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It only took five seconds for Ringo to make a fool of himself. All he was doing was walking to the table to drop off the menu, but the man sitting there just had to look up. He had to give Ringo a perfect view of his deep, chocolate eyes and his angelically flowing hair.
The chair Ringo tripped into didn’t stand a chance.
“Fucking sh—” Ringo gasped out before he threw his customer service smile back on. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said, as chipper as possible. He shakily dropped the menu onto the table. “What can I get ye to drink?”
When Ringo finally found the courage to look at the man’s face again, the crooked smirk on his face almost sent Ringo stumbling again. “Tea, please,” he said, picking up the menu with his long fingers.
Ringo swallowed. “Right, coming right up!”
He rushed back to the kitchen as fast as he could—and managed to stay on his feet this time. He needed to pull it together, fast. The man probably wasn’t even as pretty as Ringo thought. It was just a side effect of running on four hours of sleep, that was all.
But when Ringo returned with his tea, the warm smile that greeted him sent him reeling again. “Are you ready to order, sir?”
The man pursed his lips and looked over the menu. His hair fell against his cheeks. “Just an egg sandwich, thanks.”
Ringo scribbled down his order and couldn’t help but be surprised. For someone dressed so spiffily, in a deep purple button-up and black trousers, Ringo was expecting a fancier choice. “We’ll have that ready soon, sir.”
As he continued working and dashing off to his other tables, Ringo’s mind drifted from the handsome stranger. He didn’t even pay it much mind when he checked in on him halfway through his meal and he gave a satisfied thumbs up while chewing a mouthful of his sandwich. Dropping off his check at the end was equally uneventful—
“Quit calling me that.”
“H—what?”
“You keep callin’ me sir,” the man said. “Knock it off.”
“…Sooo—”
“George.” He brushed his hair out of his face. “Me name’s George.”
George. Ringo echoed the name inside his head, committing it to memory. Not that it really mattered—a few minutes later and George would leave, departing from Ringo’s life forever.
So why did he bother telling Ringo his name?
Ringo didn’t have long to ponder it once George paid his bill and left. The tables filled with new customers, and by the end of his shift, all Ringo had left of George was a name—and the small smiley face doodle he’d left on the receipt. Well, even if this was the end, at least the handsome stranger had brightened Ringo’s day.
As it turned out, it wasn’t the end at all. Just a few days later George was back—and wound up sitting in Ringo’s section again. Ringo’s eyes widened, but he managed to make it to George’s table without smacking into anything. Progress.
George beamed up at Ringo as he took his order—another egg sandwich—and Ringo tried not to believe that it was because he remembered him. George was probably just smiling because he was nice…so nice…goddammit, Ringo needed to calm down.
But then George left him another smiley face on the check, and Ringo couldn’t contain himself. “Have a nice day, George!” he called after George’s retreating figure.
George froze halfway to the door. He spun back toward Ringo. “You remembered my name.”
Ringo cringed, hopefully more internally than externally. “Well, it’s uhh…it’s just good customer service an’ all…”
Grinning, George stepped closer. “You’re very good at your job, Ringo.”
The receipt scrunched between Ringo’s fingers. “How…how’d you know my name?”
George pointed with one of those long fingers of his at Ringo’s nametag. “Hard to forget a name like that. What kinda name is Ringo, anyway?”
“Ah, that’s a bit of a story,” Ringo said, scratching his neck.
George hummed. “Maybe next time you can tell me.”
Next time? Ringo was about to ask him, but George was already out the door, giving Ringo only a glimpse of his smirk as he rounded the corner.
Ringo was half-convinced it wouldn’t happen, but sure enough, George did come back again just three days later. So, Ringo made good on his half of the deal.
“My god,” George said with a laugh, “ye do wear a lot of rings. Can’t believe I didn’t notice it before.”
“Well, me fingers are always hidin’ in the menus,” Ringo teased, slipping his hand under George’s own menu for effect.
