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SHE KNOWS MANY WOULD SAY that her job as a server is a mundane occupation, and she knows many will agree with such a statement. That waiting on patrons and being paid a wage that can scarcely cover the necessary bills in a city as costly as Ardhalis is hardly a viable means of income.
But what those commenters would not know of the job are the small moments that allow one to see the warmth of the city through the people that enter into the small café, moments that provide insight into the unique lives of each patron that she serves, the moments that remind her of the stories that exist beyond the one she lives in.
It’s within her first week on the job that she realizes this, and it’s in this first week that she meets the two of them—the woman with the long hair as red as a rose petal, her gilded eyes a reflection of the yellow light cast by the setting afternoon sun; and the man with his ebony hair as dark as a crow feather, locks tied in a bow, his features reminiscent of a marble statue she’s seen in the museum before, and his eyes like the turquoise waters of the seaside town she grew up in.
The two are seated at separate tables, and their server doesn’t know it then, but this first encounter with them will not be her last, nor does she know of the fate that awaits the two strangers later that night.
All she knows as of now is the odd scene unfolding before her, a mess that she knows she shouldn’t be watching, but one she finds that she can’t look away from, her morbid curiosity getting the better of her.
It had started with the strange woman outside banging her head against the glass window of the café—still banging her head on the glass, the server amends mentally—and the ear-piercing screech that followed when she had dragged her cheek against the surface.
And now the red-haired woman is on her feet in a panic, crying out, “Oh no, dear Lord! It is my blind friend!” (The server has her doubts of this statement’s validity.) “Please excuse me, Mr. Evans,” the woman says, moving away from her seat and towards the door. “I must go help her! It was nice meeting you.” (Again, the server finds the last statement difficult to believe. She sincerely hopes the woman has no intention of working in theatre or acting.)
In a flash, her date has his fingers wrapped around her wrist and, by now, all eyes within the establishment are on the bizarre trio.
“You can’t just run off like that!” the man—Mr. Evans—exclaims. “Don’t make me waste my time!”
What happens next is a spectacle in of itself, and there’s a part of the server that wants to rescind her earlier thought of the woman not working in theatre, because the following scene surely must be from a comedy.
The tables turn and soon it’s Mr. Evans’s wrist that’s within the woman’s grasp, and from the wince on his face and the astonishment in his eyes, the server knows it’s not a gentle grip by any means.
It takes a short second for her to comprehend the words the woman is saying, too astonished by the strength and wit she’s displaying to even hear them, but her jaw hangs from its hinges as soon as she understands the type of garbage this man is.
“That poor woman married to a cheating bastard like you,” remarks the woman before she finally releases her hold on him. “But you know, even though you’re a human disgrace, I’ve still dedicated my life to protecting ungrateful cowards like you. Just instinct, you know?” She runs a hand through her hair and makes for the door, swinging it open with more force than necessary.
“Damn,” her colleague says beside her as they both watch the woman storm outside and grab her friend, leaving her date reeling at their table. “I don’t know how she knew all that, but good on her for calling him out.”
The server finds herself too wide-eyed and shocked to form a coherent response. Well, this job just got a lot more interesting, she thinks to herself.
Her colleague disappears into the kitchen in the back while Mr. Evans finally leaves, his head down and ears red, and she moves to collect the payment he’s left on the table for the drink his date had ordered.
She doesn’t know who that woman is nor does she expect to ever learn, but there’s a searing feeling of admiration flowing through her body that has her feeling warm. It’s almost enviable, she thinks, to be capable of such conviction and strength. To be openly disparaging towards such low-life men without a care for who she’s speaking to and where she is. To have a friend who is willing to go to such means to save her from unwanted situations.
Enviable, yes, but very much admirable, she muses. Whoever you are, I hope life treats you well.
“Excuse me,” a voice calls from behind her, drawing her from her reveries and reminding her that there is still another person dining in the café. She turns around after she pockets the cash to find the last remaining patron seated at his table, a cup of tea in hand.
“Yes? How can I help you?” she asks as she approaches him.
