Dream of Us
Chapter Twelve

Ani’s POV.

“Sure,” I reply, happy that I’ve been given the go-ahead to continue talking to the handsome customer.

I serve some other tables. Before I know it, the hot customer’s main is ready. I collect up the bowl of pasta and carry it over to his table.

“Crab macaroni and cheese,” I announce as I carefully place the bowl down. “Can I get you anything else?”

“A minute of your time? You’ve told me what you like, I’d like to hear about what you don’t like,” He answers smoothly.

I glance around, looking for Michel. He catches my eye across the restaurant and gives me an encouraging nod. I look back at the customer’s wine glass and notice there is only about a third left.

“How about we do an exchange? I’ll give you a minute of my time in return for another drink.”

He considers it and then smirks. “Deal.” He picks up the drinks menu from the empty adjacent table and browses it. “Anything you’d recommend with this dish?”

“I’d suggest the white burgundy if you’re willing to swap from a red,” I advise him.

He closes the menu and nods. “Perfect. I’ll have a medium glass, thank you.”

I get the drink for him, nodding at Michel as I pass him, and return to the table.

“So, what did you want to ask me?”

He takes a sip of the wine and smiles in appreciation. “It’s good, good choice. I want to know what you don’t like. What’s your least favourite food? What do you serve here that you don’t like?”

I turn up my nose on reflex at the thought of it. “Cheese soufflé. I usually don’t mind it because I like cheese, but the one we make here is with stilton and I don’t like stilton,” I tell him honestly. “If you’re a strong-cheese lover, you’ll be fine, but it’s not my cup of tea.”

“I’m not that keen on stilton myself,” he replies and gives me a knowing look. “I take it you have a strong sense of smell and taste, then.”

His accuracy impresses me. “Yes! I do, how did you know?”

He gives a knowing smile. “Lucky guess with not liking stilton, it’s very strong,” he answers easily. “What else don’t you like?”

“Um, there’s not much else, really. I’m not a picky eater.”

“Okay, how about outside of here, then. What do you do on your days off?”

The more personal question makes me hesitant to answer. He must notice because he gives me an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Would it make you feel better if I told you more about myself? My name is Adrian Summerhill, I moved here last week and, honestly, I don’t know anyone.”

His persistent chattiness makes more sense now that I know he is new to the area. Knowing his name means I no longer have to call him hottie, too.

“I’m Annie,” I tell him foolishly and then roll my eyes at myself. “But you already know that. Well, in case no one has said it yet, welcome to the neighbourhood.”

His eyes turn warm in that way they always do when he smiles. “Thank you. No one has said that yet. It’s a nice city.”

I shrug. “It’s okay. It’s not where I thought I’d end up.”

I realise my mistake as soon as I answer. I’ve just given him a prize opportunity to continue the conversation. I subtly look around for Michel and spot him going into the kitchen.

“Where did you think you’d end up?” Adrian asks curiously.

It’s funny, looking at his face, I can’t really see him as an Adrian. That name took me by surprise, I’ll admit. He’s too sexy for that name.

“Um, I’m not sure really,” I reply honestly. “Just not Laleston.”

Memories before ten years old are kind of hazy for me. I don’t have many childhood memories. Ones of my teenage years are mostly of school and my education and my foster mum.

“Do you think you’ll move from here?”

“Probably one day.” My mind goes to Jaymie. He loves Laleston, he never wants to leave, his whole life is here. “Maybe when I decide to settle down, perhaps.”

Surprisingly, Adrian’s eyes harden. They lose the softness they have when he smiles and revert to his default persona; hot but intimidating.

“Do you have a partner?” He asks casually.

I can see that he is anything but casual though, his façade doesn’t fool me. The way his eyes slightly narrow, his hand tightens on his fork and the slight cock of his head tells me that he is very interested in the answer.

Again, any other customer, I’d be giving them a clipped answer and mentally telling them to piss off. I would find these sort of questions invasive and inappropriate. But Adrian doesn’t bother me, I don’t know why. I guess I want to know more about him. I trust my instincts usually, and something tells me Adrian isn’t a creep.

“Yes, I do,” I answer quickly. “It’s relatively new, we’ve only been dating a few months.”

I don’t know why I feel the need to elaborate on the newness of my relationship, I shouldn’t have to justify myself to a stranger.

