“Thank you, sunshine,” he said, without smiling and without looking up from his paper.
Things went on that way for a few weeks, and when I finally stopped shaking, he spoke to me. It was never anything too personal, just remarks about the weather, questions about school, and what I thought of my professors. In the beginning, I did my best to find one-word answers, but just over a year later, Danny was the closest thing I had to a friend.
I wanted to run and hide in the kitchen. But hiding wouldn’t do me any good, it never did. Ten horrific years of my stepfather, Frank, knocking me around had taught me not to speak unless spoken to and not to make eye contact. Whenever I felt threatened, those were the rules I fell back on.
Moving quickly through the tables, I wiped down a couple, gathered up a few dirty dishes, and after dropping them off at the kitchen, I could procrastinate no further and headed to Danny’s table.
“Two full fried breakfasts please, sunshine,” Danny croaked, with his usual scowl. If he ever did smile at me, I was a little worried that his weather-beaten face might crack.
Lowering my eyes, I gave him a small nod but didn’t reply. It was our usual routine, and he was familiar with it. Without asking him, I filled up his coffee cup, and my hands trembled. It had been months since that happened, and I knew if I had to ask Danny’s companion if he’d like coffee, my voice would crack. I turned toward him with the coffeepot in my hand, and my eye caught on the sleeve of his white T-shirt. The biggest biceps that I’d ever seen strained the seams, and beneath, the edge of a tattoo was visible. It looked like a series of intricately woven Celtic designs. From what I could see, the artwork was beautiful.
“O’Connell, do you want coffee or not?” Danny snapped at him. I flinched at the sharpness of his tone, but he did, at least, save me from speaking.
“Yeah, sure,” the guy replied lazily, almost bored. I shook badly again, and I was sure that I’d spill it, but I didn’t. Gathering up their menus, I all but whispered, “I’ll be back with your order soon,” and fled to the kitchen to hide. The guy’s eyes were boring a hole in my back as I walked away.
Ten minutes later, their order was done. Taking their warm plates through to the cafe, I placed the identical breakfasts down in front of them and escaped.
“You keep your eyes off that, boyo. That one’s not for you,” I heard Danny warn quietly.
Danny was born and raised in Killarney, Ireland, and I very much doubted that the forty years he’d spent here in London had softened his accent much.
“Why was she shaking so badly?” the man Danny had called O’Connell asked in a deep, husky voice with a slight Irish lilt that was just about the sexiest thing that I had ever heard.
Danny sighed deeply before answering. “You probably scare the shite out of her. That one’s special, but she ain’t for you, so you’d best mind yourself and leave her to her business. Now, stop looking after something you can’t have and think about what I said, ’cause if we have one more conversation about you drinkin’ and fightin’, you eejit, then you and me are gonna have words!”
The rest of the conversation was lost on me. The idea of Danny threatening this mountain of a man with anything would be enough to make me to smile, if he hadn’t mentioned the fighting. Truth be told, you only had to look at O’Connell to know that he was dangerous. It was hard to tell how tall he was, but by the way he was crammed into that booth, I’d guess he was big. Broad shouldered and ripped, he looked every inch a fighter, but it was that relaxed, almost bored, indifference about him that sold the package. He could take care of himself, and he knew it.
A few more of my regulars made their way over to my section, and after doing my rounds with the coffee and rushing back and forth with orders, I realized that the seat across from Danny was empty. I let out a deep breath and began clearing the table.
“Give my compliments to Mike,” Danny told me, as I stacked up the plates.
“Sure, Danny,” I replied. “Can I get you another coffee?”
“No, thank you, sunshine. My bladder control is not what it used to be, and I’m gonna find it hard enough to get back to work as it is.”
This was more information than I needed to know. I was sure that he threw it out there just to get a rise out of me, and I humored him by rolling my eyes.
“Make sure you wrap up warm, then.” I gestured toward his coat and scarf on the bench. “It’s bitter out.”
I dealt with ringing up his check, and before he’d even closed the door behind him, Katrina Bray was up in my face. With her shirt pulled tight against her impressive cleavage and a skirt rolled higher than her apron, she stomped her way toward me.