“May I get my check, please?” he asks, flashing her a smile that has her cheeks warming and stomach knotting into a ribbon. She had mentally noted his appearance earlier when she had taken his order—his sharp features and high cheekbones, the shape of his lips and the way his words rolled like smooth glass from his tongue—but now, standing before him while he wears that crooked grin across his face and his blue eyes glimmer with amusement, she can’t help but wonder how intentional all of it is, a question of if he’s putting on this demeanor because he thinks it’s what she wants to see overcoming her.
Still, she finds that his charm must be working on her because she’s stammering as she replies, “Y- Yes, of course. I’ll have that right over to you. One moment, please.” She moves to the till and returns to bring his check over, thanking him for his visit as he stands from his seat. Then unable to help herself, the words slipping from her lips before she can think better of it, she says, “And, uhm, I do apologize for the scene earlier. We should have handled it more properly before it got so out of hand.”
The man’s hand pauses on the door handle as he looks over his shoulder, and he sends her another smile, that earlier touch of amusement evolving into something she can’t quite name now. Gratification, perhaps? “No need to apologize,” he says. “I’d say it made today far more… interesting. Wouldn’t you think?” He walks through the door without waiting for her response, and she watches through the windows as he walks down the street and turns the corner, vanishing from view.
“Yes, very interesting indeed…” she murmurs to the empty room. “Interesting and strange…”
The second time she sees them is months later after the new year has already started. There are more patrons dining in the café today, but it’s not so busy that she isn’t able to provide the care and service required to each guest. The afternoon is glowing with a golden light all around when they walk in through the door, and there’s a soft chatter between them as they take a seat at the table closest to the exit—the very same table the server recalls the woman had occupied with her previous date the last time she was here—and peruse the menu.
It doesn’t take long for the server to recognize them—not the woman at least, the fiery shade of her hair and the unique color of her eyes forcing the memory from that November day to surge back to the forefront of her mind. It’s a day she finds herself continuously ruminating over, a small glimmer she keeps in her memories when she’s having a rough day at work and she needs a reminder that good days do exist, especially now with the current political climate in the kingdom and threats of the Phantom Scythe all around.
It’s a little exciting, really, to see her again. Not because she expects another scene to unfold like the last time, but the server finds an odd sense of comfort in the existence of this stranger, that initial admiration she had felt before having never faded away.
It does take her a few beats longer to register who the man she’s with is though; not only due to the glasses sitting atop his nose and framing his face, but there’s an air about him that just feels… different. There’s a candid sincerity to the gleam in his eyes as he sits across the woman, his expression tender and captivated by their conversation, his attention completely enraptured by whatever it is his companion is saying as their server delivers their orders. Gone for the most part is that façade she had sensed in him the first time—no crooked smile sent her way or words of flattery when she hands him his coffee—and now in its place is the more prominent genuinity peeking through across his face that makes him close to unrecognizable.
But it’s not solely him that seems to have a much more different demeanor this time around; the woman, too, appears to have more life breathed into her regardless of the dark circles coating the skin beneath her eyes. There’s a brilliant mirth glowing within her features, one that the server knows wasn’t present when she’d been here with Mr. Evans the first time, her attitude then one of indifference. Even now with her arms crossed and her lips pursed, scowling at her date while a slice of a berry tres leches sits on the table between them, there’s a tilt to her lips that betrays her true emotions, a smile threatening to break through.
Wiping down a nearby table, the server vaguely begins to wonder how strange life works and how the paths of these two strangers must have crossed at some point to bring them here together again. What on Earth after that November day must have happened for their lives to intersect beyond that afternoon?
She doesn’t think she’ll ever receive an answer until she hears the man say, “If I wasn’t holding you here against your will, you’d be out there running after dangerous crime lords. Instead, you’re safely stuck in a café with food in front of you.”
Oh? The server stops abruptly at her machinations. That’s very interesting. Why would she be going after—
“You’re depriving me of my sleep to risk my life on a date with one of the said dangerous crime lords?” the woman responds, a sardonic levity in her voice.
The server chokes on a gasp, and she has to clamp her lips shut to keep from reacting.
I’m sorry. He’s a what?
She stills, resisting the urge to turn around and gawk at the pair.
“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing since day one?” he asks, his tone matching the humor in his date’s.
