Someone to Stay Page 4

  Abruptly, Cassie stopped her recounting of the conversation. Sam was obviously shell-shocked, and it worried her a bit.

  “Um, are you okay?”

  “Cassie, I can’t believe you got to meet Jake. Like he knows who you are. And you talked to each other. And you held his phone. I’m so fucking jealous of you right now! And you didn’t get a picture?”

  Cassie burst into laughter at Sam’s proclamation; Sam joined in shortly after.

  “No. No picture. But Sam, he’s going to be here for two months. I’m sure you’ll have an opportunity to meet him too.”

  Sam’s eyes widened then, as if imagining the words coming to life. “Wow. So did he say anything else?”

  “Not really. He said goodnight and left. I was pretty surprised he took the time to talk to me, to be honest.”

  “So. Jealous. You might even get to see him again tonight. Don’t you work?”

  “Yeah. At four. Just the dinner shift.”

  She had also found it a possibility she may see Jake again - she wasn’t entirely positive when they were checking out, but unless he was in the mood for Dairy Queen or McDonald’s, there wasn’t much to eat around here. The hotel provided anonymity he probably didn’t have much of, she thought.

  “Well, as fun as it is contemplating the dinner habits of movie stars, I have to get home. I have a paper to write, and I don’t think it’ll be happening here,” Cassie said then, gesturing toward the door where five new customers had walked in. Sam turned her head, grimacing.

  “Yeah. I don’t blame you. Well, thanks for meeting me here. And don’t forget bike riding tomorrow.”

  Packing up her computer, Cassie nodded. “I’d never.”

  The two said their goodbyes, and Cassie left the coffee shop, rounding the corner toward her house. The day was bright and cloudless, one of those days where the blue of the sky seemed endless, the blue so rich it was hard to look at. The sound of the river rushed beside her as she crossed the street to walk along the edge of the quarry. The smell of it wafted up, that deep, earthy scent that reminded her of summer, or the promise of it in spring.

  It was one of those days that made her feel like anything could happen, that everything was laid out before her, just waiting for her touch.

  3.

  The dinner hour at Rivers was from four-thirty to nine-thirty. It had been that way for years, way before Cassie had ever worked there, and therefore she always knew that no matter what, she was there at least until ten, if not later, depending on how helpful everyone was and how quickly they could get side work done and breakfast set up.

  But tonight, she prayed that somehow, something would save her from the strained environment at the restaurant. The kitchen staff were all grouchy, Rick was holed up in his office, and the other servers were hardly doing their fair shares. Cassie blamed it on the weather - that hot, sticky humidity that seemed to creep into every crevice, no matter the amount of air conditioning applied. No amount of rolling up her sleeves could cool her off when she was constantly weaving back and forth along the dining room, darting in and out of the kitchen, what with its several ovens, grills, and fryers making the place at least a hundred degrees.

  Chef was in a mood - she could see it in the blotchy way his face looked, the grim set of his mouth. His apron was loose around his back, his hat a little skewed as he stirred something in a pot when Cassie came into the kitchen to tray meals.

  “Ten, up?” she asked, eyes darting between Chef and Muhammad and a couple of the line cooks. There were only two guests at this table, and their appetizer was long since finished.

  “Ten is not up,” Chef shouted at her, “because my line cooks can’t cook shit.”

  Cassie’s face colored at his outburst - she decided to basket some rolls to hopefully distract her table from realizing they had been waiting nearly twenty-five minutes for a couple of burgers.

  Exiting the kitchen, she breathed a sigh of relief at the temperature change - it felt like she had been doused in cold water. Taking her tray to table ten, a small two seater toward the front of the restaurant, she delivered the rolls, exchanging the empty basket for the fresh one.

  “I apologize for your wait. Your burgers will be right up,” she said to the couple, who thankfully didn’t look too perturbed at her acknowledgment of their waiting time.

  “No problem, thank you,” the man said, returning his gaze to the woman across from him.

  Cassie tore her eyes away from them; they appeared to be in their own world - it was obvious that they were together, and that this was maybe their date night, a getaway. She turned toward the kitchen, sliding her tray under her arm, but was abruptly stopped halfway through.

  “Cassie.”

  She turned, saw Rick.

  “Oh, hey, Rick. Where have you been?”

  “I had to authorize some orders.” He paused a beat, and then said, “Jake Mason is eating here tonight, and he asked to be seated in the back-back. Could you serve him?”

  Cassie was taken aback by this. While she had thought it possible he may eat here tonight, once she had gotten here, she had completely forgotten about Jake since the customers had been so steady.

  “Sure, that’s fine,” she replied, and Rick nodded with relief.

  “Okay. Good. I already seated him. He’s ready when you are.”

  An indescribable surge of nerves, of adrenaline, rushed through her as she forced herself to smile.

  “Great. I’ll go to him now.”

  She made her way to the back-back - that part of the restaurant that wasn’t used much, all the way in the back near the kitchen door and drink station. She was on her way that way anyway before Rick had stopped her. Jake was seated in the last booth farthest from the kitchen door, and she dimly hoped he wouldn’t find the hustle and bustle annoying.

