A Day in a Life

Chapter Fourteen

Saige

J UST ANOTHER DAY in paradise. I release an involuntary sigh.

I might be working, but my job keeps me on my feet and moving all day. It’s great exercise. I don’t need a watch to tell me how many steps I’ve taken. I already know the answer: way too many.

I have a constant view of the ocean, and I’m breathing in fresh, salty air. It’s the happiest my life will ever get. I guess I can say I’m at peace. Bayside Eatery has become my home.

But the back of my neck is tingling the way it does when I know someone is staring at me. I swear I can feel the weight of a gaze as though it’s boring a hole in my back.

I glance behind me at the lone man sitting at table twelve, but he’s immersed in the menu. It can’t be him.

Though I wish it was. He’s a nice-looking man with thick dark hair that has a slight wave to it. I watch him give it a finger-comb, but his hair has other plans and refuses to behave, which adds to his allure. His short beard looks like he forgot to shave for the past week, contributing to his masculinity. I take it back, he’s not just nice-looking, he’s gorgeous. I can’t help but do a double take. I rarely, if ever, notice a man, but this particular man is worthy of admiration. Even more so than my porcelain bathtub.

He reminds me of those ridiculously handsome men in L.L.Bean catalogs, even though he’s dressed for the beach today. He has a rugged look about him. I wouldn’t mind finding myself trapped in a cabin with him for the winter.

I shouldn’t let my thoughts wander like that. It only leads to disappointment.

I like to slip through life without calling attention to myself. I’m a ghost among the living. People can hear and see me. They know I’m there. But no one actually notices me. I’m forever stuck in peripheral vision land, a wisp that comes and goes. I’m okay with that. In fact, I prefer it.

Except when I notice a man. Then the “what-ifs” begin to plague my soul. What if he noticed me? What if we fell in love? What if happily ever after does exist?

A small sigh escapes again. “I’m sorry, sir. Would you repeat that?”

“I want the double cheeseburger, but I want all the fixin’s on the side. The lettuce, tomato, avocado, and the condiments. Do you got that?” he says, frustrated that he had to repeat himself.

“No problem, sir.” That’s the way all our burgers are served. It says so in black and white on the menu.

His wife is Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally . “I’d like a salad, but I want the lettuce chopped up in small bite-size pieces. I want the grated cheese on the side so it doesn’t get mushy. I don’t want grated carrots, but I do want extra croutons. I also prefer grape tomatoes rather than chopped tomatoes. I don’t like the way the juice from the tomato wilts the salad so quickly. No purple cabbage either. I would like ranch dressing on the side, but I want extra dressing, like so-I-can-drown-my-salad extra dressing.”

Thereby wilting it and making it mushy faster than I can say “Yes, ma’am.”

She continues. “I want the cucumbers to be peeled and chopped. I can’t tolerate the cucumber peel. Also, I’d like to add artichoke hearts and sliced olives. Sliced, not whole. Black, not green.”

“Got it.” Oh boy, Randall and Sissy are going to love this order. They’ve owned Bayside Eatery since they married about a hundred years ago, but they’re still going strong and insist on doing all the cooking themselves. They’ve hired several workers to take care of mundane food prep, but a plate doesn’t leave the kitchen without their magic touch.

I make my way to the kitchen to turn in my order. Sissy reads it and looks up at me through her thick glasses. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope, it’s a Meg.” Meg is our nickname for strangely specific orders.

“Why am I not retired and living a life of luxury?” Sissy mumbles.

“Because you’d be bored out of your mind,” I tell her.

“There’s that,” Sissy says with a groan. “Bored sounds good about now.”

Brook turns in her next order. “Got to say, Saige, you’re looking cute today.”

“Thanks, Brook.” I look the same as every day. Not sure why she would suddenly notice a difference. Maybe noticing the man at table twelve has pinkened my cheeks.

I stop by table ten to get their order before facing the fine specimen of a man at table twelve. While the harried mom of three young children attempts to place their order, I get that feeling again. The kind of feeling that makes the little hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. Someone is staring again. It’s so strong it feels like a physical touch.

