Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Nyx
DARK - WesGhost
"Everybody, calm down," I say, obviously being the one who needs to calm down.
My heart races as I stare at him holding the menu. I don't think this place has changed the menus since it opened. They're sticky, and the plastic’s peeling off, but to be fair, no one really looks at them. Everyone knows what they get here.
His hands are strong but elegant, and the one holding the menu adorns a thick silver ring on his middle finger.
The other is flat on the old red laminate table that has bubbles of air underneath in many spots, along with dents and marks that can’t be polished away, and he's tapping on it with his index finger.
He's sitting casually, a dark purple t-shirt covering his muscular back.
That's all I can see from here, but I don't need to move for any more information. I know everything about him. Or at least everything I can find online by stalking his socials, or by hearing about him through the grapevine.
Achilles Duval looks like a man who doesn't belong here. And that's because he doesn't. He comes from a long line of billionaires, the kind of people who live less than an hour from here in their little town of Stoneview yet have no idea we exist.
He's a musical prodigy, who, even if he didn't have his family's connections, would be able to get into any orchestra he wanted.
Among musicians, he was recognized as one of the best violinists in the country when he wasn't even a teen.
Then he grew up, became gorgeous on top of talented, smart on top of gorgeous, and while I'm sure he's just another guy when he's among his SFU peers, who are all just as rich as the other, to the outside world, he’s a celebrity.
He premiered his first self-written violin concerto with the New York Philharmonic at seventeen years old.
And that had his career written for him.
Since then, we’ve been waiting for his next piece. Whenever his name is mentioned online, a hoard of fans is there to support and lift him up, asking when he’ll perform his own concerto again.
I'm certainly one of them.
"What’s he doing here?" I murmur to Lena.
It's the strangest thing having him at this diner. I follow fan accounts of him, for heaven's sake. How am I supposed to act cool right now?
"It's a sign," Colin whispers to make sure I don’t tell him off again. "You got that letter from SFU, and now that guy shows up. You got in, I'm sure of it."
I narrow my gaze at him. "You need to stop eavesdropping. You shouldn't even know I got that letter."
Lena huffs, strands of black hair flying across her face. She shoves the plates she took from me into Colin’s hands. "Take these plates to table three, Colin."
As I turn to her, she pulls my pad out of my apron. "It's not a sign," she says in that matter-of-fact voice of hers. "Colin is sixteen. He's from a generation that spends too much time online."
I don't tell her we're barely four years older than he is.
"It's not a sign," she repeats. "But he's here. And I'll be damned if you don't jump at the occasion."
She grabs me by the shoulders, turns me around, and pushes me toward the tables.
As I slowly walk to his table, I comb my bi-color fringe with my fingers, thinking maybe it’ll separate the black and bleach part, but then I give up, messing it up, dusting off my apron, and combing my fringe again.
"Good morning," I try to say cheerily, but it comes out as a barely audible croak.
He looks up from the menu, steel eyes piercing through mine, and it takes all of me not to take a step back.
It's technically not the first time I’ve seen him in person. We’re weirdly connected through friends of friends of friends. We met twice randomly, but he didn't remember me the second time. Just like I can see that he has no idea who I am now.
"Oh, hey— Hi, Achilles." I'm not sure my pretending I didn’t know it was him until he looked at me is believable.
Fuck. He really doesn't remember me. I can see it through the disdain on his face. He might have fans, and he might be famous and rich and talented…but he's also widely known for being an asshole. And for some reason, it still doesn't stop me from being a fangirl.
He doesn't so much as ask, "Do I know you?" He just stares, one black eyebrow slightly raised, the aura of a god surrounding him, and his perfectly chiseled jaw slightly tightened.
It's fucking stupid to have such a beautiful jaw. No one real has that. Only Greek statues representing mythological gods and demigods. Only someone named Achilles.
I stay frozen for a long minute before pointing my pen at my chest. "Nyx? We met through…" I sigh. "Never mind. What can I get you?"
"Just a black coffee for now, please." Putting the menu back down, he looks over his shoulder at the front door. "I'm waiting for someone."
My chest pinches. Of course he's waiting for someone, probably a girl.
