Willow #2
I balance the tray on my shoulder and weave my way back through the tables, dodging elbows, coffee mugs, and Bill’s habit of sitting farther out than any human being reasonably needs to.
By the time I reach their booth, Leather Jacket is saying something low enough that I don’t catch the words, but I do catch the laugh it pulls out of Blue Eyes.
I set the plates down one at a time, careful and efficient, because if I’m being watched, the last thing I’m going to do is give anybody a reason to think I can’t handle my job.
“There we go,” I say, setting the last plate in front of Blue Eyes. “One dangerously life-altering meal.”
He glances down at it, then lifts his gaze back to me with an intensity I can barely stand. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, because apparently, I’m still capable of basic customer service when forced.
Leather Jacket picks up his fork and inhales like he’s been starved for days. “This smells incredible.”
“It’s eggs,” I tell him.
He looks offended by my refusal to romanticize breakfast. “Don’t ruin it for me.”
Blond Business Guy takes a bite of his food and gives a small, approving nod, like he’s signing off on a business deal instead of tasting hash browns.
Mr. Painfully Black Coffee doesn’t eat right away. He looks at me for another second, long enough that I start wishing I’d remembered to check whether I have ketchup on my shirt or mascara smeared under one eye.
“Do you always talk to customers like that?” he asks at last.
I lift one eyebrow. “Only the special ones.”
Leather Jacket smirks. Blond Business Guy laughs without bothering to hide it this time, and Mr. Painfully Black Coffee’s mouth shifts. It’s not quite a smile, but close enough that I catch it.
“Good to know,” he says.
I tap my pen lightly against my notepad. “Anything else?”
Leather Jacket leans forward, like he’s settling in instead of finishing his meal. “Yeah. Your name.”
I glance down at my chest, then back at him. “It’s on the tag.”
“I don’t trust name tags,” he says easily.
“That sounds like a personal problem.”
Blond Business Guy huffs a laugh, shaking his head, and Leather Jacket’s grin widens like I just confirmed exactly what he was hoping for.
“Humor me,” he says.
I narrow my eyes, but I play along anyway. “Willow.”
Leather Jacket nods once, satisfied, then taps his chest. “Julian.” He gestures beside him to Blond Business Guy. “Gabe.” And then, with a tilt of his head toward Black Coffee across from him, “And that’s Xander.”
Xander.
Of course. There was never any chance a man like that was going to have a soft, forgettable name.
Gabe is smiling like he’s enjoying this entirely too much, and Xander is still watching me with that same intensity that makes me want to either roll my eyes or throw something.
Maybe both.
“Enjoy your food,” I say, already turning away before any of them can decide they need more.
“Willow.”
I stop, though only because pretending I didn’t hear him would probably create more trouble than it’s worth. When I turn back, I lift one eyebrow in what I hope reads as controlled patience rather than the homicidal frustration I’m currently feeling.
“Yes, Xander?”
He holds my gaze, then glances down at his mug. “Coffee.”
I look at the cup. It is, at most, half empty. “You’re halfway through.”
“I like it fresh.”
I smile, though I suspect it looks more like a warning than anything friendly. “I’ll alert the media.”
Julian laughs again, Gabe hides his smile behind his hand, and Xander doesn’t react at all. But there’s a fire in his eyes now. A ragged edge of interest, as if this conversation has become more entertaining than he expected it to be.
I refill his cup anyway, because regardless of how irritating he is, I do still need my job.
The next twenty minutes pass in a blur of refills, shouted orders, and trying very hard not to think about the fact that table nine has somehow become a situation.
Because they don’t just eat and leave like normal people. They hang around. Julian asks whether the pie is homemade and then insists I rank them in order. Gabe asks about the town in a way that feels more sincere than I expected. Xander asks nothing at all.
He just watches.
Every time I pass that booth, I can feel his attention land on me again, impossible to ignore. It feels like standing under a spotlight I never agreed to step into, like he’s waiting for me to slip up somewhere, and I resent how aware of it I’ve become.
Which is why it feels especially cruel that, not ten minutes later, I do.
I’m carrying a tray of fresh drinks when table four calls my name. I turn too quickly, my foot catches on the edge of a chair that I swear wasn’t sticking out that far a second ago, and everything goes wrong at once.
The tray tips.
A glass slides.
My balance goes with it.
And before I can stop myself, I stumble straight into their table.
The tray jerks in my hands, one plate skids, and a full serving of eggs, bacon, and hash browns lands directly in Xander’s lap.
The whole diner goes silent.
I stop breathing. Everyone else seems to stop breathing, too. Even Bill pauses mid-chew, which is how I know this is bad.
I stare down at the wreckage, the food, the grease, the smear of yellow across what’s obviously a very expensive black jacket, and I feel my entire soul leave my body.
“Oh no,” I say out loud, because apparently my internal monologue has given up on boundaries.
Julian is staring at me. Gabe is staring at me. Half the diner is definitely staring at me.
And Xander looks down at himself, then lifts his head and looks back at me.
I set the tray down with a clatter and snatch up a handful of napkins.
“I’m so, so sorry,” I blurt, already reaching toward him. “I didn’t mean to… I caught the chair and the tray slipped and…”
I stop before I make it worse, because smearing napkins across an expensive jacket while I panic is somehow not going to improve this situation.
I pull my hands back so fast it’s like I touched a hot stove.
“I’m really sorry,” I say again. “I’ll pay to have the jacket cleaned. Whatever it costs. I mean it.”
Which is going to hurt.
A lot.
There goes the money I was trying to set aside.
Maybe there goes food that isn’t ramen for the next two weeks, too.
Gabe moves first, grabbing extra napkins and handing them over, while Julian looks like he’s trying so hard not to laugh that it’s actually making me angrier.
Which is unfair, probably, but I’m humiliated and standing in the middle of my own public execution, so I don’t feel especially committed to fairness right now.
Xander slides out of the booth and stands. The scrape of his fancy shoes against the floor sounds absurdly loud in the silence. He shrugs off the jacket, then holds it out to me.
I take it automatically, clutching the clean part of it against me like it might explode.
“I’ll have it cleaned,” I say quickly. “I promise. Somewhere good. Not just the cheap place on Main. Unless that’s where you want it done, I mean, but I can find somewhere else, I just…”
I stop because I’m rambling, which means I’m panicking, and I know that. Worse, I know he knows that.
And the man has the nerve to look at me like this is the most interesting thing that’s happened to him all week.
“It’s fine,” he says.
It isn’t fine.
“It’s really not,” I tell him. “I just committed aggravated breakfast assault.”
That does it.
Julian laughs. Actually laughs, full and unhelpful. Gabe shakes his head, smiling into his hand.