Chapter 3
1225 Words
Xanthe blinked as she saw Isis outside her café early in the morning. They were just about to open, but he was already there. What was he doing?
“I told you to rest, didn’t I?” she asked immediately as she approached him.
He just smiled, took the keys he was holding, and opened the café’s roll-up door. Worry crept into her chest as she watched him force it open.
“Careful! Your wounds…” she started, but he waved her off.
“It won’t kill me,” he said cheekily, moving to open the glass door. “See? I’m still alive.”
She grabbed the keys from him. “Why are you here? Weren’t you supposed to rest? You promised me yesterday.”
“I did rest. And you only told me to rest. You didn’t say how long. I followed your instructions.”
She sighed. “Smart-ass.”
Isis grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Anyway… I’m here because I want to help. I’ve always wanted to be a waiter and—”
“Isis,” she interrupted, narrowing her eyes. “You’re not doing this just to pay me back, right?”
He paused, then smiled. “Of course not. I genuinely want to help. No compensation needed since you helped me first.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You can’t just be a waiter without signing a contract. I don’t want you working for free and getting into trouble.”
He stared at her. “Smart-ass.”
She laughed. “You think you can trick me? Look at the sign.” She pointed to the notice by the door: Looking for Waiter. Male. 18–25 years old.
“How old are you? I’m pretty sure you’re too old.”
He leaned against the wall, a smirk on his face. “Don’t worry. I still fit the age on the calendar.”
She laughed. “You look like you’re sulking… which just means you’re at the bottom of the calendar.”
He froze, expressionless. She crossed her arms, staring at him, and then he returned her gaze. Slowly, the spark in his eyes returned.
“Done sulking?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Then you’re hired, if you want.” She explained the schedule, pay, and expectations. “We only have one waiter. Are you sure you want this?”
“Very.”
“Okay.” She called Maris, their current waiter. “Orient Isis. Show him around.”
“Yes, boss,” he said.
She shook her head and walked toward her office, which also served as her baking area. Isis placed his things down and took a short rest, then immediately started working.
She had turned her cake-making hobby into her job over the past year. Watching Isis, she felt uneasy. He had no expression while serving. Where was the smiling Isis? Was he in pain?
His wounds hadn’t fully healed, and seeing him like this worried her. Those cuts on his back, long, deep, shallow, they had to hurt.
Isis caught her staring and smiled. Instantly, her concern returned. One moment he was blank, the next he was smiling.
“Boss,” Isis said, smiling as he approached her. “Look at me. How do I look in this shirt?” He pointed to the polo uniform.
She couldn’t help but laugh as he lifted his own chair. Damn, he was handsome, no, gorgeous. Deep eyes, aristocratic nose, thin lips, square jaw… a sight to behold.
She noticed the roots of his hair were darker than the blonde tips. “Blonde?” she asked.
Isis shook his head. “No.”
She caught the lie immediately, but let it slide. Not her business.
“So… how’s being a waiter?” she asked. “Are you going to continue?”
“It’s fun.”
“Fun? You had no expression earlier.”
“Do I have to smile while serving?” he replied. “Say the word and I’ll do it with a smile.”
She stared at him. “You want me to order you to smile?”
“Yeah, if that’s what you want.”
She blinked. “But I’m not ordering you.”
“Exactly. Not in my life.”
She softened at his honesty. “That’s nice. Thank you,” she whispered, smiling.
“Just smile when you feel like it,” she said, scanning the café. Customers’ eyes followed Isis. “It looks like everyone’s happy. Anyway, lunch time. Have you eaten?”
“Not yet.”
“Eat. How about your medicine?”
She remembered his wounds vividly. So many. He must be in terrible pain, enduring all of this.
“Did you get painkillers?” she asked, concerned. “How’s your back? Are you okay? Maybe you shouldn’t work. I saw your wounds…”
Isis ignored her. She sighed. “Eat, take your medicine, and let Juls handle the customers for now. I’ll check the cake.”
“Can we eat together?” Isis asked, stopping her mid-step.
“We can’t,” she said, smiling gently. “I have to finish baking. Maybe later.”
“I’ll wait.”
“No—”
“I’ll wait,” he interrupted again and returned to serving.
Xanthe watched him walk away, thinking about his words from before: I’m tired… someone save me. He must have gone through hell to say that. And for some reason, she wanted to help him, even though she needed saving herself.
He’s not special, Isis thought, watching her manage her café. Her kindness was equal for everyone, yet somehow it affected him.
“Juls, eat,” she instructed. “Don’t starve yourself. You’ll get too thin.”
“I’m fine,” Juls said.
“Take some cake if you want. I don’t want you losing weight, it won’t please me.”
She looked at Aiofe. “Eat too. I’ll handle things here.”
“Thanks, boss.”
“Tell Levi to eat. He’s tired too.”
Isis muttered, “I’ll wait.”
Xanthe gently brushed his forehead. “Hmm… you’re not hot. Are your wounds hurting? You can take the day off if you want.”
He frowned, irritated. “I’m fine.”
“No worries,” she said in a neutral tone. Her fairness frustrated him. Maybe that’s why she helped him, she was just kind. Nothing more. And that annoyed him.
“You’re not fine,” she insisted, pressing lightly against his back. “Does it hurt?”
He flinched. “I told you I’m fine.”
She sighed, still watching him. “But I can tell. Rest for now, okay?”
Looking at her, truly worried, Isis sighed and finally said, “I’ll rest.” Then he left the café without looking back.
He was losing his mind. Confused. Frustrated. Motherfucker… I need a drink.
“Isis!” Xanthe called.
He stopped, instinctively turning.
“What?” he asked.
“Come on,” she said, smiling, holding out her hand. “Let’s eat together.”
Without thinking, his feet obeyed, walking back to the café on their own. He wasn’t forced this time. He chose to go.
Fuck… he didn’t want to get used to this feeling. He knew it could ruin him. But right now, all he could do was follow.
- Writer
