I stepped into Seville's at 7 sharp, the beginning of our dinner rush. Through the familiar dim lights I can make out Carlise behind the bar and his wife, Esme rinsing pint glasses in the sink to his right. With the amber lights over head I can see his blonde hair tousling lightly as he bends over the bar, lining up the bottles for the night. As Esme walks past he reaches out and touches her back, almost unconsciously, not bothering to look up as he did so.
I've never seen two people so intune to one another like Carlise and Esme. He told me when I first started working here, about three months ago that even on their busiest night he would know where she was instantly without thinking. I tried it once on a game night, the bar heavy with those watching the flat screen above the fireplace. Carlisle was elbows deep in the ice box because the machine had stopped working, had two servers screaming for him about a brawl in the men's bathroom. With a tray on my shoulder and a quick glance at our shortage, despite the fact that he was busy I still called out in a panic to him, "Esme?!"
He didn't look up. His foot lunged back to help him get a better stance as he ripped the largest hunk of ice from the bottom and said loud enough for me to hear, "Ladies loo, third stall. Someone wrote something plain awful on the wall, she's trying to get it rubbed out."
Insane jealousy tore through my chest at that moment. It used to be that way with us. It used to be that in the middle of the afternoon I could walk in the door and smell him everywhere and know, just instinctively, that he was out back working on my truck or in town digging through the grocery store for something for dinner. I would know from the way the dishes were left on the counter or if his boots had left prints on the front walk if it had a been a good day or a bad day. Open curtains meant he got enough sleep the night before. Milk on the counter told me he left in a hurry, probably to meet Quil or Embry or help his father with some chores.
I spent the rest of the night watching them after that moment. Him knowing her and her knowing him the exact same way. Touching as they walked by, throwing smiles at the same time from across the crowded room. So cliché. So absolutely perfect.
I didn't smile a lot that night like normal. Didn't enjoy the roar of the crowd or show off my new bottle opening skills Carlisle had shown me against the bar. I kept to myself. Watching complacently, wishing despairingly.
I was used to it by now. I threw my bag in the back and tossed my coat in the room near the kitchen as I meandered toward the hostess stand. Half full already and we were just getting started.
Carlisle and Esme had inherited Seville's from Carlisle's father almost ten years ago, at an obviously young age, as they couldn't be older than thirty now. While he refused to change the atmosphere from the way his father kept it, dark and aged with rich woods and low lighting, the crowd had certainly shifted with time. Regular customers still come early most nights, the older men who grab a beer after work. Around nine, as they filter out and home after dinner the younger crowd comes in. He added a stage in the back and when there's not a game on Carlisle lights it up and lets the customers have free reign of the instruments. A piano, older than his father, sits in the far corner as well as a standing bass. He's been lucky so far that with the drinking and crowds nothings been broken. They seem to respect him and the facility. They all know Carlisle and Esme by first name.
I step behind the bar and finish putting the glasses up as Esme dries. Noticing me, she throws a soft smile as we work, though doesn't say anything. It's nice like that with her. Doesn't always have to be talking to know when I'm a little too tired to talk. She straightens the apron resting on her hips, touches Carlisle's waist as she walks past and heads to the kitchen to check on the runners. Dinner is done being served in an hour.
I hit my first table, note pad in hand. Two middle aged men are sipping from ale mugs, the last of their drinks swilling at the bottom.
"Gentlemen, I'll be taking over for Kat from here. Anything else I can get you?" I ask. They both shake their heads, too deep in conversation to really acknowledge what I'm asking and I place the tab Kat left me on the edge of their mat.
I bring two girls about my age another round of dirty martinis and clear the plates from Eli's usual booth. Club sandwich and Esme's Potato Soup. Same thing every night, same three bites left of the crust in the corner. He thanks me warmly and leaves a note as my tip which I shove hastily into my apron pocket. Between tonight's weekend crowd and what I made in dog money this week I'll be able to get that coat I've been eyeing for a month now. The coat Alice has been insisting she'd just buy me but I can't let her. She buys me too much as it is to add to my ever depleting wardrobe.
The night picks up before I know what's happened. The hostess, a new girl I don't really talk to often, keeps my tables full with those requesting my section and my arms are full within moments of bottles and empty glasses. I spot James and his friends at a table near the center of the room and make my way over.
