Chapter Text
In pursuit of a goal’s fulfillment, one will inevitably encounter distractions. Some are negligible, and others hold the power to alter course entirely. This is a tale of the latter, where the line separating distractions from something greater blurs.
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No one aspires to become a contributor to capitalism. No one aims to help keep its wheels turning. Certainly not her. Yet, she’s well aware of a fundamental truth. Many dreams are inextricably tied to that outcome. In seeking to accomplish something else, one ultimately does feed the ever-hungry machine of capitalism.
Take her ultimate dream, for instance.
Becoming the proud owner of a multistory bookshop. One featuring its own eatery, modeled after a typical cafe. Patrons will purchase their latest read and begin the journey of exploring its pages while seated inside of the eatery. She has yet to select a name, but not all memorable names are thought of overnight. Some of the best require time and meticulous planning. Nevertheless, plants of various kinds will take their place among the decor giving atmosphere to the establishment. Inviting scents of coffee and pastries will mingle in the air. Maybe she’ll even organize and manage a book club, whose members will meet routinely to share their interpretations of different novels.
One day, no matter how long it takes, that bookshop will become a reality.
Until then, she plays her role in the preservation of someone else’s dream. She works at someone else’s business. A local diner, located just around the corner from a large office building complex. It’s been a local gem for decades, with a menu consisting of staples such as its Cobb salad and its double cheeseburger. Her childhood friend and schoolmate, Mal, works alongside her. Whereas she spends her time among the famished customers due to being a server, he spends his time away from them due to being one of the cooks. The pay definitely isn’t anything noteworthy, but it helps keep them afloat in this bustling city that they moved to for college.
Balancing college and work is like walking a tightrope, especially at certain times of the year. But, they make it work. She both wants and needs to make it work. Obtaining a bachelor’s degree will eventually unlock doors for her. Important doors that will make her dream more achievable. Not only will the knowledge that she’s gaining through schooling serve her well, but being an undergraduate student affords her invaluable networking opportunities. She hasn’t made very many connections yet, but she is working on that when possible. Those that she will have established by the time that she graduates will undoubtedly prove beneficial.
Thinking of graduation reinvigorates her drive. Picturing herself walking across a stage with a cap atop her head and a diploma in hand bolsters her determination. Sometimes, it feels like it can’t arrive fast enough.
“Hey, ‘Lina!” Not quite a greeting, it’s an effective attempt to retrieve her from her mind. Shaking her head, as though physically banishing her thoughts, she settles her gaze upon none other than Mal. Taller than her, he meets her gaze from where he stands in the commercial kitchen. Beads of sweat glisten from their place between his chef hat’s brim and his right eyebrow, which he’s furrowed along with his left brow. With a casual nod in the direction of the serving hatch, he says, “Ready for table nine.” Before she can respond or say anything to acknowledge the slice of apple pie that she’s meant to deliver to the table in question, he asks, “You okay?” With the corners of her lips rising into a small smile of reassurance, she offers, “I’m fine. Thanks.”
Carefully picking up the plate on which the appetizing dessert rests, she promptly makes her way to the senior citizen seated alone at the table the staff recognizes as table nine. While she sets down the plate that she’s brought over, the wrinkles upon his face shift ever so slightly as the elderly patron offers her an appreciative smile. Peering at her through his cerulean-rimmed glasses, he kindly says, “Your recommendation is the reason why I ordered this. I’m counting on you.” This is neither Harold’s first time visiting the establishment nor is it her first time being his server. Which is why good rapport exists between them. However, her recommendation is hardly necessary when it comes to the particular item that they’re discussing. Mirroring his smile, she replies, “You don’t have to take my word. There’s a reason why Almira’s apple pie is an award-winning dessert.” It’s not a lie designed to attract more sales. It’s not a lie at all. Almira, the restaurant owner, has indeed won multiple awards for her apple pie. Not once has she shared the recipe with anyone aside from her employees.
“Care to join me? I may not be a spring chicken anymore, but everyone can use a break every now and then. Doesn’t matter how old or young you are.” She feels her smile widen in response to his thoughtful offer. He’s one of the most kindhearted patrons she’s served during her time here thus far. Such benevolence is all the more stunning to her when she considers what he revealed to her the last time that he was here. When curiosity compelled her to ask about the reason for his solitude. His beloved wife, Jane, passed away due to old age two years ago. Although she would like to accept his offer, even if for no other reason than to mitigate his loneliness, she cannot. “Sorry, Harold. I can’t. Someone just got to table twelve, one of my tables.” While setting down additional napkins beside the dessert that he’s ordered, she adds, “Besides, you should take your time with the pie. Savor it. I wouldn’t want to risk pressuring you by sitting with you.”
With that, she leaves him to eat at his own pace. Concealed within her, her pity accompanies her. When she owns her own bookshop, the cafe within it will be a place where patrons can find a reprieve from the hardships that bear down upon their shoulders. A place where they can focus on soothing things such as warm food and the satisfying feeling of a book page pinched between their fingers as they turn it. While it will be some time until that dream becomes actuality, she can practice creating such a space now. She can provide as much of a heartening experience as possible for customers such as Harold.
