Chapter One: Brewed Attitude
Bacon sandwiches always reminded her of days on the beach as a little girl. Her grandmother loved making them. "There's never a wrong time to eat bacon," she would always say, and the younger version of herself would swallow it in as little as three bites.
At this point, it felt more like she wanted to swallow her pride in as little as three bites. "Table seven's BLTs are ready, (y/n)!" Miss Beth yelled from behind the counter. Miss Beth was a large woman, her skin tanned and leathery from spending a few too many hours on the beach, and the area around her mouth wrinkled from her chain cigarette smoking. (Y/n) plastered on a fake smile and grabbed the trays. The kitchen was always loud and rambunctious at this time of night, especially on Friday nights. Everyone was just getting off work and coming in to have a beer or two, and wound up staying for hours on end, ordering sandwich after sandwich, shot after shot, dessert after dessert. She did a small curtsy as she set the food down in front of the two men seated at the bar, they eyed her over, said a quick thank you, then turned their attention back to the television in front of them.
She had never understood the male obsession with sports. It was like sports had to happen or nothing would function correctly, it seemed to be the topic of daily conversation.
(Y/n) shuffled back to the kitchen to grab more plates of food and deliver them to her other tables. It was raining outside, and the headlights from cars outside shone through the raindrops stuck to the window panes and lit them in beautiful shades of red, orange, and white. New York City was a busy place, no matter the time of night.
Plate after plate, dish after dish, every night just ran together at this point. It was always the same thing. Wake up, clean the house, go to work, go home. She had a cat waiting for her back home, her one true companion in the bustling city. Her name was Wendy and she was missing a leg, a metaphor for (y/n) thinking she always needed and extra arm with the amount of work she did.
One of her tables stood up and left, leaving an average size tip. "You can leave once all your tables are done," Miss Beth said from behind her.
"I appreciate it, but I'd like to stay as long as I can," (Y/n) replied, picking up the half empty drink glasses and dirty plates off the table. Times were hard recently, and living in the Big Apple was not a cheap lifestyle.
"Suit yourself, sweetheart." Beth shrugged and went back to the kitchen.
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Wendy meowed as (y/n) stumbled through the front door of her little apartment. "Hey, sweet girl," she said, bending over to scratch her ears. "Mama's home."
There was nothing wrong with a young woman living alone with her cat, not really. Sometimes she didn't always feel safe and it did get lonely, but she decided that this was the life she preferred. She didn't have to take care of anyone but herself and Wendy, and that was just how she liked it.
Her bed was old and used. She'd gotten it from a thrift store in her home town. It creaked whenever she moved, but there was not a more comforting sound after a long day at work. She settled down into the covers that she'd had since she was in high school and pulled her cat up to lay on her chest. The soft feeling of her purring lulled (y/n) into a deep sleep.
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Wendy woke her up in the morning to tell her she was hungry. Groggily, (y/n) rolled out of bed and dumped some food into the cat bowl. She ran her hand lovingly over the cat's back as it ate, contemplating what she herself would be eating for the most important meal of the day. A quick look through her cabinet proved to manifest nothing but a three year old box of instant oatmeal and a prepackaged cheese danish. She figured the danish was safer.
As she bit into her danish, she walked back down the hallway and looked herself over in her slightly dirty mirror. She made a mental note to clean that when she got home tonight. Her makeup was smudged from her not taking it off before she went to bed, and her hair looked like someone had taken a leaf blower to it. She started to strip off her clothes and ate the last bite of her danish, strolling to her bathroom to take a shower before work.
It was insane the amount of thinking one did in the shower. Her mind was filled with thoughts that she would never be able to tell anyone, never say aloud, never think again. Thoughts of home and love and (don't tell Wendy) perhaps getting a dog or quitting her job and starting a new career on Broadway. All preposterous ideas, none of them would come to fruition. It was her and Wendy and that's just how she liked it.
She scrubbed her old grimey makeup off and rubbed every part of herself clean with a washcloth and some cheap soap from the dollar store. She knew she smelled like a cheap hooker all the time now, but it didn't matter. She was living. She was happy.
