Chapter 2 Danica
DANICA
Steam curls up from the hot coffee pot and snakes around my wrist when I pour refills for the two truckers at the counter.
They nod their thanks without looking up from their phones, and I move down the line to check on the old woman in booth three.
She's staring out the window again with her tea going cold in front of her.
"You want me to warm that up for you?" I ask softly, but she seems distracted. Something must be bothering her today, though sometimes she just does this. It's one of the little things I notice about my regulars, when they're not having a good day.
She blinks and looks at me for the first time in twenty minutes.
Her eyes are watery and distant and she shakes her head before turning back to the window.
I leave her alone because some nights, people just need a place to sit that isn't home.
God knows if someone asked me if I were okay on my bad days, I'd probably bite their head off.
The bell above the door chimes, and I glance up to see Petr walking in with that same stupid grin he always wears.
My stomach drops, but I force myself to smile because he's a customer and I can't afford to get fired.
Though if anyone were a worthwhile reason to lose my job, it's him.
He slides into his usual booth near the back and spreads his legs wide under the table, manspreading to claim the territory. It's gross.
"Danica," he calls out before I even make it halfway across the floor. "Come here, beautiful."
I walk over with my notepad already out and my pen ready to write.
He's leaning back against the vinyl with his arms stretched across the top of the seat and his eyes ogling me and making my skin crawl.
The fluorescent lights overhead make his sandy hair look greasy and his gray eyes are too bright.
"What can I get you, Petr?" I ask in English because he always insists on practicing. It challenges me to use a foreign language, but sometimes he complains to the boss and I can't afford to lose this job.
"You know what I want." He grins wider and leans forward, and I'm surprised he's not groping me yet. "But I'll settle for coffee and eggs."
I write it down without responding to the first part, but his hand shoots out and wraps around my wrist before I can step back and his fingers are damp with sweat.
The pressure isn't hard enough to hurt, but it's firm enough to keep me from pulling away without making a scene.
I glance around and see the cook's eyes on me.
He knows how much I hate when Petr does this.
"You're always in such a hurry," he says. "Sit with me for a minute."
"I'm working, Petr." I tug my wrist gently and his grip tightens. "Let go."
He holds on for three more seconds before releasing me with a laugh that sounds too loud in the quiet diner.
I step back and put the notepad in my apron pocket while I fight the urge to wipe my wrist on my uniform.
I hate the way he looks at me like I'm a piece of meat he's ready to devour, and I turn away before he can say anything else.
Mina's at the coffee station when I get back to the counter, and she takes one look at my face before shaking her head.
Her auburn hair is falling out of the bun she tied this morning and her brown eyes are sharp with the anger I'm not allowed to show.
She's been working here three years longer than me and she doesn't hide what she thinks about customers like Petr.
"That bastard touch you again?" she hisses, though her voice is quiet so no one else can hear.
"Just my wrist." I reach for a clean mug and pour coffee without meeting her eyes. "It's fine."
"It's not fine." She leans against the counter and crosses her arms. "You should smack him next time."
"And get fired?" I shake my head and add cream to Petr's coffee. "I need this job, Mina."
She mutters something under her breath that I don't quite catch, but I know it's directed at Petr.
I put the coffee on my tray along with the pot and head back to his booth with my customer service smile firmly in place.
He's texting on his phone when I approach and he doesn't look up until I set the mug down in front of him.
"Thanks, beautiful," he says. "You know, you'd be a lot prettier if you smiled more."
I'm already smiling and we both know it, but I don't point that out. Zoran calls from the kitchen that the eggs are ready, and I use it as an excuse to leave before Petr can say anything else. The plate's hot when I pick it up, and the heat radiates through the ceramic into my palm.
I deliver the food and refill his coffee twice over the next thirty minutes, and every time I'm forced to check on him, he finds a reason to touch my hand or my arm or to keep me standing at his table longer than necessary.
My feet are starting to ache from standing in one spot while he talks about his job at the construction company and how much money he makes.
"You should let me take you out sometime," he says during my third trip to his table. "I know a nice place."
"I'm very busy, Petr." I pour more coffee and step back before he can grab my wrist again. "Maybe another time."
"You always say that." Any pretense of pleasantry dissolves when he scowls at me. "One of these days, you're going to run out of excuses." I walk away without answering because there's nothing I can say that won't either encourage him or get me in trouble.
Mina's wiping down the counter when I return, and she raises her eyebrows at me in a question I don't want to answer. So I walk right past and hide in the kitchen for a few seconds to rest my feet. If only days like this didn’t happen so regularly, maybe I'd be able to put up with him more.
When the bell above the door chimes, I peek out of the kitchen to see who it is, and another regular walks in, but this one makes me feel entirely different.
I've only caught his name once, but it stuck in my mind like a fly in honey.
Vadim Gravitch is swoon-worthy, the epitome of masculinity.
And the way he ties his dark hair back to reveal the ink staining his neck makes me drool.
"Oh, my God," I whisper to Mina as she walks into the kitchen to return the wash rag. "Look at him."
She glances over and shrugs. "He's old."
"He's not that old," I hiss, and I can't stop staring at the way he sits so still while his eyes track every person in the diner.
"Maybe forty." I shrug and smile at her, noticing the salt and pepper at his temples.
I think I've seen him in this diner a hundred times, but every time, I end up drooling.
Why are Russian men so much more attractive than Serbian men?
