Tell Me

Angel

Of the three people in my section, one was placed there to sabotage my job. Alex snickered as she seated the well-dressed, devastatingly handsome man at table twenty-six, no doubt hoping I’d screw it up and he’d report me to the manager. The scowl on his face when he first sat down had me concerned that would be the case.

When Mr. Harrington walked up behind me, breathing his hot whisky breath in my ear, I was afraid I’d be packing my stuff and joining the line at the unemployment office. The handsome stranger waved off my boss like a peasant, and in any other circumstance, I would have berated him for being a pompous jerk, but in that case, I appreciated it.

Now, trying to keep myself busy while the man’s meal is being prepared is difficult. I can feel him watching me, which doesn’t give me a chance to return the favour. I perform mindless tasks like arranging chairs that are perfectly fine and wiping down already clean tables. As luck would have it, Hannah’s shift started right as I placed the man’s order, so when the time comes, I deliver it to him with some confidence.

He thanks me and smiles, and I can barely withhold the school-girl giggle threatening to escape. I nod, tell him to flag me down if he needs anything else, and walk away before I combust. What has gotten into me? There’s never been a customer in the history of time that’s drawn my attention like he does.

I position myself at the edge of the bar area, hiding behind some fake plants so I can watch him. His medium-brown hair is styled in a textured crop cut with very little product—au natural. His beige skin has olive undertones, largely covered by a short, well-manicured beard, and his forehead has creases suggesting he’s got a lot of stress in his life. He doesn’t look much older than me, but he seems the type to have his life together.

A man like him—confident, gorgeous, expensive clothing, mischievous brown eyes—no doubt has a gaggle of eager women trailing behind him. I don’t belong in a gaggle.

He appears to be enjoying his meal, but I can’t stop myself from going to check on him. Check on him, check him out; tah-may-toe, toe-mah-toe.

“How is everything?”

He clears his throat and takes a sip of water, his eyes wide in surprise. “You snuck up on me. Last I saw, you were peeking at me from over there.” He gestures toward the bar.

My face warms again, but there’s no point in denying it. “Servers are supposed to be ninjas. Walk around, accomplishing our tasks without being seen. Apparently, I need to work on my camouflage some more. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I was just… curious.”

He places his fork beside his near empty plate and focuses his eyes on me, which sends butterflies flurrying in my belly. “What are you curious about?”

I blow out a breath, not wanting to lie, but not wanting to admit the truth. A half truth still counts as a lie, though. “You intrigue me. And not because you’re good looking.” I shrug, trying to play off my growing embarrassment.

A smug smile tugs at his full lips, creating faint creases around his eyes. “Is that so?”

I nod, not wanting to beeline from awkwardness to full-out mortification that would happen if I tried to speak.

“Are you always so honest?”

That’s not what I was expecting him to ask. I’m a bit relieved to move on from talking about his attractiveness. “Yes.”

He tilts his head, still focused on me. “That was a very confident yes.”

“Because I’m always honest. I can’t lie.”

His eyebrows dance upward, deepening the existing lines on his forehead. “You can’t lie?” He leans toward me and whispers, “Did a wizard cast a spell on you?”

I chuckle, but quickly compose myself. “No wizards. No magical spells. I can’t lie because I made a promise to myself I never would. It’s really that simple.”

“That’s admirable.”

My hands are laced behind my back, wringing each other to distract from the anxiety pooling in my stomach. This is not me. I don’t get nervous around people. But I’ve never had butterflies, either.

“Would you mind getting my bill?”

My facial expression falls. Everyone is put off when I admit the truth. It will never make sense to me, but I’m used to being dismissed. “I’ll be right back.”

The poor computer is the recipient of my frustration as I tap the screen harder than necessary to print the handsome man’s bill. The small ribbon printer shoots out his receipt, so I grab the credit card terminal and return to his table. He’s likely another customer in a long line of them who come here once and never again. I hand him the black bill folio and ask how he’ll be paying. He responds, gesturing to the credit card machine in my hand. I set it up to receive his payment and walk away to give him privacy. No one enjoys hemming and hawing over how much to tip someone when said person is standing overtop of them.

When I hear the receipt tear, I return to thank him for his patronage, scoop up the folio and Point Of Sale device, then scurry back to the computer to input the information. I assume I’ll never see the man again. Not going to lie—because I never do—that realization fills me with disappointment.

I pull out the receipt and drop it when I see the error he made. I scramble to pick up the paper but turn around to discover the mystery man is gone. A quick shout to Vida to cover my remaining table and I’m running out the door in search of the man who is evidently terrible at math, or he has bad eyesight… or really fat fingers.

“Sir. Wait!” I shout as I see his retreating head walking down the sidewalk. “Wait! You’ve made a terrible mistake.”

He halts his steps, turning to look at me. He is even more handsome in the midday sun. “I don’t think I did.”

“You definitely did. You accidentally put in $1000 for the tip on a twenty-two-dollar meal.”

“And?”

I stare at him with my mouth gaping open before I clamp my jaw shut. “That’s a 4500 percent tip. That’s not industry standard.”

“That’s what I thought the service was worth. There’s no mistake.”

The man in front of me looks dead serious, but I don’t want this. I refuse to accept an insane amount of money for bringing him a salad and making him uncomfortable. It wouldn’t feel right even if I believed I did a good job. “I can’t accept this. Please come inside so I can refund your card. I’ll even pay for your meal to make up for the hassle.”

His expression doesn’t falter. “No.”

“No?” I shout, attracting the attention of people walking by. I drop my voice to a reasonable volume. “Please. I can’t accept this.”

He stands in front of me with a hint of a smile and questions dancing in his eyes. I brace myself for whatever is about to come.

“Why don’t you let me take you out for dinner instead?”