me and touched my shoulder. “Can you get the fuck out of the way so the rest of us can work while you stare off into space?”
The woman didn’t like anyone, but especially me.
She professed to be a holy roller, and I was a gay twink.
The antithesis of her moral Christian beliefs.
Working in an Irish pub and her colorful way of turning a phrase told me she wasn’t the good Christian she professed to be.
She was a horrible bigot who justified her ugly criticisms with Bible verses.
“You know, a please would go a long way toward supporting your Christianity myth.”
Ida gave me the evil eye. “You can go to hell, though your lifestyle has already secured that trip for you.”
How nice was that?
“Thank you, Ida. I’m sure I’ll see you there.” Once I finished what I was doing, I moved out of Ida’s way.
Hurrying to the bar, I collected Mr. York’s second drink and carried it to his table. “Here you go, Mr. York. Your salad will be right up.”
“Sure. Do you like working here? Some of the servers don’t seem to enjoy their jobs.”
I giggled. “It’s sad to say, but that’s the consensus around here.
You’re quick to pick up on the general disdain.
I like many of the customers, and the tips are pretty good, which helps with the housing and food habits we discussed the other day.
It’s a family-owned pub, so if you don’t do as the family says…
” I scraped my thumb over my throat, mimicking a slit throat.
They weren’t that bad, but they wouldn’t win any prizes for bosses of the year.
Mr. York smirked. “I’ve found myself in similar positions from time to time.”
A few customers in my section were finishing up, so I turned to Mr. York. “Excuse me, please.”
The bar register was unoccupied, so I quickly hurried over to ring up checks and distribute them.
I cleared the tables as I went, helping Craig, the only busboy on shift that night.
I grabbed the bottle of cleaner and a rag to wipe down those tables for the next day.
College football on Saturday was popular, and the games started early.
“Teller!” The bell in the pass-through rang, so I walked over to see Mr. York’s salad and a side of Italian dressing waiting for me.
I plucked a few cracker packets from the large bin and went to the table where he was sitting, surprised to see he’d changed seats at the four-top table so he could face the room. It was kind of odd.
“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 prefer this view,” 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’t eaten 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 enough to 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?