Of All People,It's You

"DIANEEEEEEE!" "Yes, Maggie, I'm coming! Jeez!" The shout comes from somewhere behind the kitchen doors, followed by what sounds like a heavy pot hitting the floor. A normal Tuesday or Wednesday. Honestly, the days blur together when you work at The Copper Kettle. "Table seven! DIANE!" Maggie yells again. "I heard you the first time!" I tuck my order pad behind my ear and turn around, only to find Poppy Bennett grinning at me. Poppy always manages to look effortlessly put together, even during a brutal lunch rush. Her blonde curls are pinned back seamlessly, and her cheeks have a healthy, flushed glow. "Need help?" she asks. "No." "Diane." "I've got it." Poppy sighs dramatically. "One day your stubbornness is going to kill you." I smile back. She rolls her eyes, staring past my shoulder in awe. "Ooh... look, at twelve o'clock. They look so handsome." She nearly squeals. "Gosh, everyone's handsome to you, Pops. Focus." "Dude, I'm serious. The one in the suit is gorgeous, don't you think?" I spot them in less than a second. "Hmm... Typical Poppy." I flash her a grin and head toward table seven. Today has to be one of the busiest days we've had all month. Even Maggie, the grumpy, balding man who owns the place, has to help out. Although, I'm not entirely sure he understands what "helping" means, because he's mostly just shouting and aggressively directing us to tables. Particularly me. I take a deep sigh. Tomorrow, none of this matters anyway. At least, that's the plan. Three weeks ago, I applied for a secretary position at Boisnoir Building Supplies, the biggest construction supply company in Manchester. Earlier this morning, an email from HR said the final results would be available for collection later today. If I get the job, I'll finally be leaving The Copper Kettle. If I don't... well. Maggie will have to put up with me a little longer. "Diane!" Maggie's voice echoes from the kitchen again. "Table seven, got it!" As I approach the table, I immediately spot the expensive suit. You know the type….the kind that practically screams, I have more money than your yearly salary. Yep, one of those. Two men are seated at the table. One is chatting away while the other looks like he doesn't want to be here. The talking one is handsome enough. The quiet one, however, is just unfair. He has dark, curly hair falling perfectly near his face, and broad shoulders fill out a tailored black suit. He'll probably have the girls drooling. He looks entirely out of place among our sticky menus and chipped mugs. But I'm not about to stand here staring. The talkative one smiles as I pull out my notepad. "Finally. We were beginning to think you'd forgotten us." "Impossible," I say, offering a practiced waitress smile. "Maggie would never allow that." The man laughs. The quiet one doesn't. "What can I get for you?" I ask. "I'll have the chicken strips," the first man says. "And the chips." I scribble it down, then turn to his companion. "What about you, Garrett?" Ah. So the statue has a name. Garrett glances at the menu for all of two seconds. "I'll just have coffee." I blink. The other man blinks. Does this man even go through the menu? "Coffee?" his friend repeats. "Yes." "Come on, you came all the way here for coffee?" "Apparently." His friend turns to me, exasperated. "Please tell him the food is worth trying." I fold my arms, channeling the most sarcastic tone I can muster. "The food is worth trying." That actually earns a tiny, fleeting smile from Garrett. He looks up, his full attention landing on me for the first time. He has beautiful green eyes too. If he has siblings, they probably hate him for stealing all the good genes. "Very convincing," he murmurs. His voice is surprisingly smooth. His friend continues trying to persuade him, rattling off reviews about how the restaurant is one of the best in the area, but Garrett doesn't budge. "Table fifteen hasn't gotten their order yet, Diane!" Maggie yells from across the room. "Got it, Maggie!" I call back before turning my glaring eyes back to Garrett. "So, what will you have, sir?" "I'll go with the coffee," he says calmly. I turn back to the talkative one. "You can always let him have a bite of yours. You know what they say..." "...You have to taste it to feel it!" the friend chimes in, reciting the café's cheesy slogan in unison with me. I smile. "Coming right up, sir." A corner of Garrett's mouth curls. He isn't going to budge. I can just tell, and for some reason, his stubbornness irritates me more than if he'd just laughed outright. Nobody comes to The Copper Kettle just for coffee. We're famous for our food. The coffee shop right across the street stole all our beverage business months ago. Sitting here amidst the intoxicating smell of grilled chicken and chips just to order a black coffee is a deliberate insult. Either he thinks our menu is beneath his tax bracket, or he's just being difficult. I hurry over to the kitchen window. "Chef Murray, please, why isn't table fifteen's order done yet?" "It is, but the dishes are dirty, and I'm busy here, as you can see, Diane," he adds, putting a little too much attitude into my name. Jeez, today has everyone on edge. I drop table seven's order ticket in front of Murray and head to the sink. A mountain of greasy pots and plates towers over me. It's the worst possible day for the dishwasher to call in sick. Lucky him. I wish I were sick. I roll up my sleeves and start washing, but the sink gurgles, then sputters, and finally gives up entirely. "Oh, don't do this to me." I crouch down and swing open the cabinet underneath. Grease and murky water are everywhere. Honestly, I don't get paid enough for this. I stare at the pipe, and it stares back. Sighing, I snap on some rubber gloves and get to work. Five minutes later, I manage to drain the clogged, greasy mess into a large metal bowl. "Where does the cleaner usually dump this?" I shout over the noise of the kitchen. Murray doesn't even look up from the grill. "Anywhere but the sink." "Well, thank you for that incredibly detailed instruction." "Table fifteen's order is ready!" Murray yells. Then, right on cue, Maggie's voice blasts through the kitchen. "DIANE!" I jump, nearly dropping the heavy bowl of wastewater. "I'm coming!" "Table fifteen is waiting!" Maggie adds. "Tell table fifteen to be patient!" I hurry toward the back corridor that leads to the alleyway exit. The murky sludge sloshes dangerously over the rim of the bowl. I throw open the back door, rushing out into the alley to dump it. My foot catches on the threshold. And the bowl slips from my hands. SPLASH! The gray, greasy water flies through the air in a perfect, horrifying arc. And lands. Directly on someone. "Oh my gosh." A sharp curse echoes through the brick alley. "Bloody hell!" My heart stops. I don't need to look at the tailored black suit currently dripping with murky sludge to know who it is. I just stare straight into a pair of dripping, brilliant green eyes. Oh no. Its the human statue. And this time, he doesn't look so calm...