“Sure, absolutely, scrambled brains and toast coming right up.” Zack wrote it down. He’d been writing things down all morning and misdelivering them anyway, but he was committed to the process. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
He was two steps away when the man spoke again, and something about the timbre of his voice made it feel like he’d reached out and physically brushed Zack’s skin.
“You’re new here.”
Zack paused, then turned. “Me? Nah. I’ve been here for years, serving the wrong orders like a pro.”
Their eyes locked and Zack forgot what he was pretending not to feel.
The corner of the guy’s mouth twitched. “Pretty damn sure I would’ve noticed you before now.” He winked.
Zack’s lungs forgot their basic function.
“Last week, technically.” He leaned against the neighboring booth, the middle of the floor suddenly unstable. “I’m getting the hang of it. Mostly. There have been some minor navigation issues with the order system.”
“I heard about the pancakes.”
Zack gaped at him. “Dude, how?”
“Small town.” The man tossed a beefy arm across the back of the booth, and Zack definitely noticed the way those dark eyes swept over him. “I’m Colton, by the way.”
“Zack.” He pointed at himself, because apparently his hands had decided they were part of this conversation now. “That’s me.”
“Nice to know.” Colton flicked a glance at the name tag pinned to Zack’s shirt.
Right. The name tag.
Zack glanced down at it like he needed to confirm the information himself, which was a perfectly normal and not remotely embarrassing thing to do.
“I should put your order in,” Zack said, giving himself a reason to retreat before he did something even more embarrassing. “Before I forget, which, full disclosure, is a real possibility this morning.”
Colton’s low laugh followed him all the way back to the pass-through.
Zack handed the ticket through the window, then stayed there for a moment with both palms flat on the counter, staring at the coffee maker while having a brief internal conversation about chilling the hell out.
His brain didn’t listen. Within fifteen minutes he’d returned to Colton’s table twice. Once with a coffee refill. Once because table two needed ketchup and his route just happened to take him past that particular booth.
Both times Colton looked up, and both times Zack said something that were technically words.
Their fingers hadn’t touched when Zack set poured the coffee, but the near miss was enough to make him walk back to the counter slightly off-balanced.
When he brought Colton’s food out, the plate landed at the table where it was supposed to land, which he considered a miracle given his morning.
“Over easy eggs, wheat toast, home fries.” He set down a bottle of ketchup.
Colton’s gaze slid from his plate to Zack. “You doing okay?”
Zack opened his mouth to deliver the usual response, the yeah, totally fine, everything’s great, nothing to see here line he’d been deploying most of his life.
But nothing came out.
Colton leaned in, lowering his voice like he was sharing something that didn’t need an audience. “You’re doing just fine, you know.” He’d said it like it was an obvious thing that someone had just forgotten to mention.
The reassurance made Zack feel just a little less invisible.
“Most people’s definition of fine isn’t three wrong tables,” he joked.
“Most people aren’t paying attention.” Colton held his gaze for a moment before picking up his fork. “I am.”