“Sneaky,” George said. He lifted his menu to peek at Ringo’s hand again, and their fingers nearly brushed. They both stared.
A chair creaked from across the room, jolting Ringo back to the present. “I, uh,” he cleared his throat, “are you ready to order?”
“Yes, right.” George’s gaze fell from Ringo’s hand to the menu. “Another egg sandwich would be fabulous.”
Shocking, Ringo thought to himself as he delivered George’s order to the kitchen.
“Hey,” someone called sharply, with a sharp elbow in Ringo’s side to match.
Ringo sighed. “What d’you want, John?”
His coworker leaned in closer. “That guy’s back again?” John whispered, jabbing a thumb toward George’s table.
Something twisted inside Ringo at the thought that someone else had been paying attention to George as well.
“He was here yesterday, too,” John continued. “After your shift was over. He kept lookin’ around with a big ol’ frown on his face.” John smirked. “Asked me if anyone named Ringo was working that day.”
The crowded, bustling restaurant suddenly felt even hotter than usual. “Oh, come off it,” Ringo said.
“I’m serious,” John said for possibly the first time in his life. “I think someone’s got himself a fan.” He nudged Ringo again before grabbing a couple sodas. “Better get back out there, Ritchie. Don’t wanna keep your boy waiting.”
“He’s not my—” But John was already gone…and Ringo did want to go back to George’s table. Probably would have if a very loud group of seven hadn’t just plopped down at one of his other tables. He’d return to George soon, but for now, he had a job to do.
George must’ve picked up on Ringo’s schedule because the next few weeks, George always seemed to turn up around the start of his Monday shift. “It’s gettin’ a bit creepy,” John whispered to Ringo on the third week in a row, but Ringo disagreed. Besides, if that made George creepy, then Ringo putting in an order for an egg sandwich before George had even been seated was equally so.
And the delighted smile George gave him each time he remarked “your service is getting faster and faster” dispelled all Ringo’s fears of being a creep.
Ringo gradually learned bits and pieces about George’s life—he played guitar, he has his own little garden that was his pride and joy—but there was only so much time they could get away with talking for when Ringo was on the clock. Ringo so badly wanted to give George his number and invite him somewhere where they could have a real conversation, but the fear of getting in trouble for unprofessionalism kept his mouth shut. At least Ringo could look forward to those brief moments they spent together each week.
Until next Monday, when the unthinkable happened. George walked through the door, and Ringo met his gaze with a smile. Ringo was on his way to let the kitchen know—but the hostess began leading George to the opposite side of the restaurant.
Both men froze. George’s brow furrowed—adorably—as he pointed toward Ringo’s usual section. Ringo smiled, until he noticed that all his tables were already occupied. The hostess must have broken the news to George, as he soon slouched his way toward…oh god.
John waggled his eyebrows as he passed Ringo. “Looks like it’s my turn with your boyfriend,” he teased.
“He’s not my—hey, don’t you dare call him that!”
The wink John gave him only frightened Ringo more.
It was a wonder that Ringo didn’t get any complaints from his guests with how distracted he was. He mixed up two tables’ drink orders, nearly dropped a hamburger, and—when John was leaning far too close to George—made one poor young kid repeat their order three times. He almost sighed in relief when George finally paid and left.
John gleefully sauntered up to Ringo and leaned against the wall. “Don’t you wanna know if he asked about you?”
“Fuck off.”
Luckily, the universe was in Ringo’s favor the next week, and there were plenty of empty tables when George made his appearance. “You’re back!” Ringo said as he rushed to George’s table.
“Thank god,” George said, cocking his head to gaze up at him. “Everything was all backwards over there. I had to ask for directions when I got up to use the loo.”
Ringo snorted. God, he’d missed that man.
“Service was slower too. Felt like I was waiting twice as long for my sandwich.”
“Oh.” Ringo’s cheeks burned. “That uh…might be my fault.”
“Why? You get in the chef’s way?”
“No, I, well, I usually just tell the chefs to get an egg sandwich ready when I see you walk in.”
