Her hand tensed around the tray as she leaned forward and poured Old Man Wrinkles another cup of coffee. She enjoyed giving people nicknames, though she had never been that creative.
Old Man Wrinkles gave his cup a weary glance and nodded his thanks, but he didn't speak. For the last six months he came in the restaurant around seven in the evening, slouched into the corner booth, and ordered a cup of decaf and the chef's special. He hardly spoke aside from placing his order, but after a few days she had memorized it so she would ask if he wanted his usual to which he always gave a gruff 'yes' or a mere nod. For a man of few words, his eyes carries phantoms that could write a library of woes.
Balancing the tray, she circled back to the counter, mindful of the steaming hot pot of coffee that slid on the slick plastic surface each time the tray wavered.
"Marshel, this order should have the plate of lobster," she called out to the chef's assistant, placing a hand on her hip.
The man, just shy of seventeen, was the owner's nephew. He had no restaurant history and spent most of his shifts flirting with the other waitresses.
A head of red hair bobbed over the ledge of the window of the kitchen.
He frowned at her. "Lobster? I thought you said crab."
Biting her tongue, she sighed and scooped up the next order, omitting the plate piled with crab legs, and placed them on her tray. The owner insisted on everyone using only their left hand to balance the tray. To someone who's graces were as stable as a hippo on ice, it was a tedious task, but somehow she had managed to never drop a tray.
Until tonight.
She had just reached the table when a sitting customer shoved his chair back without a thoughtful glance over his shoulder, bumping her arm and the tray. The tray fell in a clatter all over the table of Green-Eyed Prince.
Green-Eyed Prince yelped with a start, but she didn't know why he was the one to cry out when the pot of steaming hot coffee had spilled over the edge of the table and onto her white shoes.
She gasped as the liquid seeped through the shoes and onto her feet.
"Are you okay?" Green-Eyed Prince asked, shuffling napkins from the container until he had emptied most of it and hurriedly began swiping at the brown liquid.
"Yes," she lied, fighting back tears.
The toes would survive, but she wasn't so certain of her pride.
"Next time watch where you're going and you won't drop your tray," muttered the customer whose chair had knocked the tray out of her grasp. The man donned a suit that would probably cost her three months worth of rent and his date was dressed in equal extravagance, wearing a long black dress with a slit down the side of her leg. Tossing her blonde hair in a dramatic sweep of her manicured hand, his date pursed her lips and snorted in agreement.
Green-Eyed Prince narrowed his perfectly hued green eyes at the culprit, but glanced at her with a smile. "Don't worry about him, Miss. Here let me-"
As his hand swooped to pick up a broken piece of the ceramic plate that had broken, their hands touched. Her heart quickened as heat climbed up her neck. It was foolish of her to react to the man in such a way, especially considering he was all but a stranger and like most who frequented the establishment, he was usually accompanied by a date. That particular evening he had ordered two glasses of wine, but after an hour of waiting he had went ahead and put his order in.
Had he been stood up?
The man glanced up at her again as his smile broadened.
"What's your name?" he asked, despite her name tag.
She cleared her throat. "My name is Penelope."
"Penelope," he repeated, as if weighing the syllables on his tongue. "I'm Jace."
An ornery part of her wondered what Jace would think if he knew the nickname she had given him.
She ducked her head and swept up the remaining debris onto her tray.
"I'll go get you another order," she murmured before rushing away.
The night waned, but more customers arrived despite the late hours. It was Valentine's Day and it was perfect considering the restaurant had been voted the Most Romantic Place to Eat by the Chicago Tribune. The food was good, the service fine, but what the people came for were the ambiance and outside deck that overlooked the lake where musicians lead the lovers in slow dances. Strung lights in the trees around the deck illuminated the silhouettes of those dancing as Penelope lingered at one of the tables that needed cleaning off.
Her eyes watched one particular couple as the man held the woman close and tucked her hair behind her ear. She sighed a sigh mixed with want and fatigue. Working full-time at two jobs while maintaining a her GPA in college had kept her busy with little gratification.
She wanted what that couple had. Even if only for one night.
Was it so wrong to want such a thing?