  “Hi again,” she said as she approached him.

  He was reading the menu, but at her voice, he started, setting it down. Recognition flitted across his face as he turned to look at her, eyes locking into hers in that startling way that made her want to look away. But she didn’t.

  “How are you, Cassie?” he asked her then, the use of her name off-putting.

  She forced a smile. “Oh, you know. Living the dream.”

  A small smile played about his lips at that. He nodded, and she stepped a little bit closer, taking out her pad and pen.

  “Would you like a drink? Another Manhattan, maybe?”

  “Ah. You remembered.” The smile was full now, more real. “You know what, yes I would. Thank you.”

  “Great. And have you decided on something to eat? Or do you need a few more minutes?”

  “I’m not quite sure yet.”

  Cassie nodded. “I’ll be back with your drink.”

  Turning on her heel, she left him and made her way to the front of the restaurant, to the computer, to put in his drink order. She vaguely wondered why he was here all by himself - but realized that since he was so far from home, with only his colleagues as company, it was probably natural for him to take some meals alone. She couldn’t help but feel a small amount of pity for him at that thought; she could hardly imagine living so far away from home for such an extended period of time. He was probably lonely a lot of the time.

  Don’t make assumptions, she told herself then. Who was she to assume he was lonely? She distracted herself from these thoughts by wandering back to the kitchen to check on table ten’s order; it had been more than enough time in her opinion for the kitchen to get it up. She walked in on them finishing up the plates; a stroke of luck because it meant the plates wouldn’t be scalding hot. She recalled with embarrassment the first time she had grabbed a hot plate under the lamps in the window and had burnt herself so badly she had dropped the entire thing, breaking the plate and wasting food.

  “Thanks,” she called out to no one in particular, but meeting Muhammad’s eye. He grinned at her sheepishly, a sort of apology, she presumed. Traying up the plates, she delivered the mea
ls to her table, apologizing again for the wait.

  It was about eight-thirty, and Cassie felt relief that her only tables were ten and Jake. She could hardly imagine that rushing back and forth between the two sides of the restaurant for much longer would be efficient for her.

  She made her way to the bar, chancing a quick glance at the dark corner that Jake sat in. The menu was still in his hands, and she could only see his sharp profile, cast in shadow, no expression visible.

  “Z, are you keeping busy?” she asked as she arrived at the bar, hands gripping the edge. Fitting between two stools, she hovered at the farthest end of the bar from customers.

  “Now that the bar is actually open,” Z replied, shaking her drink, “Yes. How about you?”

  There was a separation between the bar and the actual dining room that made it difficult for the bartender and the servers to see how the other was doing. Aesthetically, it made sense and looked nice, but oftentimes Cassie felt it would be extremely helpful to be able to see the bar to get an idea for how long her drinks would take.

  “I have Jake Mason in the back-back,” Cassie said quietly. She knew Z wouldn’t particularly care about Jake specifically, but he might feel intrigued at the idea itself. He raised his eyebrows a bit at her comment, but he gave no other indication of interest.

  “Good luck. Hope he likes it.” Setting down the drink, Z smiled at her with that big toothy grin that drew everyone in eventually.

  Cassie took the drink and made the short trip around the partition toward Jake’s table. She set the drink down silently in front of him, placing a drink napkin beneath it at the same time. He had lowered his menu and was looking at his phone, but once he realized she was there, he set it down in front of him, the screen black.

  “Thank you.”

  She watched him pick up the glass, take a sip. He smiled appreciatively.

  “You remembered the Jack.”

  “Of course. It’s my job.” Waiting a beat, she grabbed her pad again. “Have you decided on dinner?”

  “Yes,” he replied, and pointed at the menu. “I’d like the six-ounce rib-eye, medium, with the rice and seasonal vegetables, please.”

  As he spoke, she was again taken aback by how quiet his voice seemed - not at all the voice she remembered hearing on screen, or the voice she had imagined him having in person. It was as if he were afraid of speaking too loud. His eyes met hers again - that warm expression, that blue gaze that now seemed almost gray in the lighting, and she swallowed.

  “Yes. I’ll put that in right now. I’ll get you some rolls to start with, too.”

  He nodded, and smiled, handing her the menu. She took it and forced herself not to dart away, but, instead, walked away with far more steadiness than she felt. She swore she could feel his gaze on her, even though she knew logically it wouldn’t have made sense for him to turn in his seat to watch her go.

  Breaking through the kitchen door and into the heat, she felt as if she had escaped something. She rushed to the computer terminal and inputted his meal, fingers slightly shaky. What was wrong with her?

  “All right, there?” she heard, and she turned to see Muhammad whisking something in a pot. She nodded, giving him a thumbs up.

  “The ribeye, that’s for Jake Mason. Be kind.”

  Muhammad rolled his eyes but smiled. “I would never think of doing anything else.”

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” Cassie replied, putting two rolls in a basket and leaving the kitchen, chuckling all the way. She made the left immediately following and arrived at Jake’s table again, dropping off the rolls, and walking toward the front of the restaurant, to check on table ten, feeling a little guilty that she couldn’t give these guests the attention she would have normally been able to. Halfway through, she was met by Rick, who was holding a tray of dinner plates, a checkbook in his free hand.

