A/N: Thank you for all the nice reviews on the first chapter! Balticward was quite overwhelmed by the attention and has consequently gone off to sulk in a corner to hide his embarrassment. He'll be back soon.

Just to clear up any misapprehensions, my little waiter is just a buddy. Nothing hinky going on there.

~~ - ~~

February

The $20 lasted about as long as his impression of the mysterious woman who gave it to him. In other words, not very long at all.

Edward gleefully showed the $20 to the dishwasher, who told the story to Rose when she came back from her supper break. Who told Jessica the next day, who told everyone else who worked at the diner. Twice. Consequently, when Edward arrived on Wednesday for his evening shift, all his coworkers congratulated him on landing such a big tip. Poppy, standing by the kitchen door in her wide apron, gave him the stinkeye.

"She must have been in a generous mood," she said doubtfully, wiping her hands.

"Maybe Edward gave her something extra with her coffee," leered one of the busboys.

"Gross," said Edward, making a face. "She was old. Like, you know … maybe in her 30s. Or even her 40s." Poppy's face went slightly purple and Edward realized that he had just made an error. He sidled away, and took the long way around to the kitchen to get his order pad.

Needless to say, no one else tipped him $20 that week, not even the big table of 10 with the screaming twins. But the week ended well anyway with a wild party at a dance club downtown. Edward and his posse had partied until the wee hours. He woke up Sunday morning, hung over, with a vague memory of getting blown by some girl whose name he didn't remember – if he had ever gotten it at all.

Sunday was the busiest day of the week at Poppy's, with customers lining up outside the door for corned beef hash, platters of eggs, and lox and cream cheese piled high on toasted bagels. And coffee … lots and lots of coffee. Edward hustled as best he could with a thundering headache and a mouth that felt like it was lined with cotton batting.

Things slacked off a bit after 1 p.m., and Edward was wondering if he could take his break when Rose and Jessica suddenly came squealing with excitement around him. He winced at the shrill sound of their voices.

"So how much didja get?" asked Rose.

"Yeah, what did she leave you this time?" Jessica chimed in immediately. Edward stared at them, wishing they'd leave him alone so he could go have a smoke. They looked back at him expectantly.

"What are you talking about?" he asked. Rose looked at him a moment longer, then her expression hardened.

"You little prick," she said in a low voice. "You didn't recognize her, did you?"

"Recognize who?" he asked, bewildered.

"That lady … the one who left you the $20 you were bragging about last week. You just served her breakfast and didn't even recognize her. Even I recognized her, and I saw her a lot less than you did last weekend." Edward gave his head a shake, trying to clear the cobwebs. He had just done what? Rose eyed him more closely. "Dude, you're not high, are you?"

"No … no, I'm not. Really, I'm not." Well, he didn't think he was. He was pretty sure he wasn't. He cast his mind back, trying to remember. "Which table?" he asked.

"Table 8," said Rose, pointing behind them. "She left not five minutes ago." They all turned to see the busboy clearing away the little table for two. Edward thought for a moment, then laughed at Rose.

"Dumb ass," he said. "That wasn't her. That was some lady with her kid." He hadn't been paying attention to his customers today with all the rush and the hangover, but he remembered for sure that he had served a woman and a kid at that table. Edward didn't like children – they were loud, demanding, and they ate the lowest priced things on the menu. They required more work than adults (especially when they made messes), yet their parents never seemed to realize this and tip accordingly. But this one had struck him as being a bit more tolerable than most.

A little girl, he remembered, with brown hair. He had no idea how old she had been – old enough to order from the menu herself. Her mother … her mother had been …

"Eddie," called the busboy, waving the plastic tray at him. Edward plucked the tray from his hands. The bill was $23.01; the lone penny slid from one corner to the other as he picked up the twenty and three singles. With Jessica and Rose peering over his shoulders, he flipped up the little invoice then slammed it back down again.

"Ooooooooh!" shrieked Jessica. "Another $20 tip – and there's a NOTE on it!" She reached out with her manicured claws and snapped at the tray like an adder. Edward smacked her hand away roughly.

"Would you two just fuck off?" he snapped. "That's my tip and my receipt. Piss off." He held the tray against his chest, signaled to Poppy that he was taking his break, and fled to the men's room. He locked himself in the stall, feeling strangely nervous. Suddenly his headache felt much, much worse as he held up the invoice to read what was written there.

Tip #3: Always make eye contact with people. Don't just look – see.