The woman snickers. “Sure. Thanks for the cake. I’m starving.”
The server purses her lips, suddenly unsure of what to do or how to act, and her eyes scan around the café, wondering if she’s the only person privy to the conversation she’d just eavesdropped on. She’s sure she must be when she sees the other patrons too invested in their newspapers or books to take notice of their surroundings, and now she suddenly feels like she’s losing her mind!
What the fuuu—
Her thoughts screech to a halt as she hears the ringing laughter from the table behind her, and this time she does allow herself to turn and catch a glimpse of the pair. She doesn’t know anymore what their conversation is about, but she can’t deny that there’s a repartee happening between the two, something their server knows this woman didn’t have with her last date.
First a cheater, now a crime lord. Lady, I hope you raise your standards, the thought slips into the server’s mind as she shakes her head. But at least she seems to be better enjoying herself this time, she adds with a small smile at them as the two share a fork and gradually finish the cake together.
They talk and laugh and consume more desserts as the sun continues its descent over the horizon, and by the time the two pay their bill and leave with full stomachs and a few cups of caffeine in their systems, twilight has dawned, and the moon has begun to peak over the rooftops. There are notable crinkles in their eyes and soft curves on their lips as they walk side by side onto the pavement and around the bend of the building, their conversation yet to cease.
Their server watches them disappear from view, and despite the early evening on this February day, there’s a lingering warmth within the café that she still feels even without their presence to keep that heat in place. With a slight touch of curiosity, she wonders if she’ll ever see them again.
It’s another afternoon when she receives an answer, and they make another visit to the café one autumn day. She doesn’t know if it’s been weeks, months, or even years by this point, yet she recognizes these two patrons instantly when they walk through the doorway and pat themselves dry. It’s almost difficult not to identify the woman by now, her face often printed and published in the newspaper, articles detailing cases she’s helped solve as a detective written on multiple issues, many of which discuss the ongoing efforts to catch the last remaining supporters of the now dismantled Phantom Scythe.
If her awe and respect for this woman hadn’t been enough before, it certainly must be now.
There’s a downpour this October afternoon; the clouds are thick and heavy, and the wind is pushing the rain in all directions, thus bringing a good number of guests into the establishment, all of them entering with the hopes of finding some refuge from the weather and in seek of some heat in the form of a warm drink.
She greets the pair as they shed their drenched coats and make their way to their usual table (when the circular table nearest to the door had become their table, she doesn’t know), and provides each of them with a menu. There’s a small, lustrous sparkle that catches the corner of the server’s eye as she does so, the shine of the round cut diamond on the woman’s left hand catching the light when she takes the offered leaflet, the rock on the gold band dazzling but also modest and simple.
Wait, is that…?
Their server tries to school her features as understanding dawns on her of the meaning behind the piece of jewelry, and she attempts to keep her voice steady when she speaks to them and takes their orders. Once she’s written down their requests, she moves into the kitchen, and the smile she’d attempted to control now falls into place, corners twisting with glee.
She doesn’t know why the notion of their engagement makes her quite as ecstatic as she is at the prospect; she’s met the pair of strangers twice at most as far as she can recall, yet she finds herself absolutely overjoyed at the idea of their romance, of being one to witness it in such a strange manner and see how it’s bloomed since that fateful November day.
When she returns to the café’s main area to deliver their drinks and a slice of cake, she finds their seats have moved closer to one another, and his arm is resting on the back of her chair, their faces only a few inches apart.
“I’m sorry this is the best we could do for your birthday, my love,” she hears the man say when she nears their table. “I wish the weather didn’t have to ruin our plans like this.”
His fiancé shakes her head and reaches out to squeeze his hand on the table, a tender crease of comfort to her eyes when she looks at him and says, “Stop it, Kieran. You know this is more than enough for me. I’m just glad I get to spend it with you.”
A thin, solemn smile crosses his lips, and the server catches him press a quick kiss to his fiancé’s temple. “I love you so much, Lauren.”
“I love you, too.”
Their server places their mugs and plate on the table before them, and they both offer her their thanks before they begin to dine. Soon enough, they’re back in their own world, a bubble exclusive to just the two of them and one where they only seem to see each other, as though nothing else beyond it exists.