Everyday she went to work. And everyday she dreaded going to work. Ten hours of dealing with horny, sweaty, middle-aged sports fanatics was not worth what little money she made. So when she walked through the door, she was surprised to find it almost completely empty, save for the other waitresses who'd just arrived for their shifts as well. For once, there were no customers lining the bar or crying children sitting at a table with angry parents yelling at the waitresses for bringing them a regular Coke when they'd clearly asked for diet. It was empty. And it was quiet. (Y/n) took a few seconds to appreciate the silence. She didn't know how long it had been since she'd actually been able to hear the TV instead of just read the subtitles.
"New restaurant just opened up down the road," Miss Beth said from behind her. "I wouldn't expect it to be too busy tonight, sweetheart."
(Y/n) gave a relieved sigh at this. Although it would still be busy, anything less than usual would be gladly welcomed.
"Where am I tonight?" She asked.
"We're getting you away from the bar for tonight," Beth told her, handing her the seating chart. "You're on the complete other side of the restaurant. I thought you could use a change of scenery."
(Y/n) could've cried. Slower night and not at the bar? God must be real. She tied her apron around her waist and went to go sweep her new section.
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That new restaurant must have been something special, because Brewed Attitude was dead that night. (Y/n) had had three tables in the four hours she'd been working. Her tips were miniscule and she definitely wasn't making near the amount she needed to be making.
The bell near the front rang as someone opened the door, and she silently hoped they would be seated in her section. Money was needed at this point. More than her own sanity.
They were tall. Definitely over six feet. She saw them talking to the hostess and she started to lead them to a table. She started to lead them toward (y/n).
Yes. Yes. Yes. She thought, mentally preparing herself to deal with another table. They sat down and Hartley, the hostess working, sat three menus down on the table. Though she only saw two men.
No sooner than Hartley told them to enjoy their meal, (y/n) was by the table. "Hi, I'm (y/n) and I'll be your server tonight. Can I get y'all started off with something to drink?"
"What do you want, PJ?" The one with darker hair asked, looking across to the other man.
"I'll have a tea, thank you," he smiled, then he added, "Hot."
"Are you cold?" she asked, questioning why he was getting a hot drink.
"It is quite chilly out there," the dark haired one chimed in. "Not to mention it just started to rain. So I'll have a coffee please, two sugars."
"Alrighty," (y/n) wrote down the two drinks on her notepad. "Is there anything else?"
"What about Dan?" The one who ordered tea, PJ, she assumed, asked.
"Oh yeah. We've got another one coming. He got caught up in a store, but he'll be here soon. I think he'll want a hot chocolate."
"I'll get those right out to you guys," (y/n) smiled. "And I'll ask a manager to turn the heat up for you."
She turned to go to the kitchen and start brewing their drinks. Tea, she thought. What a British choice. It was then that she realized that they did, indeed, have accents. And that they were, indeed, British. The coffee pot was empty so she got a fresh batch going. She hated how loud it was in the kitchen, it gave her a headache.
She grabbed the three mugs and set them on a tray, along with their complimentary rolls. She threw in a few extra since they probably needed something to warm them up. When she went back out to the table, she noticed that third man had arrived. And he was just as tall as the other two. His cheeks were red from the cold and his hair had started to curl from the rain, little drops of water beading up at the ends and falling into his lap.
"What did you order for me to drink, Phil?" he asked the dark haired one.
"Hot chocolate."
Dan seemed to melt at the idea of something hot.
"Here's your tea," she said as she sat the mug down in front of PJ, who took it in his hands almost immediately. "Coffee with two sugars, and a hot chocolate. Are we ready to order?"
"I think we all just really want some spaghetti," Phil said, looking to the other men for confirmation.
"And a cheeseburger please," Dan added. "Along with my spaghetti."
"Are you sure?" She asked.
"Positive."
"Okay. I'll go put this in and I'll be back with more rolls."
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When they were done eating, they just sat around and talked for a while. (Y/n) didn't really mind. They were funny. There were a few times she caught Dan staring at her but she didn't think much of it, just figured he was thinking about asking for more rolls.
They tipped decently. And she almost wished they wouldn't leave. How jealous would everyone be that she had three attractive British men sitting at her table? The answer was very.
They started to stand up, and (Y/n)'s heart dropped. "Have a great night, make sure you come back and see me!" She beamed at them and stood to tell them goodbye.
"We'll be seeing you tomorrow night," PJ said.
Her cheeks turned pink. "Well that's wonderful! I'll be looking forward to it! I'll save you guys a special table."
They all waved goodbye and took their final sips of their drinks and then they were on their way.
And it was time to go home.
She really hoped they were coming back.