The Dream - Whitney Dineen Page 0,8
right there in front of the whole school. I know I’m a dork, but there are no rules when it comes to fantasizing.
Chad overheard when I asked the lunch lady for extra green beans instead of tater tots with my corn dog and he said, “I bet your mind will be on other things while you’re eating that wiener, FelAshleyO.”
Davis punched him in the arm and told him to grow up. He’s my knight in shining armor!
“Sorry I’m late, Shuckie,” I tell my boss. “I got stuck cleaning up a mess at the home.” I don’t go into details because it’s not a mess you want to think about in a dining establishment.
“Girl, you work too hard. Go on an’ sit down. I’ll bring you some supper.” Shuckie is around sixty with skin so dark it makes his teeth look like spotlights in comparison. He’s one of the nicest men I’ve ever known. He used to give my mom some shifts before she got too sick to work. Once that happened, he’d either bring dinner over to us a couple times a week or have a kid who worked for him do it.
“No, sir,” I tell him. “I’m late, so I’ll eat after my shift.”
“Listen here, youngin’,” he tells me, “You’re not workin’ until you eat. So’s you can stand here and jaw with me as long as you want, but it’s only gonna make you later.”
I sit down and let him serve me a giant plate of expertly fried river fish and hush puppies. I don’t say a word while I devour the whole thing. I didn’t have a chance to eat lunch today with all the craziness at the Millersville Meadow, so I’m positively famished.
Once I’m finished, I tie my apron around my waist. The restaurant only seats about forty people, which usually turns over at least three times in peak summer months. As it’s only March, I expect it won’t even turn once. There’s still plenty of work to keep us hopping though, as it’s just me, Shuckie, and my busboy Duane.
I tell Duane, “Drop water glasses as soon as they sit down. I’ll get drinks and take orders after that. And make sure to clear as everyone finishes without waiting for the whole table to be done or we’ll get buried in dirty dishes.”
He rolls his eyes so expertly, it’s obvious he’s still a teenager. “I think I know what I’m doin’, Ash.” Then like someone blew a whistle signaling the start of a race, we’re off. Three hours pass in the blink of an eye, and I have another sixty bucks in my pocket.
Just as we’re about to lock the doors for the night, a new group arrives. I don’t mind late diners if I have other customers I’m still taking care of, but I can’t stand it when I have to stay for only one table—especially when I’ve worked all day and have another double the next.
Shuckie hollers out from behind the counter, “I can take care of them, if you want. Your call.”
I’m about to tell him they’re all his until I see who it is. Davis and Beau Frothingham stroll through the door like nine p.m. is a normal time to eat in rural Missouri. Which it isn’t. I greet them, “Sit wherever you want.” I can’t believe my luck at seeing Davis twice in the same day. My inner high school self does an epic happy dance, full-on with flossing moves.
Beau Frothingham is just as good looking as his brother, but in a slightly different way. He’s got darker hair, and he’s more outgoing. He’s a real estate agent so I’m sure it behooves him to be personable. Davis contrasts that with a “still waters run deep” vibe. You know, mysterious and seemingly unconcerned with what anyone thinks of him. It vastly adds to his appeal.
“Can I get you fellas something to drink to start out?”
There’s immediate recognition in the younger Frothingham’s eyes. “Ashley, what are you doing here?”
“I work here a couple nights a week,” I tell him. Then I add, “I’m saving for a house.” I want him to know I’m trying to improve my life.
Beau reaches into his wallet to retrieve a business card that he hands to me. “Beau Frothingham. Let me know when you’re ready to start looking and I can help you find the perfect place.”
“Thanks,” I say, stuffing the card into my apron.
Davis officially introduces us. “Beau, you remember Ashley. She works at the