orders.”
She visited the next two tables in a relaxed sort of bustle. Smiling and cheery, she collected drink orders and floated back to the minibar near the kitchen.
“You got any orders yet or what?” Ethel shouted.
The executive chef, a graying man with a straight back, swung his gaze from a stack of clever orange peel twists and speared Ethel with a glare. She scowled right back, one spatula-clutching hand fisted on her hip.
“Drink orders. Is this a beer and wine bar only? There’s vodka and champagne, right?” Sara checked over the supplies.
“Limited bar, but enough to get by,” the chef said in a stodgy voice thick with command. He probably ran a large kitchen, orchestrating tickets with practice and ease. And now here he was, dealing with a couple of jerks in a small kitchen.
He must’ve been making a ton.
When Sara was finally back with her first couple orders, she heard, “Girl, you are slower than a slug moving through peanut butter!”
“Florence, just take the order,” Christie yelled back as she stepped up beside Sara, two tickets clutched in her hand. She gave Sara an exasperated eye roll, to which Sara smirked. Waitresses versus cooks. She could play this game.
Her butt vibrated.
With a flurry of butterflies, she couldn’t help the jubilant smile as she ducked behind the waitress station and whisked out her phone. She shouldn’t have brought it—it was unprofessional and distracting—but she missed Mikey. He was exactly the same, only better.
Text from Mikey: How goes your first day?
Glancing around the partition, she noticed one of her customers was about ready for another drink. She bent to her phone with flying fingers.
Text from Sara: surviving. what u doing?
She paused a second, wondering if he’d text back right away. Just as she was about to stuff the phone back in her pocket, it vibrated again.
Text from Mikey: Lunch.
An image accompanied the text. She touched it, glancing back at that table, the woman now looking up for service. As Sara’s gaze turned back to the phone, her breath caught. The phone held a beautiful tableau of grassy, rolling hills dusted with limitless sky so clear and blue it looked like heaven reaching down to shake hands with the people on earth. Her chest grew warm and her hands tingled. She wanted to be sitting next to him taking in that beautiful scenery so bad it had just become a complex.
“What are you standing around there for?” Ethel said. “We got people to feed!”
Sighing, Sara spun around and snapped off a pic of the spatula-raising bane of her existence.
“This ain’t a danged photo shoot! Get to work,” Ethel badgered.
Text from Sara: this is what ive got going. joy. wish I was there.
She attached the picture and stuffed the phone in her back pocket. She felt the buzz as she made her way out to the tables, but ignored it. Pausing was one thing, but checking the phone in front of guests was a no-no.
She did speed up, though. She glided across the floor on light feet, not having to feign a smile. At the very next opportunity, she stashed herself behind her station and dove in her pocket.
Text from Mikey: Me too. Miss you
Sara smiled as her head bent over the phone, her thumbs already moving.
Text from Sara: me too. buckle my shoe
Text from Mikey: Your poetry is atrocious
Text from Sara: big word. were u saving that one up for a special occasion?
“This ain’t a damn train station, dolly, get moving!” Ethel roared.
Irritated, Sara jammed her phone back in her pocket. With a scowl for Ethel, she picked up the food in the window and scurried out to the floor.
“Who are you texting?” Christie asked when Sara hustled back in to get a drink order.
“Mikey. He’s hanging out in paradise while I’m here dealing with picky people and a jerk for a cook,” Sara whispered furiously.
“Oooh, what’s he saying?” Christie asked excitedly. “Did you get me a date yet?”
“Ew.” Sara grabbed two glasses and hurried out, another pocket buzz spurring her on. After dropping off drinks like she was on fire, she took another order with sparkling eyes and hurried back to her protective alcove.
Text from Mikey: Commencing radio silence. I don’t want to get you fired. Ps jerk!
Sara chuckled and shook her head. She bent back over the phone.
“What’s he saying?” Christie asked as she grabbed a ketchup bottle. “Seriously, this counts as flirting.”
“It does not. He’s a good friend with a sense of humor. I’m still funnier, though.”
Text from Sara: