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It’s 7:05 on a Friday evening in the early Spring, and I should have been on my way home an hour ago. Emily, our other hostess, decided to no call, no show for the second time in as many weeks, though, and my manager, Manuel, asked me to stay. I could definitely use the extra money, so I agreed.
For the most part, things are going smoothly. All but one of our 7:00 reservations showed up on time and have been seated. The remaining reservation is a party of two, so it shouldn’t be a problem to find a table for them, even if they show up outside the 15-minute hold time for their reservation.
I’m counting menus and about to seat our first 7:15 when the phone rings at the hostess stand. This is my least favorite part of the job. I don’t mind guests who are aggravated about having to wait for a table or being on my feet for hours at a time. But the phone? Kill me now. Six or seven times out of ten, it’s like not being able to see my face gives people the excuse they need to be absolute assholes.
“La Villetta. This is Mia.”
The man on the other end of the line clears his throat.
“Hi, Mia. I have a 7:00 reservation for two, but we’re running a little behind. Is there any way you could hold the reservation for us? Or push it to 7:30?”
At least he had the decency to call.
“Let me take a look. What’s the name on the reservation?” I know I can hold it, but people tend to be more appreciative if it appears that I’m doing them a favor.
“Right, sorry. It’s under Stabler.”
I take a moment to ‘review the books’ before telling him that I’ve got his reservation moved to 7:30.
“Thank you so much, Mia.”
We hang up, and I move on to seating our 7:15s and a couple of walk-ups. I keep the table near the window available for the Stabler reservation. He was very kind on the phone, and it’s my favorite table in the whole restaurant. It’s near enough to the fireplace that it’s warm but not too hot, and there’s a nice view of the river through the window.
At 7:25, what is quite possibly the most attractive older couple walks through the door. Well, not old old, more like middle-aged, maybe? He’s easily over six-feet tall with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, and she’s tall, too - though several inches shorter than him even in the heels she’s wearing - with beautiful brown hair. His grey suit fits his muscular frame like a glove, and her red dress skims her curves and has a plunging neckline that really showcases her, umm, necklace.
They approach the hostess stand with her arm linked through his elbow, and he gives me his name.
“Hi. We have a reservation under Stabler.”
“Yes, sir. Your table is ready. Follow me please.” I pick up their menus and escort them to the table. He releases her arm to pull her chair out before sliding the other chair closer to her side. From this position, they’re angled towards each other but both facing the window.
When I return to the stand, I check the reservation list. We don’t have many left, though I expect we will have plenty of walk-ins, especially when some of the earlier Broadway and off-Broadway shows get out. I find myself drawn to the Stablers, wondering what their story is. They’ve clearly been together a long time - the ease with which they’re talking, the way he seemed to instinctively know which way she would move when they approached the table - but they’re still clearly madly in love. He seems unable to keep his eyes off her, and she blushes as he whispers something in her ear.
I tear my attention away from the couple long enough to seat a party of four on the other side of the restaurant.
She has her left hand resting on his thigh when I return, and his right arm is draped across her shoulders. They’ve each got a glass of wine in front of them. Anthony places their appetizer on the table - calamari - and I can see both the man and woman thank him. She reaches for a piece of the calamari, and he wrinkles his nose when she tries to feed it to him. It’s adorable.
“Come on, El,” I hear her say with a laugh. “Just try it.” I can’t make out everything she says, but I think I hear her say something about it not being sushi.
He shakes his head but opens his mouth to accept the small piece of fried squid. I can see he’s chewing it carefully and considering the flavor, while she eats a piece of her own. He must decide it’s okay, because he reaches for another piece. She smiles now, and it’s her turn to look at him with adoration in her eyes. She says something that I can’t understand, and he laughs in earnest. He calls her a smartass, and she just smiles at him in return.
They only take their respective limbs back when Anthony brings their entrees, though their legs keep bumping under the table, and their shoulders occasionally brush against each other. They share some of their food. She places a piece of her Pollo Milanese on his plate, and he feeds her a bite of his Rigatoni Bolognese.
I can see they’re finishing their meal, and Anthony approaches again, offering dessert. They decline, and he returns a moment later with their check. The gentleman settles their bill as the woman excuses herself to the restroom. I avert my attention as I see him approaching the host stand, not wanting to let on that I’ve been watching them for most of the evening. He slides his hand across the table and passes me a folded up bill.
“This is for you. I just wanted to thank you for saving our first date.”
I can’t hide the shock in my voice when I respond, “First?”
He chuckles and responds that yes, it is their first date. The woman joins us at the host stand, sidling up next to him, and his hand instinctively lands on her lower back.
“Not to sound like a creep, but I saw you a few times tonight, and I would’ve guessed you’d been together for years - in a good way, I swear.”
The woman smiles and leans her head into his shoulder. “We’ve been friends for years, but our timing never worked out -”
“Until now,” he finishes, and she smiles.
“Until now,” she confirms. “It was nice to meet you, Mia. Thanks again. I’m sure we’ll be back.”
With that, they walk out the door, leaving me in shock as I see that it was a fifty dollar bill the man handed me. I slip it into the pocket of my slacks and glance out the door just in time to see them share a quick kiss. She has one hand on the back of his neck, and his are resting on her hips. They’re smiling when they separate, and they walk off hand-in-hand.