“Well, that’s quite a ride,” she said, gluttonously impressed, then pointed a finger at me. “Quick, Caity, start wiping down the tables.”
I did as she asked because I didn’t like being on Ma’s bad side, but who cared if a Bentley pulled up? They probably just needed the bathroom or directions. There wasn’t much else open at this time of night. But Linda and Ma apparently cared because they were glued to the windows while I frantically squirted and wiped.
After a few minutes, the front door opened, and an extremely well dressed, dashingly handsome man in his early thirties walked in looking confused and disgruntled.
Yep, lost.
“Welcome to Ma’s,” Ma gushed in the kindest manner she knew, which still sounded gruff and choppy. “Let me get you a table.”
The man made a grunting sound, which wasn’t exactly impolite, as he eyed the place. This was comic. Ma’s small, hunched frame lumbered slowly to a table in the corner as she handed him a menu.
“I’ll have someone come take your order in two shakes,” she barked.
Linda inflated with excitement. “This is it, pumpkin, my chariot has come,” she whispered as she fixed her hair, straightened her apron, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her uniform. Ma ambled back to her seat.
“Caitlyn’s gonna take it,” she crowed.
“What?” Linda went from sexy to steaming in an instant. “That’s my table!”
“And this is my restaurant,” she announced crudely. “Caitlyn’s got a better face.”
I nearly crumbled.
Sorry, I mouthed to Linda, who looked like she wanted to scratch out my eyes.
“Ma, let Linda take it,” I whispered, pleading.
I could care less if I waited on a man with money. I found most extraordinarily wealthy people to be super rude and super stingy with their tips. I didn’t need that in my life right now.
“No,” was Ma’s only response on the matter. “Now git over there.”
I nudged the now fuming Linda. “I promise to share the tip, okay?”
She gave me a half-hearted smile and seemed appeased for the moment. The rich gentleman looked uncomfortable stuffed inside the booth wearing his Armani suit and good shoes. A million scenarios explaining why he was in the diner at this time of night filtered through my brain, but none of them made any sense, and most were dastardly.
“Welcome to Ma’s Diner. I’m Caitlyn, I’ll be your server,” I said, using my most pleasant voice.
He never looked up from the menu. His face was twisted as his green eyes scanned down the choices. I wasn’t a mind reader, but he clearly found his choices lacking. What did he expect from our famous one-star establishment anyway? He huffed with annoyance.
“Nothing looks appetizing, do you serve anything remotely edible?” he asked, his voice dripping disdain.
There it was, the asshole-ish rudeness I was expecting.
“What are you looking for exactly?” I asked as nicely as I could.
He snorted. “Anything that isn’t deep fried, pan fried, or made with grease?”
“Salad,” I answered in a monotone, keeping my face carefully neutral.
He glanced up for the first time, probably to see who had the nerve to be snarky with him. Our eyes met, and his expression changed fractionally, softened, but I was so irritated that even his dashing good looks couldn’t counter his nasty attitude. He stared through me for a beat, then continued to be offensive.
“Do… you… have… anything… other… than… salad?” He spoke as if I were in kindergarten.
“We… have… seared… catfish,” I answered, mocking him before I could catch myself.
To my surprise, we both laughed, and a weird sort of electricity sparked to life between us, causing something low in my stomach to twist. His eyes fell to my lips, then he recovered quickly, resorting back to Mr. Asshole in a flash. He snapped his menu shut and handed it to me. “I’ll have that and a glass of red wine, preferably Pinot Noir,” he said without acknowledging me again.
When I chuckled this time, I tried really hard not to laugh out loud. He lifted an are you insane eyebrow at me.
“I’m sorry, sir, we don’t have wine. Um, we have juice… orange juice, apple juice, pineapple, or cranberry, coffee, milk, and water.” I felt accomplished being able to rattle off the beverage choices without laughing in his face again. He huffed another disdainful exhale.
“Coffee, black,” he growled.
“Got it,” I confirmed and darted away, wanting to spend as little time as I had to near the guy.
I rolled my eyes as I passed the kitchen to put in the order.
“Real Prince Charming,” I scoffed to Linda, who was still fuming from my overthrow of her table.
By then, the few other customers in the restaurant were starting to gawk and gossip about our strange gentleman, and the kitchen staff was laughing loudly. Generally, the mood was odd and uncomfortable. I almost felt sorry for the guy… but not really.
When I brought him his food, he whipped out his phone and took a picture of it, then his thumbs flew over the screen. I thought that was strange. Why would he be doing a social media check-in at Ma’s when he so clearly didn’t even want to be there.
Probably just making fun, I fumed.
“Do you need anything else?” I asked, forcing a smile onto my face, trying to defuse the weird vibe.
With the gossipy tables talking in hushed whispers while pointing fingers, and the kitchen staff having the time of their lives at his expense, the diner had a surreal circus feel to it. Add Ma’s scrutiny and Linda’s brooding, and you had a nice mix of late-night insanity. I felt like I was this guy’s only port in the storm, so I stood there waiting for him to acknowledge me. He took a few bites of his fish, and his face softened some.
“Hmmm. This is much better than I was expecting,” he said with a lilt in his voice, finally sounding more human.
He then looked at me, and I’ll never forget the way he stared. It was as if his soul was burrowing into mine. I felt transfixed. It was unsettling, but I didn’t make a move to leave. I had asked if he needed anything and was obligated to wait for the answer.
“Yes, you can help me with something,” he stated, still in a lilting voice that seemed more like mockery at this point. “I’m curious.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered politely.
“Are you happy?”
The question threw me off.
I licked my lips. “Yes, I’m… happy.” It was the truth. I was mostly happy. I added a smile to punctuate the sentiment.
His eyes explored mine as if trying to discover all my secrets. “What makes you happy?”
The night had just gotten that much more bizarre. Who asks questions like these to complete strangers?
“Um… well, my Gran and my friends,” I answered, trying to hurry the interrogation along.
“And besides that?” he pressed.
I lifted a shoulder. “You mean existential happiness? The secret to life kinda stuff?”
“I guess.” He continued to stare at me in that almost hypnotizing way.