For weeks he’d been coming every day, and she’d found herself starting to take all the lunch shifts she could, even though she earned way more tips with dinner. Broke as she was, that fleeting, ephemeral rush was worth more to her than the cash. She had it bad.
Considering that the guy remained utterly oblivious to her existence.
She polished her glasses, perched them back on her nose, and fished the order she had just taken out of her short-term memory. She dished up ratatouille for the table of women underneath the aquarium, sneaking peeks as she drizzled vinaigrette and tossed grated beets and sunflower seeds on their salads. She loaded the tray and chose a path through the restaurant that brought her by his table. Close enough to smell the detergent his crisp white shirt was washed in. The next sneaky sweep past him garnered her a hungry whiff of his aftershave. Mmm. Nice. Those shoulders, wow. Flaring out, so broad and thick. Solid-looking. He wasn’t movie-star handsome at all, not with that narrow, angular face. She’d studied his features minutely, reviewing them in her dreams and daydreams, but every time she saw the real flesh-and-blood thing, it was a fresh thrill. She loved the severity of his features. That bladelike nose with a crooked bump on it, the black, slashing eyebrows set at a sharp upward angle. His cheeks were lean, with grooves flanking his mouth, and he had crinkled lines around his eyes, as if he’d squinted into desert sun. His mouth was grim, his black hair short, sticking up wildly. She doubted it was due to styling gel. He was not the type to affect messy hair on purpose. This guy could not possibly be bothered.
She peeked at his computer screen from behind his broad, muscular back. It was full of incomprehensible code. She forced herself to march away without looking back. She was going to be realistic and mature and ignore him today. After one more tiny, hungry peek.
Behind the counter, her boss, Norma, looked over from the mushrooms she was grilling. “Here again, eh, Nelly? Can’t get enough of that strip steak sandwich, I see. Before I lose you in a romantic haze, hon, I need to ask a favor.”
Gack. Who knew her silly crush had been so obvious? Nell grabbed the bread knife and began slicing. “Ask away.”
“Easy does it, hon. That knife is sharp. Can’t help but notice that you never take your eyes off the fellow. Can’t blame you. If I were twenty-five years younger…hell, maybe even just fifteen years younger…” Her voice trailed off, eyes twinkling, waiting for Nell to soften, but Nell just pressed her lips together and cut more bread. “Looks like a workaholic, though,” Norma mused. “Always typing, never a glance at the cute waitress serving him. Take it from an expert. Leave that guy alone.”
“Thanks for the advice, but it’s not relevant,” Nell snapped, tossing bread into baskets. “I’m not getting anywhere near him.”
“Whatever you say. Are you free to work an evening shift? Kendra just called in sick. The girl’s driving me crazy. Always at death’s door.”
“Sorry, Norma, but I’m teaching a discussion section tonight for the summer school American poetry lecture course.”
“I was afraid of that. Oh well. We’ll be shorthanded, but we’ll survive. Get some coffee for that hardworking fellow before he starts feeling neglected. Do you absolutely have to wear those glasses, hon?”
Nell snatched her glasses off and polished them defensively.
“Unless you want me to bump into tables! What’s wrong with them?”
“They just make you look so, I don’t know. Intellectual, I guess.”
“Norma, I’ve got news for you. I am intellectual!”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, hon. Your eyes are so pretty, I just want the world to see them.” Norma tucked a hank of curly brunette hair behind Nell’s ear, chucked her on the chin, and tugged down the front of Nell’s apron so it showed more bosom. “For God’s sake, Nelly. Use those assets of yours. Work it. Go on, scram! Get the man’s order!”
Nell poured a cup of coffee and scurried out with her order pad, self-consciously tugging her orange apron bib back up over her cleavage. She felt nervous and fluttery every time she took his order. God knows why. He’d never glanced up from his screen. She could take his order stark staring naked, and he would never notice.
She placed the coffee on the table. Without moving his eyes from the screen, he reached for it and took a swallow. “Thanks,” he said, in that resonant, distant voice that made her shivery. “The usual, please.”
“Okay,” she replied. “We have three soups today: minestrone, French onion, and three bean. Which would you prefer?”
A small frown furrowed his forehead, but he didn’t look up. “I don’t care. Whichever is fine.”
“One bowl of whichever, coming right up,” Nell murmured, staring at the cowlick in his hair. There was raffish stubble on his tense-looking jaw. His cuffs were turned up, revealing tough, ropy muscles and black hair that lay flat and silky against the golden skin of his forearms.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, fingers tapping.
“Um, no, of course not.” Nell fled, flustered, and ran herself promptly into a table edge. She bit back a yelp. She would have a bruise tomorrow. A stern reminder of what happened when one gave in to adolescent urges. The fact that Norma had noticed was proof that she’d let her crush get out of hand. She put the order in and began assembling his lunch. Norma glanced over with professional interest. “The usual, I assume?”
Nell nodded, popping a roll into the toaster grill. She scooped an enormous serving of Knorma’s Knockout Coleslaw onto a small plate.
“You’re ruining me with those portions, hon. He’s not worth it.”
“Cut it out, Norma,” Nell snapped, preparing the garnish. Thick slices of tomato, radish rosebuds, and carrot curlicues. She tossed on a handful of alfalfa sprouts, hesitated for a moment, and then cut a substantial slice of sweet onion and added it with a flourish, since his breath was neither her responsibility nor her problem. The toaster pinged. She pulled out the roll, avoiding Norma’s gaze.
“What soup did he want?” Norma inquired.
“He doesn’t care. I’m going to give him the three bean.”
“Really? I don’t know, hon. Minestrone might be safer.”
Nell ladled a bowl full of soup. “He’ll learn to express a preference if he doesn’t like it,” she said in a clipped voice. When she hefted the tray, the soup slopped dangerously near the edges of the bowl.
“Easy does it, Nelly,” Norma teased. “He’s not going anywhere without his lunch.”
Nell gave her a withering look and carried out the guy’s soup, head high.
When she served the rest of his lunch, the only place to put the plate was the extreme edge of the table. It looked so precarious. He hadn’t touched the soup yet. His long, graceful hands tapped ceaselessly on the keyboard.
“That’ll be all,” he muttered, staring fixedly at the screen.
Nell headed back to the kitchen, mentally ticking off issues to cover in her discussion section on Emily Dickinson’s poetry tonight. The sad plight of women in nineteenth-century America. Poverty. Powerlessness. Arid celibacy. Secret love. Constraint. Corsets. The life of the imagination. Ooh, ouch. It was the story of her life. Except for the corsets.
“Everything go smoothly?” Norma asked in a sly voice.
“No problems.” Nell loaded ice water on a tray, marched past Norma with her chin up, and proceeded to trip on the plastic mat.
Crash. Glass broke, heads turned, water pooled, ice cubes rolled.
Nell got the dustpan and started picking up shards, mouth tight.
“You’re too tense, Nelly.” Norma put her hands on her substantial hips and scowled in concern. “You need to get out more.”
“Norma, get real! My life is nuts right now!” she flared. “My sister was stalked and attacked by a slobbering maniac, I’m short my rent because of all that lost work after the Fiend jumped Nancy, my thesis adviser is on my case night and day, I can’t seem to sleep anymore, and Lucia…oh, God. Never mind. Please, just leave me alone, okay?”