Edward let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Eye contact, sure. She must have noticed that he didn't recognize her, and was telling him that he needed to pay attention to her. Just like all women wanted. This mystery figured out, he picked up the $20 and looked at what was written there. Probably her phone number.

Tip #4: Starting with yourself. Right now. Go look.

Irrationally, Edward looked over his shoulder as if he expected his customer to come popping out from behind the toilet. He was quite alone. But why did it suddenly feel like she was standing right there with him, waiting for him to do as she'd written? And why did he feel so uneasy at her instructions?

Slowly, Edward opened the stall door and stepped out into the washroom. He shuffled up to the sink, leaned over and looked in the mirror. His reflection stared back at him, merciless under the harsh fluorescents.

He looked … terrible.

Edward automatically checked out his hair first; it was artfully tousled as usual, with just enough gel to keep it from falling over his eyes. He knew it was one of his best assets, and he was very vain about it. But closer inspection showed it was dull and a bit clumpy on the side – he hadn't much time for proper personal hygiene after oversleeping this morning. His skin had an unhealthy tone to it, his normally high color muted by the excesses of the night before. All the smoking seemed to be catching up with him too; he could see tiny wrinkles developing around the corners of his mouth. Then he looked up into his own eyes.

He looked back at himself, his eyes bloodshot from last night's weed. Even the green of his irises looked weary. But the worst part was how dead his eyes were. It was like looking into the eyes of a character in a video game – blank, flat and empty. The comparison bothered him, and he turned away just as the door creaked open. It was Jasper Whitlock, one of his coworkers.

"You okay?" he asked. Edward nodded.

"Yeah. Just a bit hung over, is all." Edward splashed some cold water on his face and followed Jasper out the door. He took care not to look in the mirror again.

~~ - ~~

Two cigarettes, three glasses of water and a smoked turkey sandwich later, Edward went back to work. So … eye contact, he thought warily. It couldn't hurt to try. A couple entered the restaurant and he plucked two menus off the stack and approached them. Looking people in the eye and not sliding his glance away a few seconds later proved harder than he expected.

"Table for two?" he asked. The man smiled pleasantly and nodded. He noticed as he led them to a table that the woman was pregnant. She caught him looking at her bump and Edward smiled at her. The woman grinned back and patted the bulge in her middle.

"Soon it'll be a table for three," she said laughing. Edward handed them the menus and went to fetch coffee. They seem nice, he thought vaguely.

He spent the last few hours of his shift trying to remember to look people in the eye. Sometimes he forgot or his mind wandered, as it so often did. Or a pretty girl would walk by and his eyes would flicker away to look at her bum. (Edward was an ass man, always had been.) Plus, he discovered that it was really hard to pretend to be nice to people when he was this hung over. But he tried. He wasn't totally sure why he did.

His shift ended at 5 p.m., and he cashed out wearily. After all was said and done, he'd had a pretty decent day, with above-average tips. Did that eye contact shit really help? He wasn't sure. Maybe it was coincidence – Sunday was the best day at Poppy's. Still, it was interesting.

Exhausted, he drove home in his Lexus (ok, it was his father's Lexus), and arrived just in time to eat dinner with his family. Normally this would be an occasion to avoid for Edward, but tonight he was just too tired and hungry to complain. He sat down at the table with the rest of them.

He had been working so hard to look people in the eye throughout the day that he found himself unable to stop. As the potatoes and meat were passed around the table, Edward looked his mom full in the face for several seconds.

"Jesus, Mom, you look really tired," he blurted out. "Are you OK?"

There was total silence. Everyone at the table froze. Edward's brother, Emmett – four years his junior – suddenly kicked him hard under the table. Fourteen-year-old Alice tittered nervously as Edward jumped in his seat and gave Emmett the finger.

"Well," said Esme at last, putting aside the salad she had been serving herself. "I guess I do look tired. So do you. Did you have a busy day at work?" Everyone's head swiveled back toward Edward, and he started to feel intensely nervous under the scrutiny.

"Yeah," he grunted, slouching in his chair. Several moments passed, and things slowly went back to normal. After dinner, Edward went out on the back porch to have a cigarette; Emmett came out right behind him.

"Why were you guys so weird at dinner tonight?" Edward asked as he lit up. Emmett looked at him warily. Edward, still stuck in eye contact mode, examined his younger brother. Jesus, he's really getting big.