A woman waved from the last table tucked in a secluded corner, catching her attention. She blinked, scooped up her tray, and forced a smile.
"Can I have the check please?" the woman asked, holding the menu over her face.
The woman, only one of three tables without a date, had seemed on edge since she had arrived. Whenever Penelope passed her table she was either staring across the room intently or tucked behind the menu as if trying to hide. Such behavior would have creeped her out when she first arrived in the city, but now she was thankful that was the extent of the woman's peculiarity.
She nodded. "Sure thing."
When she had returned to the woman's table with the ticket, the woman was still hiding behind the menu. She held the ticket out.
"Here you are," Penelope said, a bit louder than necessary to catch the woman's attention.
The woman didn't make a move to retrieve the receipt. Instead, she peeked over the menu across the room.
"That man," she whispered. "Does he come here a lot?"
Penelope frowned and followed her line of sight to Old Man Wrinkles. She shrugged. Was there any law binding her to customer confidentiality?
"He's been in before," offered Penelope, hoping the vague answer would satisfy the woman.
Old Man Wrinkles caught her eye. He dropped his gaze to the where the woman looked over the menu and his stony expression dissolved as his eyes widened in astonishment.
"Oh!" The strange woman ducked her head. "Did he see me?"
Old Man Wrinkles got up from his table and with the help of a black cane with a silver handle, began hobbling over to them. His gaze was filled with unusual intensity and something akin to hope.
When Penelope didn't reply, the woman risked another glance over the menu. In haste, she shot up out of her chair while digging in her purse. She threw down a bundle of money that was well over the ticket price and grabbed her coat.
She turned her back to leave.
"Orianthi?"
The woman stopped, but kept her back to him. She tilted her head to look over her shoulder.
Old Man Wrinkles' jaw dropped. Emotion overwhelmed his face, making Penelope feel uncomfortable as though she was intruding on something intimate. But she couldn't help but watch.
Slowly, the woman faced the man with a guarded expression. "Hello, Patrick."
The man sputtered and his knees wobbled. Penelope feared he would fall, but the cane kept him upright.
"It's really you," he breathed, taking enough steps to cover the distance between them.
The woman took a tentative step in retreat, but when Patrick touched her cheek, she stopped. Tears brimmed her eyes.
"When you didn't come, I feared that y-you..." Patrick shook his head, his voice cracking. "But you're here now. You're really here."
"I don't deserve you, Patrick. All these years and you waited." Tears stained her cheeks as the woman moved to step out of his embrace. "I didn't think you'd-"
Patrick held her arms to keep her from moving back. By now the entire restaurant had quieted and were watching the seen play out.
"I would never give up on you," he vowed, his eyes searching hers. "I'll never stop waiting on you if that what it takes."
The woman smiled, more tears spilling onto her shirt. "I have missed you."
Patrick took her into his arms, abandoning the cane which fell at his side, and kissed her.
Applause broke out as a few people whistled and called out congratulatory cheers.
Hand in hand, the two went outside onto the dock, joining the other lovers dancing beneath the moon.
Penelope smiled to herself as she cleaned up and waited on a few more tables. The love they shared was inspiring, but the more she thought about it the more the dark abyss of loneliness within her chest grew. Soon her smile and mood had evaporated and she was counting down the seconds until closing.
At the end of her shift, all the customers had left aside from Green-Eyed Prince, Jace. Since all other waitresses had either gone home or were busy with closing chores, she was forced to face him after the embarrassing scene from earlier.
"Is there anything else I can get for you before we close?" she asked, pointedly.
Jace chuckled. "Well, I was hoping to eat, but since you're closing-"
"Oh no!" she exclaimed, the blood draining from her face. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I forgot to put your order in. I'm so sorry."
Jace smiled reassuringly and stood to leave, grabbing his jacket. "No matter, we all have our days. How about you make it up to me by letting me take you out sometime?"
She gaped at the man in astonishment. Composing herself, she tightened the slack in her jaw and nodded.
"If you insist," she teased, but her voice was shaky even to her own ears.
The man smiled and asked her to write down her number for him. After which, he folded it up and tucked it into his pocket before giving her one last smile as he walked out the door.
Perhaps, it was possible to find love after all.
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