“I’ll get your salad,” Beckett whispered, backing away from the table. He took the other orders he needed to take, refilled the drinks that had emptied, and stopped in the back to get a drink of water before returning to the floor. He checked the other tables, swung by the kitchen to get Rhys’s salad, and dropped it off at his table.
“Here’s your salad,” he said.
He watched Rhys unroll the silverware from the thick, white napkin, and he couldn’t take his eyes away from the other man’s fingers. He needed to work, not daydream about what those fingers inside of him would feel like. But somehow, the whole conversation they’d been having felt like some weird kind of getting-to-know-you foreplay, and he wasn’t mad about it.
“Can I get another drink, please?” Rhys asked.
“Sure. Did you want to order your entree or wait a bit longer?”
“I’ll wait.” Rhys adjusted his fork in his hand. “I’m not in a hurry.”
“Rhys.”
“Yes?” Rhys stabbed at a balsamic-coated piece of watermelon and raised it to his mouth, waiting to take a bite.
“You don’t have to stay here all night just because I’m working.”
Rhys blinked at him slowly. “I’m not in a hurry.”
Once again, Beckett found himself reminded that Rhys could probably count on one hand the number of times he’d been told no, and he surely was not going to add another one to the list on Beckett’s account.
“Alright.”
It got busy after that, with more of Beckett’s attention being pulled to his other tables. Rhys was a patient and quiet customer, which he assumed was not his standard mode of operation, but he appreciated knowing Rhys was there. And that Rhys was there for him.
Two hours into Beckett’s shift, Rhys finally ordered dinner, and the restaurant started to wind down toward the end of the night. Rhys nursed his fourth drink while Beckett bussed empty tables, and he carried his own empty glass to the bar while Beckett tipped out Hunter.
“I’ll take my check,” Rhys said quietly, before returning to the table he’d made a home out of.
Rhys was his last table, and Beckett printed the check and carried it over.
“Did you want a ride home?” Rhys asked when he set it down.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I’m here.”
He sighed. “I know.”
Rhys pulled out his money clip and unfolded a hundred dollar bill, dropping it on the check without even looking at the total.
“Keep the change. Beckett, you look tired.” Rhys stood and Beckett tried to not stare at the way Rhys’s pants hadn’t even creased from all the sitting.
“My body is,” he admitted. “It’s been awhile since I’ve worked a shift this busy.”
It was a good thing, though. He’d come away with more tips than he made the entire week prior, and a smile on his face that he just couldn’t shake.
“Did you eat?”
“I snacked in the back,” he said.
“I have a whole picnic in my car, you know.”
“I know,” Beckett said apologetically, “and I’m really sorry I had to cancel. You didn’t need to stay here all night.”
“Think of it as a precursor.” Rhys stepped past him. “I’ll give you a ride, either to your home, or my home, or to a park where we can eat this hundred dollar picnic. Whatever you want.”
Beckett picked up the money and check from the table. “You already spent a hundred dollars tonight.”
