She still looks a little shell-shocked, but she shakes her head quickly. "I'm fine. I've had customers yell at me before, so it's nothing new. She just caught me off-guard."
"You did great. I’ll make sure you get tipped out well today.”
I hear a chuckle sound from behind me and I turn to see one of my most tenured waiters walking over to us. He comes around to lean on the stand itself, his glee over this entire situation apparent.
"God, I love seeing you get all alpha bitch in here," he says with a big grin. "It will never not surprise me that you're the nicest, quietest person in real life, yet the most professional, cutthroat bitch when you're in this building. You're like Dr. Jekyll and Miss Hyde. It's uncanny."
I glare at him but don't disagree. Iama nice person in real life. I prefer to be kind to people because God knows there's enough negativity in this world already. I'll be the first person to give you the shirt off my back or my last hundred dollars. I don't gossip, I rarely curse, and I actually prefer not to talk at all unless I’m saying something positive or necessary. So yes, I'mnice.
But I also know that I have a job to do, and the restaurant industry is not always a place where you can be nice. There are times when you have to be direct and some people will see that as being mean, but it's all part of the job. And despite my young age, I amverygood at my job.
"I am not cutthroat," I grumble. "I'm just... effective."
He laughs, and even Rebecca smiles with amusement.Okay, maybe I can be a little cutthroat at work.
"I'd pay good money to see how your alpha personality clashes with your demeanor outside of here," he continues, shaking his head. "I mean, what are you like as a girlfriend? Sweet buteffective?I bet that guy follows you around like a puppy dog and does whatever you want. I can only imagine how little shit you put up with." His eyes twinkle as he grins at me. "In a nice way, of course. Your victims kind of remind me of deer when they get caught in the headlights. The only difference is, you're so nice that the deer neveractuallyfeels like their life is in danger. They're just... captured and killed with kindness."
I roll my eyes at the ridiculous comparison, though I don't want to admit that I kind of like the sound of it—even if it feels really far from the truth. Being both kind and powerful seems like a good balance to me, one I’ve always strived for but never quite felt like I’ve reached.
"Let's get you back to work, Mr. Dramatic," I scold as a smile twitches my lips. "I'm not paying you to psychoanalyze meormy relationship."
He huffs a laugh and heads back into the kitchen.
"HowisSteve doing?" Rebecca asks me. "I forgot to ask how your date was last week at that new restaurant."
I smile, both at the memory of that night and at the fact that she remembered and is kind enough to ask. "It was great. Italian is my favorite, and this place was authentic. I'm pretty sure the owner’s grandmother was the one cooking in the back."
I rarely share my personal life with my employees, but Rebecca had stayed late that day and happened to see Steve picking me up for our date. Dressed in a suit with his typical swagger and a bouquet of flowers in his hand, it's no wonder he made an impression on her.
"God, you're so lucky," she gushes. "Steve is seriously so swoon-worthy. My boyfriend hasn't taken me out on a date in who knows how long, and yours actually shows up withflowers. Can he please give mine a lesson on how to woo the girl even after you've been with her for a year?"
She’s right, I am really lucky. Steve has definitely never had an issue wooing me with dates or flowers.
"Sometimes they just need to be reminded of what they have right in front of them," I tell her.
For the rest of the day, my thoughts are consumed by Steve.
We've been together for more than two years, ever since I ran into him—literally—at a grocery store when I first moved to the city. I was eighteen and fresh out of high school, living with my big sister and foregoing college while I figured out what I wanted to do with my life. Steve, decked out in a suit that day, too, noticed the ingredients in my cart and complimented me on being able to cook when there didn't seem to be many women anymore that enjoyed taking on that task. I had blushed, caught up in the compliment and the attention of this older, very attractive man, and didn't even hesitate to give him my number when he asked for it.
He spent weeks "courting" me, as he called it. He appreciated the build-up of a relationship, choosing not to fall right into bed with someone on the first night. And I was so smitten with the idea of this kind of chivalrous gentleman that I fell in love with him quicker than I would've imagined possible.
After only a year, we decided to move in together. He wanted me close, he said, because he was madly in love with me and couldn't stand to be apart from me for even a night. Now, we live in a quaint, one-bedroom apartment together in the historical part of Philadelphia.
He works in finance in the world of corporate America while I manage a tiny café in South Philly. He's ambitious and successful, and when he convinced me I should go to college to get a degree, it seemed like the most obvious thing in the world. So now I work at the restaurant by day, and study for my business degree at night.
That's my plan for tonight too. As I lock up the café and start my walk home, I review the homework I have to do tonight as I mentally prepare the dinner I'm going to cook. It became a natural rhythm to fall into once we moved in together: we both worked during the day, but in exchange for Steve covering a majority of the apartment costs, I would keep our home clean and cook dinner every night.
It’s a comfortable pattern. I love cooking and baking and anything that gets me playing in the kitchen, which made the arrangement was an easy one to fall into. Not to mention, my life goal has always been to open up a café, so the extra practice is also beneficial.
Humming happily as I enter our apartment, I turn on Steve’s favorite Mumford and Sonsplaylist and set aside the ingredients for Chicken Florentine, his favorite meal. My smile grows when I think about his reaction when he sees what's for dinner.
Sure enough, when he walks in an hour later and sees what I'm making, a huge grin splits his handsome face.
"Hey, beautiful. Is that Chicken Florentine? You’re amazing, I love when you cook for me." He sweeps across the kitchen, stopping only to drop the bouquet of flowers in his hands onto the counter before he gathers me in his arms and presses a kiss to my hair. He holds me, rocking slightly, as if content just to have his arms around me. I sigh and tighten my arms around his neck.
"I love you so much," he whispers. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. All day I kept thinking about how happy I am to come home to you every night. How lucky I am to have this life with you."
I pull back to see his face as I smile at him. He's only a few inches taller than me, about 5'7, so it's easy to feel close to him when he holds me like this. I take a moment to study him, to breathe in his beauty, and once again remind myself that he's mine.