The dinner rush hasn’t hit yet but the place is already half full, which means it’s gonna be a nightmare by seven.
I arrived early today. Earlier than I usually do, and that’s saying a lot because I’m never early for anything.
The shift manager on duty noticed me walking in and handed me a rag before I even had my apron on. Tonight, I’m on tables, not the grill. Something about needing someone who could move fast when it gets busy. Translation: some idiot called in sick, and I’m the one paying for it.
I wipe down the same table again, slowly dragging the rag across the sticky laminate.
The lights above the soda machine flicker as they always do, emitting that weak yellow buzz that makes everyone look wornout. Some song from the 70s drifts out of the radio on the counter. I’ve heard it twice already tonight.
I grab two baskets and carry them to the couple tucked in the corner booth.
“Burger and fries,” I say, sliding the plates down without ceremony.
The guy doesn’t glance up from his phone. The girl sitting across from him says thank you in a small, almost apologetic voice, the way people do when they feel bad that their boyfriend has no manners.
I nod and then walk away.
I head back toward the two construction workers squinting at the menu as if it’s in another language. Concrete dust still on their boots. I take their order, two burgers, one with extra pickles, and I set it down at the counter.
I reach into the gray plastic wash bucket and grab another damp rag before heading to the next table to wipe it down.
Work usually keeps my head quiet. Hands busy, brain off, just the noise of the place filling up around me. Usually. But today, every slow second breaks apart, and the same thing slips in.
Bells. She was pissed she missed it. That moment when the universe finally delivers something spectacular and she wasn’t there in person to see it explode.
I sent her the link the second the video went up. Tia, mid-flinch, frozen in slow motion. Someone had already added captions by the time it hit my feed.
My phone buzzed in my pocket ten seconds after I sent it.
Bells:OMG FINALLY
She went quiet for ten minutes, which can only mean one thing: she was watching it on repeat. Bells has never met a moment she couldn’t squeeze every last drop out of.
I drag the rag across the table and almost smile as I imagine her watching it, laughing with that smile on her face.
I feel her, before I see her.
Aubrey.
She’s behind the counter pouring drinks, moving through her shift the way she always does. But her attention keeps drifting to the side. Toward me. It has been for the last five minutes.
I meet her gaze and she quickly looks away, as if she wasn’t just doing exactly what I caught her doing.
I move, and her eyes follow, then drop.
She carries a round of drinks across the room, weaving between tables, and still somehow manages to find me on the way back. The tension radiating from her is loud, the kind you can’t ignore even when you’re trying really hard to.
Which is strange because Aubrey has never once in her life had trouble saying exactly what she thinks about me. No filter, no softening it, no courtesy pause before she goes in. She doesn’t like me and has made that clear since day one, wearing it like a badge. And I’ve never lost a single minute of sleep over it.
That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.
I move to the back table and start wiping it down. Thirty seconds later, I hear footsteps slow behind me. I don’t turn around. Don’t give her the satisfaction.
Aubrey is hovering.
I keep wiping the table, moving at the same slow pace, completely unbothered. Or at least pretending to be.
She clears her throat.