All thoughts of the senescent man fade from her mind as she happens to meet gazes with the patron sitting at table twelve, though. She feels the tiny hairs dispersed across the back of her neck stand erect due to the sheer intensity of his gaze. Unlike Harold’s light blue eyes, this individual’s dark eyes are not imbued with warmth. Even as she nears his table, she finds no signs of malice within his eyes. However, those hawkish eyes remind her that night can be full of mystery and risk. The obsidian color of his sleek hair complements his eyes. On the surface, he is undeniably attractive. Not in a boyish way. In a way that dusk, despite its dangers, can be.
Decked out in formal business attire, he looks as though he’s come here directly from work. Further hinting at him having ventured this way from his place of employment, he has a leather briefcase positioned beside him on the booth bench that he’s sitting on. Circling back to that attire of his though, his tailored black suit screams ‘expensive’. Altered specifically with him in mind, it flatters his figure.
She isn’t here to admire the physique of a customer, though.
Coming to a halt beside his table, she swallows as realization settles in. It’s not just the intensity of his gaze that threatens to undo her composure. It’s not just that his gaze is intense. It’s that she feels a type of impossible familiarity. This patron is a total stranger, but something in his eyes makes her feel as though it’s possible that they’ve spoken before somewhere. It’s a perplexing feeling, but she forcefully shoves it aside so that she can do her job.
She forces a polite smile onto her face. Before she can utter so much as a word, his gaze descends to her name tag. “Alina,” he says, with his voice smooth as silk. “Did you recently start here?” Seemingly, it’s a harmless question. Given that there are locals who have dined here for many years. There are locals who have grown up dining here over the years. However, something about the question upon his lips has her feeling self-aware. She finds it prudent to exercise caution and not go unveiling more than necessary about herself. Therefore, she simply answers, “I wouldn’t say recently.”
Plain as it is, her answer manages to draw a small smile to his lips. Looking away from her name tag, he allows his gaze to briefly wander her countenance. As though he’s studying every curve and feature of it. As if he wishes to ensure that no detail, no matter how minute, goes unobserved. His scrutiny does nothing to help her self-awareness. Before she can help herself, she releases, “You don’t belong here.”
What an awful thing to say. Technically, although it is her opinion, she hadn’t even thought to say it. It just…slipped out as slime might slip out from between careless hands. Yet, her remark inadvertently causes his smile to grow ever so slightly. Furthermore, it has his gaze meeting her own once again. “A curious thing to say.”
Embarrassment stirs within her, but she suppresses it. “That didn’t come out right.” Again, it wasn’t supposed to come out at all. Now that it has, she carries on to explain herself, “What I mean is you’re dressed like you should be eating somewhere else. Somewhere formal. Like Vergil’s.” A classy restaurant with a menu that would surely better appeal to his appetite. Scoring reservations there is an achievement since it is so exclusive. She’s never been, and she cannot envision that changing anytime soon. Not with their prices. He, though, seems as though he could easily afford a meal there. It would be a typical Tuesday for him.
Smile never straying from his lips, he asks, “Are you telling me that I can’t eat here?” Now she feels as though she’s dug quite a hole for herself. Not wanting to attract anyone else’s attention, she rushes to reply, “No, of course not.” It would be best to start over before she says anything else that she might regret. So, after offering a restrained smile, she asks, “What can I get you?”
It isn’t an answer that her normal question solicits. “What would you recommend?” On its surface, it’s an ordinary response. One that she receives often enough from the customers who sit at her tables. Something about hearing him ask it though makes it seem as though he’s not merely asking to collect information that will assist him in making the best decision for himself. It’s as if he’s simultaneously trying to familiarize himself with her. Another attempt to find out something about her. Another attempt that she evades. Unobtrusive smile lingering upon her lips, she asks, “What do you like?”
It seems that he fully understands that the question is meant to be an evasion, because she notices a flicker of amusement dart across his eyes. Without skipping a beat, he voices a response designed to redirect the focus back toward her. “I tend to be flexible. What would you recommend if you had no interest in dealing with a mess?”
Yet another question structured to unearth information regarding her. “Salad is always a safe bet. People tend to order our Cobb,” she offers, knowing full well that she really isn’t speaking of herself. Still, it is a proper recommendation for someone who would want to avoid messier entrees.
Smile still perfectly intact, he approves, “That will do.” After handing her the menu with which he was provided upon being brought to his seat by one of the hosts, he parts his lips again. “A coffee as well. Black.” Of course. How…unsurprising.
Without making any remarks aloud, she acknowledges his decision. “Got it. It’ll be out as soon as possible,” she says before turning on heel and making her way back to the serving hatch. All the while, she feels so strongly his gaze upon her. Not once has he glanced away. Somewhere in the back of her mind, it occurs to her that she hasn’t bothered to ask for his name. Not that she’s obligated to, of course.
He could just remain a nameless stranger.
Her curious patron, who looks so very out of place here. Like Alice after she descended into Wonderland.
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Unbeknownst to her, she is the true Alice.