"Are you cheating on me?" I ask coyly, with a smile and he looks up.
James is a fox, straight up. Between his devilishly adorable British accent and those eyes that flash in the dark of a crowded room, I am so head over heels it's sick. Alice doesn't like him. She claims any business man who keeps a pony tail with a suit is scum. Pony tail aside, he charms the socks off of me on a weekly basis when he comes in for a drink with friends. I can't bring myself to ask him more than "Do you want chips with that?" during the dinner hour, but still….a girl can dream.
His grin widens as he extends a hand and pulls me onto his lap, the place I usually am when he places an order. He turns to his friends as I take the total number of drinks on my pad.
"Bells, these are some friends from out of town. Friends, this is the best waitress in the entire city of London. Get ready for a good time," he calls to them and I can't help but blush. God, I'm such a 'tard. So obviously into him while his friends extend hello's.
"So that's four pints then?" I ask, turning to him. From this close I can see the flecks of almost gold in his eyes. I melt for those eyes.
"Too good for my section?" I ask and he chuckles, tossing eyes at the front door.
"I told that wench at the door but she said you were full. You'll take care of me, love, won't you?" he asks and his lips turn up in a hopeful smile.
"I'll- I'll tell Amy you're mine," I reassure him and like warm butter, melt as he runs a hand along my back in thanks.
"Of course you will, sweetheart." My cheeks are full on red now, I can feel it and from the mere touch of him I'm sweating through my shirt at the armpits. It's time to depart before I begin to weep.
I drop his order at the bar and grab the cocktail waiting for my next table as I do so. Swinging round I grab a handful of napkins from a stack, lifting the tray in my hands over heads as I walk past. Working here is a greater balancing act than ballet and while on a daily basis I've been known to almost sever most of my fingers simply because I'm that accident prone, I've seemed to perfect that art that is waitressing quickly. I like the busy feel of the place. It distracts me, it always keeps me moving and it's hard to drop a tray of pasta when I know the end result will be angry customers, angry bus boys and a disappointed Carlisle, who would never yell at me anyway. That only happened once. Never again, kids, never again.
As I drop off James' table's drinks, and he throws me a wink that causes me to trip into Esme as she walks by, I spot Emmett coming out of the storage room. Emmett is Carlise and Esme's nephew from the states, like Alice and myself. Working for them most nights as a bouncer and helping hand, he spends the majority of his days avoiding his school work and playing video games. Emmett is the perpetual student and lazy ass in disguise as a hulking Neanderthal, with the heart of a teddy bear. Confused? So was I when I first met him. Two conversations later it didn't take a lot to figure out just how simple Emmett really is.
In his left arm is a small, round table, the kind that sits taller than most for the front window and in the other arm are two stools. He calls to me as he walks past, gesturing as he does so.
"Bells, these are going in your section."
"What? I'm full up," I call back, looking to the crowd. A party of twelve sat down not half an hour ago and are already in need of refills.
"Carlise insists they go to you."
"I'm telling you, there's no room. I'm at limit!" I try as he gets further away.
"Well we're making room. Special customers," he says, with emphasis on the special. It's enough to pique my interest and I stop where I stand, my table's drinks hovering in my hands above them.
"Are we expecting the president?"
"Close. A Cullen," is all he answers. Cullen? Carlise's family?
I don't have to wonder for very long. I can see them standing at the front door.
Her, with blonde locks passed her shoulders and lips so red you'd swear they were on fire. She pulls the sleeves of her coat off to reveal the black dress she wears underneath and the stockings beneath the slit at her thigh. She's a goddess in black satin as she kisses Esme hello on both cheeks, draping her coat over her arm. I have no clue who she is but I want her hair. And her body. Hell, give me the whole package.
To her left, hovering in the doorway I can see a resemblance that's not in the girl's face. Emmett's shining eyes and the strong jaw, a grey coat fitted over a smaller frame. Still, it's obvious. The bored expression, the tired eyes, the drawn mouth and a mere wave in Esme's direction.
I've heard the stories. I know in a heartbeat who he is.
The infamous.
The overachiever.
The bane of Emmett's existence.
His older brother, Edward Cullen.