Page 94 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
“I’ll let him know,” I promise, turning to head toward the kitchen when Mr. Sullivan’s voice stops me.
“Actually, I’ve changed my mind,” he calls. “The soup and salad does sound good after all. Is there any other soup besides the barley?”
I turn back, reminding myself that patience is a virtue. “We always have chicken noodle.”
His face lights up. “Perfect! Chicken noodle soup and a side salad with vinaigrette.” He hesitates, then asks, “The salad comes with croutons, yes?”
“It does,” I confirm.
“Could I get it without? They’re hard on my teeth.” He taps his jaw. “Had some dental work done last month. Didn’t I tell you about that? Went in for a cleaning and came out minus two molars. Dentist said they were beyond saving. I told him, ‘Doc, if you’re going to start pulling teeth, maybe warn a fellow first.’ Caught me completely by surprise.”
I make a sympathetic noise, scratching out the BLT and writing in the new order. “Soup and salad, no croutons.”
“That’s right,” he confirms, then takes another sip of tea. His brow furrows. “You know, on second thought, I’m a bit hungrier than I realized. Maybe I should get something more substantial.”
I resist the urge to sigh. This is why most of the other servers try to avoid Mr. Sullivan’s table. But I’ve developed a system for dealing with his indecision: wait him out, let him talk himself in circles, and eventually he’ll land on something.
“The special today is chicken pot pie,” I suggest. “It’s hearty but not too heavy.”
His eyes light up. “Chicken pot pie! Now that’s proper comfort food. Ellie used to make the best pot pie you’ve ever tasted. Crust so light it would float away if you didn’t catch it with your fork.” He nods decisively. “Yes, I’ll have that. And a side salad with vinaigrette, no croutons.”
“Excellent choice,” I say, quickly writing it down before he can change his mind again. “I’ll get this right in for you.”
As I turn away, he calls after me once more. “And maybe a cup of that chicken noodle soup to start?”
I give him a thumbs up, not daring to turn around lest he spot an opening for further revisions. I head straight to the kitchen, where Peter is prepping vegetables for the dinner service.
“Mr. Sullivan’s here,” I announce, clipping the order to the rotating wheel. “Chicken pot pie, side salad with vinaigrette, no croutons, and a cup of chicken noodle.”
Peter glances up, a knowing look crossing his face. “That his first choice or his fifth?”
“Third,” I admit with a small laugh. “But I think we’ve finally landed on a winner.”
“Don’t count on it,” Peter warns, but there’s no heat in it. Everyone at Louise’s Table has a soft spot for Mr. Sullivan, despite, or maybe because of, his indecisiveness. He’s been coming here since the restaurant first opened.
The bell above the door chimes, and I glance over to see Daniel walking in. My stomach tightens involuntarily. I still don’t know exactly what’s going on between him and Caitlin, and the uncertainty gnaws at me every time I see them together. They’re clearly close, but how close?
Daniel slides into a booth in my section, and I take a moment to compose myself before heading over. Whatever is or isn’t happening between him and Caitlin, I need to be professional. I grab a menu and cross the dining room.
“Hey,” I greet him, setting the menu down. “Welcome to Louise’s Table.”
“Thanks,” he says, grinning. “Though I think we’re past the formal welcomes at this point, don’t you?”
I manage a smile, though it feels stiff on my face. “Force of habit. What can I get you?”
“Just coffee and a club sandwich,” he says. “I can’t stay long. I’ve got a surgery scheduled this afternoon.”
I nod and head to get his coffee and put his order in, trying to ignore the stab of jealousy that comes whenever I see Daniel. It’s not just that he might be dating Caitlin; it’s how effortlessly he fits into her world. He knows everyone in Cedar City, has roots here, history. I’m still an outsider, despite my efforts. It strikes me that this is probably very close to how Caitlin felt about Millie.
When I return with his coffee, Daniel is checking something on his phone. He looks up as I set the mug down. “Thanks. Hey, I wanted to ask you something.”
My guard immediately goes up. “What’s that?”
“A bunch of us get together every couple of weeks for a guys’ night. Poker, beer, terrible snacks — the whole stereotype.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “We’re meeting tomorrow at my place. Thought you might want to join.”
I blink, surprised by the invitation. “Me?”
“No, the other new guy in town who works here,” he says dryly. “Yes, you.”