George’s gaze softened. “You memorized my order?”
“Course I did, it’s the same bloody thing every time!”
“Is that a problem?” George leaned his head on his hands and looked up at him innocently. “Seems rude for an employee to be passin’ judgement on his customer.”
“If you’re dissatisfied with your service, I can send you back to John’s section,” Ringo said.
“I’ll pass.”
“Good. Now, what can I get you today, an egg sandwich or an egg sandwich? Or, if you’re feelin’ adventurous, you could go for an egg sandwich.”
“Someone’s cheeky today,” George said. “Just for that, I’ll order something else.”
“Really? And what’s that?”
George blinked up at him. “Surprise me.”
Ringo’s mouth was suddenly extremely dry. “Alright. I’ll be right back with that,” he said before rushing off to flip madly through their menu. Why was nothing at this god-forsaken restaurant good enough for George?
In the end, Ringo returned with a plate of fish and chips. Despite all the times he’d seen George over the past few weeks, nothing prepared him for the way George’s face positively glowed at the sight of it. “My god, this is one of my favorites,” George said. “How did you know?”
The way George’s little fang-like teeth poked out over his lips when he smiled was going to kill Ringo. “Lucky guess, I suppose,” he said, not taking his eyes off George.
George’s eyes locked right on his. “Thank you. Truly.”
All of Ringo’s insides turned to mush. “Jus’ doing my job.” He drummed his fingers on the edge of the table, then left George to his lunch. This was going to be a great day.
Or so he thought, until George started behaving strangely. He made painfully slow progress on the fish and chips he claimed to love so dearly, and when Ringo asked him if there was an issue with it, he insisted that it was delicious. “Oh, but could I, um, get a refill?” George added, tapping the rim of his water glass.
Ringo obliged. Then another time ten minutes later, when George had drained his water again. By the fourth refill George was still not done with his chips, and he kept fidgeting around in his seat. And he’d been at the restaurant twice as long as his usual routine.
When George requested yet another glass of water, Ringo stopped him. “Are you sure you’re alright, Georgie?”
“G-Georgie?”
“George. Sorry.”
“No no, that’s—that’s alright.” He tried to drink from his empty glass.
“You’ve been here ages, mate. What’re you doing?”
George sighed and stared down at the glass gripped in his hands. “Sorry. I just…didn’t wanna leave until I…”
“Until you?”
George cleared his throat. “God, my throat feels parched.”
“How?”
“Alright! Alright. Look, Ringo. I…I think you’re wonderful. And I know this is rude of me—you’re at work, for fuck’s sake—and I should just keep my mouth shut, but I’d really like to take you out to dinner—at, erm, a different restaurant. But—but only if you want t—”
“Yes.”
“Wait—you—really?”
“For god’s sake, Georgie, I’ve been wanting to ask you out for ages!”
“Well, why didn’t you??”
“Why didn’t you??”
“I’ve been tryin’ to work up the courage, but now I just really have to take a piss.”
“Then what’re you still sittin’ here for? Go!”
George dashed off to the toilet, leaving Ringo spinning. It felt like a dream, too good to be true. But when George returned, his smile brighter than ever, he scribbled down his phone number and gave it to Ringo. “You better call me, alright?”
“I will. Promise.”
“Good. You’ve been getting so much food for me, it’s about time I return the favor,” George said with a wink. “Now, I’ve been askin’ for a refill for ages and you still haven’t gotten it.” He crossed his arms. “What’s the hold up?”
“God, so demanding today,” Ringo said. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“Don’t try and sweet talk your way out of this one, love. I’m thirsty.”
“I think I can help with that,” Ringo said with a grin.
The rest of George’s time there was all a giddy blur to Ringo, and the remaining hours of his shift were torture. The only thing getting him through it was slipping his hand into his pocket to feel that little slip of paper with George’s number.
Then, finally, his shift ended. He tidied up his things and washed his hands.
And, when he was hardly halfway out the door, he pulled out his phone.