Adrian gives a firm nod and then looks back down at his food. When it becomes clear that he isn’t going to say anymore, I act awkwardly, “Well, enjoy your food and call me over if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” he replies normally, his voice calm and even, yet it feels like something has shifted between us.

I don’t know what it is, and I can’t quite put my finger on it, but as I walk away, I feel disappointed. I feel like I ruined things with that last answer. I can’t, for the life of me, understand why I’m so bothered by that. I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t care about what Adrian thinks or feels about me, but I do.

There’s a random flurry of needy customers and I don’t get back to Adrian’s table until he has finished his meal. He is reading a book when I come over, aware that he’s been waiting a while. I saw that he had finished ten minutes ago but I kept being called on by other customers.

I check out the book cover as I walk over. It’s not a title I recognise, but the cover implies that it is a non-fiction historical novel. Perhaps he is brushing up on his history.

“I’m so sorry about your wait,” I apologise as I pick up his empties. “It suddenly got busy. Can I get you a dessert?”

He closes his book and looks up at me. “I’ll take a look at the menu, please.”

“Sure. I’ll just grab you one, hold on.”

I take the dishes to the kitchen and bring Adrian back a menu.

“Is there anything you recommend?” He asks before I rush off again.

“The Baileys crème brûlée is particularly good, or there’s the New York cheesecake, I love that.”

“What about the pavlova?”

“That’s nice, but I don’t really like meringue so it’s not my favourite.”

“What is your favourite?”

“The brûlée probably.”

“I’ll take one of those, then. Thank you.”

I don’t know why this attractive customer keeps taking all my recommendations. He stated that he wants to get to know me better. Again, I don’t know why. I’m flattered by his interest instead of creeped out by it, something that never happens.

I’m a people person. I’m comfortable talking to strangers and good at making people feel welcome, yet Adrian is the first customer that has left me nervous. His genuine interest in my answers and intrigue in getting to know me has me thrown off. I’m not used to the attention, it’s usually on the restaurant, not the staff.

I bring him the dessert and collect it ten minutes later, when he’s finished. I offer him a hot beverage, but he asks for the bill instead. Disappointment fills me when I bring it to him.

“This is random,” he states as he fishes his card out of his wallet. “But have you ever tried peanut butter and jam sandwiches?”

I stare at him for a moment, wondering where this has come from. “Pardon?”

“It’s a favourite snack of mine, PB and J, especially toasted. You spread some peanut butter on one slice of bread, some jam on the other and put it together. The peanut butter is savoury, the jam is sweet, it’s a great combination. Have you ever tried it?”

I’m so stunned by the question that the memory that comes after it catches me even more off-guard. It flashes through my mind. I can practically hear metallic slide of the toaster as the bread pops up. I see myself in my mind’s eye, taking the toast out and spreading jam and peanut butter on it.

His question has unlocked a deep-rooted memory in my head, one that I have never thought of before. I don’t recognise the kitchen in the memory, either. It’s not my foster mum’s kitchen, it’s not one I’ve ever seen in my life.

So, where was I?

“Do you know…I think I have,” I tell him as I absentmindedly load up the card machine and hold it out to him. “But I think it must have been at a friend’s house. I remember making it, but it wasn’t in my kitchen.”

“Perhaps at an old boyfriend’s house?” He prompts casually as he puts in his pin.

“No, I’ve never had a boyfriend before…” I trail off as the memory flashes in my mind again.

I’m not alone this time. I’m making multiple pieces of toast, putting a sandwich on each plate. I count them in my head, four plates.

Why was I making toasted sandwiches for four people?

“Your question is unlocking memories I didn’t even know I had,” I tell him honestly and shake my head. “It’s strange.”

He gives me a wide smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to confuse you. You should try it, though. It’s really good.”

“I think I’ll have to,” I reply. “Thank you for coming tonight. I hope you enjoyed it.”

He looks me up and down and gets to his feet. “I really did. Thank you, Ani.”

I watch him shrug on his jacket, gather his things and leave. My eyes follow him all the way out of the door. It is only when I turn back to the table that I notice what a generous tip he gave me. Michel walks past and gives me a knowing look.

“Told you he would be a good customer,” he says triumphantly.

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