I turn my head to look to the right, the sea breeze blowing my ponytail to the side.

This time I catch and hold the handsome man’s dark brown eyes. For a moment, I forget everything but him. My eyes blink slowly and my lips part as I’m taken captive by his stare, a stare that lasts far too long. At least thirty seconds. Not long, yet too long for the circumstances. What is he thinking? What am I thinking?

I force myself to turn away and pay attention to the young mother’s order. I’m shaken by the intensity of the man’s gaze. He was staring in a way that made me feel as though he could read my mind.

Is he the one who’s been staring at me? Someone has been. The gaze has weight, as though it’s sending silent messages my way.

When I turn in my order, I ask Brook, “Hey, would you mind taking table twelve?” Because I can’t face the man of my dreams.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m swamped with my tables. But after you take his order, tell him I love him, and I want to have his babies.”

I’m not surprised Brook took note of him. He’s a blaring neon sign for single women. Probably married women too.

I got this. I’m a grown woman. I can handle a handsome man. Okay, here it goes.

Moving toward his table feels as though I’m walking in slow motion. His eyes are on me as I approach, making me feel like I’m in a nightmare, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t walk fast, much less run. Through sheer willpower, I make it to his tableside. “Hello, welcome to Bayside Eatery. May I take your order?”

Our eyes meet and hold. Again, for too long. He has a deep line between his eyebrows. Perhaps he’s a deep thinker. Whatever it is, it looks good on him.

“Yes, thank you…” He glances at my nametag. “Saige. That’s a pretty name.”

I remain stoic, an impenetrable castle. “Thanks. What’ll you have?”

“I’m having a hard time deciding. Everything looks good. Do you have a favorite?”

“Are you in the mood for seafood? Snapper, clams? For obvious reasons, it’s the specialty around here. Especially conch. Cracked conch, conch fritters, conch chowder.” I could go on.

“Not right now.”

“Then I’d suggest the grilled cheese on sourdough. It includes three types of cheese, tomato, avocado, bacon, and fig jam. It comes with battered and fried sweet potato fries with a side of ranch dressing.”

“That sounds good. I’ll have that. And a water with lemon.”

“Coming right up.”

Our fingers touch and slide together as I take the menu from him, making us both pause to repeat the eye contact again. He feels familiar, yet I know we’ve never met. His touch tells me otherwise. It’s as though I recognize him. Just the feeling of his fingers grazing mine makes me stop in my tracks. I accidentally touch hands with many people during a shift as I hand them their orders. It never merits this type of response in me.

“Is there a story behind your name? It’s beautiful,” he asks, shaking me out of my trance.

I close down as if there’s a trapdoor inside of me. “No. No story at all.”

“Just a name your mother liked, huh?” he comments casually.

“Yes, my mother liked the name.”

“May I ask, what’s your last name? Just curious,” he persists.

“Riley. Saige Riley.” Why did I tell him that? It’s none of his business. I blame my loose tongue on his handsome good looks, which alone have the power to fluster me. He’s friendly to boot, making me a goner.

I’m never a goner. It’s a missing link in my personality.

“A beautiful name. Goes together perfectly.”

My eyes blink heavily. “Thank you,” I say in my whisper-voice. “Excuse me, I’ll get your order turned in.”

I refuse to be a goner.

After handing the order over to Sissy, I rush to the ladies’ room and stare at my flushed face. The handsome man thinks my name is beautiful. He has no idea how much it means to me. No one ever comments on my name. So much emotion is attached to those two little words, emotion best described as distress. I need therapy, something I’ve never taken the time to pursue. If one person complimenting my name can send me rushing to the ladies’ room, overcome with emotion, then I’m not okay.

I study my reflection, my hot cheeks and wide eyes. Brook’s right. I do look different today, all because of the attention of a handsome man. I take a deep, cleansing breath.

Brook bursts into the ladies’ room. “Are you okay? Sissy said you ran in here looking rattled.”