The server finds it quite endearing to see them be so affectionate, and she thinks it’s the hopeless romantic in her that adores watching love blossom and grow between the many patrons she has served since her first day on the job. But there’s something even more compelling about these two, to see them somehow go from strangers to engaged in what feels like a blink of an eye.
They must have quite the story, she thinks as she clears a nearby table. A crime lord and a detective. Who would have thought?
And yet she finds their engagement at this time to be a fitting conclusion to a beautiful story; that the end of the Scythe should allow for the new beginnings of their lives, a page being turned onto the next chapter.
And though she knows their story is far from its end, she thinks they’ve found quite the perfect happy ending.
It’s a warm spring day when she sees them for the last time. There’s a slight heat roaming throughout Ardhalis that hints at the approaching summer, and many of the city’s residents are out on the streets, soaking in the sun and clear blue skies that’s often so rare in their part of the world.
And the family that enters the café is no exception.
The man holds open the door, and there’s the woman pushing a pram in front of her walking through the entrance just as a young girl rushes inside behind her, the girl’s energy and excitement palpable as she babbles on about chocolates, cakes, and other sweets she’s begging to have. Who the child belongs to is no question; her hair burns as bright and red as her mother’s, her small nose just as slim and straight, while her bright eyes shine like the waters of a tide pool, an identical shade of blue to her father’s.
Their server pulls a chair from a neighboring table to allow all three to sit at what she knows must be their favorite spot in the café (some things simply don’t change, she muses), and their daughter takes the seat in between her parents at the small, circular table, her frame still so petite, she’s barely tall enough to rest her chin on the surface.
“Mama, can I hold the baby now? Pleeaassee? ” she whines, tugging at her mother’s sleeve.
“Later, Sophie,” her mother says as she tenderly brushes a stray lock of hair behind the child’s ear. “Your brother’s still sleeping. You can hold him later when we get home, okay?”
Her daughter’s lower lip juts out in a pout, but she nods nonetheless.
“Come here, moonbeam,” her father says, pulling her onto his lap. “Why don’t you pick out a cake for now then? What do you want to eat?”
His daughter’s face immediately lights up at the word “cake,” and he places the menu the server hands him in front of her.
“I want blueberries!” the little girl excitedly cries out. “Can we get a biiiggg cake of blueberries, please, please, please?”
There’s a shared look between the parents as they smile knowingly at each other, and it’s like watching two people communicate in a secret language only decipherable by them, a silent conversation only they can understand.
Their server steps away to allow them time to decide on their orders, and it’s in the back of the café that she’s reminded of what today means for her, her own story here coming to its own end soon.
“Hey,” her colleague greets, “I heard today’s your last day here.”
She nods, a wistful smile pressing on her lips. “Yeah, it is. I figured after a few years of working here, it was finally time to move on.”
“Well, we’ll be sad to see you go. Where are you off to next?”
She shrugs, replying, “I don’t know yet. I was thinking of moving back home to be with my parents. It’s been a while since I’ve seen them.”
Her colleague hums in understanding and gives her a supportive pat on the shoulder. “I hope everything works out for you then,” he says, and she smiles in gratitude before he moves to return to his station.
It’s not long after that conversation that she’s untying the apron from her waist and is picking up her final payment from her manager, a sensation of excitement coursing through her at the new changes she’ll soon be making, her own new beginnings just in front of her.
Taking one final walk through the tight space of the café, she allows herself to spare a glance at the little family of four by the door, a final glimpse of the story she’d once found herself intrigued by, like reading the epilogue of her favorite book before shutting it close. The latest hire is now delivering their drinks and sweets onto the table, and the mother—Lauren—is cradling a fussing infant, while her husband—Kieran—is wiping icing off their daughter’s nose.
It’s a sweet and simple scene, one that she’s witnessed many times with the various families who have entered into this establishment, but it’s one now that has her missing home even more, yearning for her own parents and the seaside cottage she grew up in.
With one last step past the café’s threshold, she wonders about the other stories in the world she’s yet to witness, of those that have yet to be finished or even written. And walking into the sun’s comforting embrace, she decides it might be time to make her own.