Maybe it was my jerk of a brother who ruined that for me.
"You're twenty-seven." Mina snaps her rag at me before rinsing it in the sink. "That's too much difference."
"I don't care about that." I'm already pulling out my notepad and grabbing the coffee pot. "Besides, if he's foreign, it could be a magical fairy tale come true," I say, winking at her.
"Even worse." Mina shakes her head, but she's grinning now. "You going to go talk to him or just stare?"
I'm halfway across the floor before I remember that Petr is watching me from his booth.
An idea forms in my head and I almost turn back because it's stupid and risky, but then I think about Petr's hand on my wrist and his constant badgering me for dates and the way he talks to me when no one else is listening.
Petr Horvat deserves to be put in his place, and a man like this Russian fellow could be the one to do it.
I grab a slip of paper from my apron and write my number on it in blue ink.
My handwriting is messier than usual because my hand is shaking, but the numbers are legible.
I add a small smiley face next to the last digit, scribble my name, and then I walk toward the corner booth where the handsome man is sitting.
He looks up when I approach and his eyes are dark and cold. Up close, I can see the tattoos on his hands are elaborate and detailed and they snake up his fingers to his wrists. But this time, there's no blood on him and his jeans aren't torn like the last time he was here.
"Coffee?" I ask, offering my brightest smile.
"Yes, thank you." His voice is rough and accented and it sends heat straight down my spine. I'm not the sort of woman to be forward and flirt with a man, but he's gorgeous and I feel like taking a risk today.
He doesn't hold eye contact, but he doesn't look displeased that I'm smiling at him. I fill his mug and sigh hard. My gut is roiling with nerves and my chest feels tight. I can feel Petr's eyes on me too.
"Anything else?" I keep my voice light and friendly even though my heart is trying to break through my ribs.
When he looks up at me and says, "No, thank you," I almost feel disappointed. His eyes trail over my face and across my chest and back up, but I don’t feel degraded or objectified the way I do when Petr does it.
This man has been in here enough times that he's seen me around. He knows our menu, and he knows we have good service. My lingering has to be obvious to him. I just don't want to walk away until I've given him my number, and I feel butterflies threatening to carry my breakfast up my throat.
"You sure?" I ask. "We have very good pie."
His mouth twitches at the corner, and it's not quite a smile but it's close. "I'm sure."
"Okay." I pull the slip of paper from my apron and set it on the table next to his coffee. "But if you change your mind about anything, you can call me." My pulse zings in my temples and past my ears. I'm sure my cheeks are bright red. I flick a glance at Petr, who looks annoyed.
Vadim looks down at the paper and then back up at me.
His expression doesn't change, but something shifts in his eyes that I don't understand.
Does he think I'm too young for him too?
Or is he shocked that a woman would give him her number?
I turn and walk away before he can say anything, and I make sure to pass directly in front of Petr's booth.
Petr's face is red and his jaw is clenched tight enough that I can see the muscle jumping. I meet his eyes and let my expression go cold for just a second before I paste the customer service smile back on. He looks away first, and I feel a small surge of victory as I continue toward the counter.
Mina is waiting for me with her eyebrows raised so high, they disappear under her bangs. "Did you just give that man your number?"
"Yes." I'm still riding the high of Petr's angry face and I can't stop grinning. "I did."
"Why?" She leans closer and lowers her voice. "Oh my God, you don't even know him."
"I know." I peek over my shoulder at the corner booth where the man is staring into his coffee. "But Petr was watching and maybe now, he'll leave me alone."
Mina's expression shifts from confused to delighted and she grabs my arm. "You're using the hot foreigner to make Petr jealous?"
"Not jealous." I shake my head. "Just to show him I'm not interested."
"That's brilliant." She squeals quietly and pinches my cheek. "Smart girl… But what if the guy actually calls you?"
I turn back to look at the man who is now fingering the paper, studying it carefully. The thought makes my belly flip as I shrink back into the kitchen and cover my face with both hands in embarrassment.
"My God, I don't know." I still feel giddy. Would I go out with him if he really did call me? I mean, he's so handsome, but she's right. I don't know anything about him. He could be a serial killer. The thought makes me chuckle.
"What?" Mina asks, nudging me with her elbow. "Spill it."
"If he asked, I'd go out with him."
She rolls her eyes at me. "You'd date an older man… that much older?" Her eyebrows bounce in amusement while I shrug and twirl a strand of hair from my ponytail.
"Yes… I think I would."
"Order up!" Zoran barks, and both of us snap to the counter where he slides a plate of toast and waffles still steaming from the grill.
"What about his age?" Mina hisses, and Zoran scowls at us both. He's pushing sixty, belly so big he can't walk through the door straight, and his wife probably has to beat him to get him to take a shower. The idea of it makes me giggle.
"Shh!" Both of us are snickering so loudly, it makes the cook glare harder.
"You two get to work and stop gossiping like school girls or I'll have all your tips for the day!"
His bark sends both of us scurrying but still snickering as we go.
Mina snatches the plate and heads out to the table while I notice that Petr is now missing from his table—restroom, maybe, or maybe he left for good. Either way, I can stand and admire Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome as he reads over my number again.
Yes. If he calls me, I will definitely answer him and I will definitely be going out with him too. I've made up my mind. I need a little adventure in my life, and the glamor of dating a foreigner just might be the spark my life needs.