“I’ll be fine. Just needed a sec to compose myself.” I smooth a few loose strands attempting to escape my ponytail.

“Did something happen? Do we have a Karen?” Brook asks, using the popular code name for rude customers. Although we use it whether they’re male or female.

“No, it was the opposite. Table twelve noticed me, asked about my name, told me it was beautiful. Usually we’re ghosts, you know? Here to serve, but no one sees us. I flutter around this restaurant day after day and no one ever actually looks at me.”

“I get it. I feel the same,” Brook says as she checks her make-up. “Part of it’s the nature of the job. If we’re doing our jobs right, we’re the invisible waitresses who don’t interfere with the conversations or the enjoyment of the customers.”

“Yeah, but you told me that I…”

“Have LEAVE ME ALONE inscribed on your back? You do. It’s not an insult, honey. It’s how you survive. No worries. Evidently, table twelve can’t read. If he needs someone to give him lessons, I’m available.”

I roll my eyes. “Brook, you’re such a flirt.”

“Thank you.” She winks as though I gave her the best compliment ever. “Hey, in all seriousness, whoever hurt you is a jerk. Not all men are bad. Maybe it’s time to give love another chance.”

“What makes you think someone hurt me?” I’ve never told anyone about Cole.

Brook puts her hands on her hips. “We’ve worked together for what? Almost seven years? I’ve never once seen you flirt with anyone, much less date anyone besides your bathtub. That’s the behavior of a woman who got burned. Like third-degree burns.”

I didn’t think anyone could tell. I keep to myself, do my job, and go home. I’m not interested in life beyond my small world. I know what’s out there. Nothing I want. I have everything I need right here. “It shows?” I ask.

“Only if you’re paying attention. You’re my friend, so I notice. Hey, no pressure, okay? You do you, sweetie. Whatever gets you through the day.”

“Thanks for checking on me. I’m fine, really. Just needed a moment.” I decided a long time ago I would never run from home again. No one will ever push me out of my own life. Giving myself a moment is all I allow.

“Sure thing. Better get back. I have hungry tourists to feed. Love ya, weirdo.”

“Love you too, weirdo.”

I hit it off with Brook from the first day we started working together. She’s my new Penny. Although we rarely do anything outside of work, which suits me.

I miss Penny. I control the urge to call her on a daily basis. She’s always been so good to me. If I’d spoken up on that horrible day I visited her, she would’ve dropped everything to take care of me. I knew it then, and I know it now. But I couldn’t do that to her, not when she was so excited about her upcoming proposal. I’m not a martyr, not by a longshot. Penny’s happiness, however, is important to me. How could I ruin her day? I’d never seen her like that, bursting at the seams with happiness. Even when Scott Patell—the most popular guy at school—asked her to the senior prom. Even when she wrote an award-winning story, receiving a healthy bonus. You just don’t mess with those rare happiness-filled days. They should remain unmarred like a beautiful field of perfect flowers. I’d wanted Penny to have her perfect-field-of-flowers day.

Enough of that. I have hungry people to feed right now. I glance at my reflection one more time. I appreciate Brook. She’s a great friend. And while I value our friendship, I don’t need reassurance from other people. I learned to rely on myself at a young age. For everything, including love. It doesn’t matter if no one loves me.

I love myself.

That realization helped me to feel free. Powerful. I knew I could do anything I wanted, and no one could stop me.

People can betray me, try to control me, ignore me, blame me, accuse me, gaslight me, or dislike me.

But they can’t touch me. There’s a part of me no one will ever touch again. It’s the part filled with love and respect for myself.

I take another deep breath, preparing myself to face the handsome man.

The one who actually noticed me. The one who thought my name was beautiful. I love him for that alone.

I exit the ladies’ room and see the handsome man’s order is up. I grab it, muster every ounce of courage inside me, and head toward his table with an elevated pulse.

“Here you go. Enjoy,” I say as I set his plate in front of him.

“Thank you. This looks delicious.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Yes. Can I ask you a few questions?”