  “Here. From table ten. I took care of this for you since I asked you to run back and forth like that. Everything was fine.”

  Taking the black book, she smiled. “Wow, thanks Rick. I appreciate it.”

  They fell in line together and Cassie walked with him to the kitchen. “So, how is he?” Rick asked when they went through the door, and Cassie took the tray to unload the dishes at the dishwashing station.

  “Oh, he’s fine. Real quiet. His order is in now.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be seeing plenty of these folks over the next couple of months, even after they check out,” he said. And then, over his shoulder as he walked away, “Keep up the good work.”

  A quick glance showed her that the meal wasn’t ready, and she hovered in the kitchen for a moment, uncertain what to do. She thought of Jake out there, all by himself, with only his phone for company.

  Typically, when guests dined alone, Cassie would try to get a feel for their desire for conversation. But with Jake, she felt a certain amount of nervousness in doing this. Namely because she didn’t want to appear as if she were prying, and, also, because she could scarcely come up with a conversation starter that didn’t feel flimsy in her own mind. But something about him drew her to him - she made her way to his table again, slowly, once there smiling at him, aware that her heart was beating faster than normal but unable to decipher the reason why. Maybe it was that perfect way his hair seemed to lay, or that expressive face, or that small curve of his mouth as his eyes met hers, and did he actually look happy to see her?

  “How long have you worked here?” he asked then, breaking her train of thought abruptly. She faltered for a moment, understanding his question but at first unable to provide an answer.

  “Oh, uh, about two years now,” she provided after what had to have been an exceptional amount of time. Jake took a sip of his drink, nodding.

  “What makes you stay?”

  Now that question gave her actual pause. He didn’t ask it in a condescending way, she didn’t think. He looked genuinely interested to know. Perhaps this was his idea of a conversation starter, but it went deeper than that, she felt.

  “Well, I’ve never thought about it before,” she said, slowly. After a beat, she continued. “I like to help people. I mean, originally I left home to go to Pitt - University of Pittsburgh,” she added at his puzzled expression. “But I was only there for two semesters. Didn’t like how rigid the scheduling was, how impersonal the teachers were, you know? So when I came back home in early summer, this was one of the only places hiring around here really, or at least that I wanted to do that didn’t involve construction or quarry work, and so I took the job and enjoyed it and so I stayed.”

  “And what do you do when you’re not here?” he asked then.

  “Well, I’m doing online classes to finish my bachelor’s. I’m taking my time with it but I should finish on time. I guess...I mean, I hang out with my friends, we go bike riding, running, hiking. I like to read, I like to...I like to sketch, sometimes.”

  Talking about herself in this way felt awkward and unfamiliar - she could barely remember the last time she had been asked anything like this. In such a small town, it was uncommon to find someone that wanted to know these things; most people already knew everything there was to know, anyway. She thought of how many people she and Sam waved at on their runs and bike rides, those people she knew mostly by at least first name, the motion warm and simple.

  Something sparked in his eyes, a sort of quick fire that was quickly tamped down. “What do you read? What do you sketch?”

  Her internal timer was going off - she should probably check on his meal. She held up a hand. “Hold that thought. Let me check on your dinner first. It’s probably done by now.”

  “Oh, of course,” he replied, nodding, and inclined his head as she turned away, heading toward the kitchen, trying to ignore her ever increasing heartbeat, that sense of a thrill she felt in spite of herself.

  He was intriguing, she admitted, as she made her way toward the window.

  “Cassie, what the hell,” Chef called out to her. “That’s been sitting there a
lmost five minutes.”

  Cheeks flaming, she took a bar mop and used it to provide a layer between the plate, which was sure to be extremely hot, and her hand.

  “I’m sorry, but he...distracted me.”

  “Jesus, not you too?”

  She saw Muhammad turn to look at her, brown eyes glinting, and she fought back a sigh.

  “No, not me too. He was talking to me, asking me questions. I had to stop him to come check on this.”

  “Well, if he bitches about it, it’s on you,” Chef said then, waving a hand and turning away from her. She wanted to to yell at him, to scream, frustration mounting in her throat, her chest. But she swallowed, blinked, and turned, leaving the confrontation behind her.

  Jake picked his glass up, swirling the liquid around and around. He stared ahead at the wall above the booth seat opposite him, inspecting the artwork hanging there. A simplistic watercolor of a beach at sunset, oranges and blues and purples churning in the sky, clouds mixed with the edges of the sun, cresting beyond the water. He tilted his head, aware of a sound behind him, and knew that Cassie had returned.

  She approached him and set a plate in front of him carefully.

  “Be careful, it’s a hot plate,” she said, not meeting his eye. “Do you need anything else? Steak sauce or anything?”

  Searching her face, he noticed her cheeks were flushed, and her demeanor was different than it was before she left to get his meal. He shook his head.

  “No thank you.” He paused, hesitating, but then asked, “Is something the matter?”

  Cassie looked momentarily confused, or taken aback, he couldn’t be sure which. Maybe both. She shook her head.

  “Oh, not at all! I’m fine. Please let me know if you need anything else.”