What else did I expect? That he'd come to the diner I work at to declare his love for me?
I feel like those girls who put on their nicest clothes and makeup to stand front row at some big singer's show.
As if they're going to get invited backstage and taken on a date by the end of the concert.
"He's waiting for someone," I murmur to Lena as I grab the coffeepot. "I swear, if he's dating a North Shore girl and it's not me…it's not fucking fair. Because had I known someone from here had a chance with him, I would’ve shot my shot a long time ago."
I follow Achilles Duval's life pretty closely, no matter how discreet he tries to stay.
Fan accounts have a field day talking about the girls he dates because they're so rare.
There was one when he lived in France during his first two years of college.
They dated for a few months in freshman year.
And then there were pictures of an SFU student he took on a date to Stoneview Country Club.
They were caught leaving the place. But that's it, really.
He's not exactly the kind of guy who dates.
I give the coffeepot to Lena. "Please, I can't face him again."
"Scared your panties will disintegrate?" She chuckles as she grabs it from me.
"Ha. Ha. Very funny."
Colin reappears behind me. "Noticed that cap next to him on the bench? He took it off when he got in, but he was wearing it low. A man from Stoneview hiding his face and coming to a shitty diner on the North Shore with no windows?" He winks at me. "Hiding something."
In the back, Laurie gasps audibly. "My diner ain't shitty. Now get back to work!"
Lena heads to Achilles's table, and I can't help my mind wandering.
What if he comes here hiding his face because he's dating a girl from here, but his family disapproves so they have to be discreet?
He must really love her to go against them and come all the way here.
He's going to get her out of here, isn't he? Lucky bitch.
"I know you like to fantasize about the man," Colin says, "but don't go too far in your internal fanfiction, please."
I throw him a death stare. "Wipe tables, rookie."
For almost two hours, the three of us work and watch as Achilles just sits there, drinking so much coffee his heart is bound to explode.
Lena comes back from pouring him another cup and puts the pot down behind the counter. "You say he has the reputation of an asshole, but at least he's polite to waitstaff."
"Do you think he got stood up? Does that mean she's breaking up with him?"
I chew my thumbnail, and she pulls my hand away from my mouth. "You literally made up this entire story. We have no idea who he's waiting for."
With a huff, I put a piece of gum in my mouth, the typical bubblegum taste I still love despite my age, and chew anxiously on that instead to avoid biting my nails.
"Refillable coffee is only for customers who buy a meal.
" I startle as I turn to Laurie. He's got a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in hand, his beer belly falling over his white apron covered in grease, and a cloth slung over his shoulder.
"Someone tell that guy he either eats or leaves.
Some locals want their table for lunch, and they actually pay to be here. "
He puts a cigarette in his mouth and heads for the back door for his smoke break.
"You do it," I hurry to tell Lena.
"Like hell I'll do it. I don't want to argue with some rich guy who could get me killed with a snap of his fingers and probably buy off the cops to pass it as a suicide."
I feel my eyes widen. "Can he do that?"
Shrugging, she grabs her pad. "I'm not about to find out is all I know. He's filthy rich. I don't mess with those. And neither should you…" She smiles brightly at me. "Once you tell him to leave."
I roll my eyes and head to his table with shaky legs. I guess it’s another excuse to talk to him. He's not doing anything, not even on his phone. He's just staring blankly at the table, and every few minutes, he turns around to check the entrance door or takes another sip of coffee.
"Hi," I say tentatively as I approach. I think I'm going to pass out. "Our boss just reminded us that unlimited coffee is for customers who eat here. Would you like to order something? Or I can get you your check."
My brain screams at me, not wanting Achilles Duval to leave. It's complete insanity. I don't even know the guy, but the parasocial relationship I've developed over the years makes me feel like I'm genuinely in love with him.
"The club sandwich is really good," I blurt out.
His piercing gray eyes don't even drop to the menu.
They stay on me as he reaches inside his black jeans.
He then proceeds to extend his hand toward me, and my body temperature rises so much I could melt on the spot.
Pushing something inside the pocket of my apron, he taps my hip gently, making me freeze at how that simple touch tingles.