Questions? “Sure.” I sound wary even to my own ears.

“This is my first time here in Key West. What should I do and see? I’m not really sure where to begin.”

That’s a question I can handle. “My advice is don’t busy your schedule with too many tours. You’ll burn out. Go with the flow. Relax and enjoy the easygoing atmosphere. Go paddleboarding. Go snorkeling. Visit Mallory Square each evening. There’s entertainment and food vendors, and it’s a tradition here in Key West you don’t want to miss. Don’t bother with a car. Parking is almost impossible. Grab an Uber. Many places are walkable. Enjoy the sunsets and the architecture and the galleries. Long walks on the beach. Duval Street is fun if you enjoy browsing in shops. But the absolute best thing is just sunbathing on the beach and enjoying the turquoise water. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You’re not a native?”

“Me? No. But I came here as soon as I could.”

The man laughs. “Any chance we could go for a walk tonight after you get off? I need someone to show me around.”

My body symbolically folds into a box as I close up like I’m preparing for a hurricane. “I’m sorry. I don’t date customers.” Or anyone, for that matter.

“Just looking for a friend to show me around.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I work late.” I turn to walk away before he can say anything more. My heart is begging me to say yes to the handsome man. My mind is saying no, you don’t know anything about him. Not a single thing.

Mostly, the fact that he wasn’t asking me out on a date stings like crazy. He’s already placed me in the friend zone.

Ouch.

I ignore his table for the next twenty minutes or so, uncaring over a bad tip. There are lots of handsome men around here. Why does this particular man leave me feeling breathless?

Finally, I approach his table again and refill his water glass. “Can I get you anything else?”

“I’m good. You were right. The sandwich was amazing.”

“Would you like your check?” My voice is clipped. I don’t mean to be rude. The fact is, the attraction I feel for him scares me.

“Not yet. I’m still debating over dessert.” He flashes me a smile.

Wow. I’ve heard of knees going weak. It’s never happened to me. Until now. “I’ll get you the dessert menu.”

“Thanks.” He lightly touches my arm, making me feel as though I’ve just been shocked. “I think I owe you an apology. I made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

“No problem. I’ll be right back.” I rush away. His touch was as soft as a feather brushing over my skin.

I liked it. Me, who doesn’t like to be touched by strangers. Does anyone? I wish my arm would stop tingling.

I return with the dessert menu. “Would you like me to give you a minute?”

“This one’s easy. I’ll take the key lime pie.”

“Around here, you’ll never have better.”

“I’m counting on it.” He pats his flat abs, indicating he doesn’t have dessert often.

Once I serve his pie, refill his water glass again, and offer him an “Enjoy,” I’m off again. We’re busy today, so my swift departure doesn’t seem impolite.

I’m more than a little tense. Every single time I glance his way, he’s staring directly at me, watching my every move. He’s not trying to hide the fact that he’s staring. It’s as if he wants me to notice his constant gaze.

“Hey, weirdo.” Brook bumps me with her hip. “Table twelve is staring at you. All the time. He’s undressing you with his eyes. He wants to compete with your bathtub.”

“I don’t get a creeper vibe from him. Do you?” I ask.

“Heck no. He’s dreamy. There’s nothing creepy about him.”

Handsome men can be creepers. I know that for a fact. “I get an ‘I’m interested’ vibe from him. It’s crazy, but he scares me more than some creeper.”

“If you’re not interested, I am,” Brook jokes. “What’s he like?”

“First impression? Normal, friendly, kind. Dangerous.”

“Honey, that’s not danger. That’s a good time.” Brook grabs her next order. “Go for it.”

Randall and Sissy ensure we’re safe from creepers. They can’t keep me safe from my own wild feelings, though.

The last man I dated and subsequently married turned out to be a creeper. It’s not a mistake I plan on repeating. A marriage vow is evidently a license to control someone else’s life. The control is far-reaching enough to keep me here in Key West. The joke’s on him. I love it here. I never plan to leave.