"Why were we being weird at dinner? Bro, you were the only one acting strange. That's the first time in ages that you've asked how anyone else felt. Or talked to Mom or Dad without telling them how much you hate them." Emmett continued in this vein for a while, but Edward tuned him out, distracted by how long he could make his cigarette ash before it fell off. Eventually, however, he heard Emmett say something in the background that caught his attention. He jerked his head up, dropping his cigarette altogether.

"Wait a minute. What did you just say?"

"That Mom's really tired from the weekend shift she's added to her schedule, and you need to …"

"What weekend shift? Why is Mom working weekends all of a sudden?" Emmett didn't answer, he just looked at him for a moment with a funny expression on his face. When he spoke again, it was like he was talking to a child.

"Mom took an extra nursing shift in Maternity on the weekends just before Christmas," he said softly. "It was her contribution toward paying off the family debt." Edward felt a hot rush of blood come to his face, and he looked away from Emmett, angry and ashamed all at the same time. His brother stood there a moment more, then turned and went back into the house, leaving Edward to his thoughts.

~~ - ~~

The rest of the week passed uneventfully. Edward continued to work on his eye contact with mixed results. Overall, his tips did seem to be up, and he had an easier time remembering what his customers looked like. On the downside, a huge guy with no neck threatened to bash his head in for staring at his girlfriend on Thursday afternoon.

During the lunch rush on Saturday, he glanced up from punching in an order to see Poppy bearing down on him, an odd expression on her face. Edward's first instinct was to run away, but he realized probably wouldn't get far.

"Edward," Poppy said. "Table 17 is yours."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice echoing with disbelief. "They asked for you. Said that you were such a pleasure last time you waited on them that they'd love to have you again if you were free."

Edward looked slowly over his shoulder, almost afraid of what he'd see. Sitting at Table 17, smiling brightly, was the pregnant lady he'd served last week with her husband beside her. A wave of relief came over him.

"Oh. Them. Yeah, they were really nice," he said, closing off the order and picking up his pad. But Poppy touched his shoulder first.

"You've done a good job this week, Edward. Keep it up." Startled, Edward nodded and went to serve his customers.

~~ - ~~

Sunday passed in a blur of customers. Edward had agreed to a double shift, but was wishing he hadn't by the time the lunch rush was over. He was wondering if he could hide the fact that his tips were increasing from his parents (and thereby keep the extra money for his own purposes), when he heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. He came out from behind the counter.

"Table for one?" he asked, looking her in the eye. The woman looked back, one eyebrow raised expectantly. He paused, confused, then recognition flooded in. "Oh!" He smiled, a real smile, one that didn't feel wrong on his face.

"Hi, kiddo," she said, smiling back. "Just dropped by for coffee." Edward seated her and fetched a coffee. When he returned, she was tapping away on a BlackBerry, so he tended to his other customers. His benefactor sat quietly at her table, minding her own affairs, and Edward felt very awkward indeed. Was he supposed to talk to her? Thank her? Ask her if she always went around giving wait staff advice off the cuff? Jesus, I need a cigarette!

"Sweep the floor, would you?" Poppy said, putting the broom in his hand. Relieved at having something to do, Edward swept up with great intensity.

"How is it that people make such big messes in restaurants?" he asked as he swept around the woman's table. "I mean, do you think they make messes like this at home?"

"No," she replied, amused. "That's the whole point of going to a restaurant. Someone else does all the work." She waggled her empty cup at him. "Can I get some more, please?"

And so it went for the next 30 minutes. During this time, Edward felt like a complete fucking idiot because he had no idea how to carry on a conversation with … well, with an older woman who didn't appear to be actively attempting to get into his pants. But she must be, right? Why else would she do this shit?

The woman, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content to read on her BlackBerry, trade desultory conversation with Edward and drink coffee. Which she did in great quantity, steadily throwing back five cups of the stuff, black, in the time she was there.

The bell rang in the kitchen, indicating an order was up. Edward went in, picked up the meals for one of his other tables and delivered them. (He even remembered who had ordered which meal.) After trotting back and forth for ketchup and soda refills, he turned back to his mystery woman to see if she needed cup number six yet.

The table was empty.

"Holy shit," he mumbled. What was she, the frigging Flash?

"Oh, don't worry about your table, Edward," said Poppy from behind the counter. "She got a call about a family emergency and had to leave. I comped her and sent her on her way."

"You did WHAT?" Edward said, loudly enough to make the table he had just served look over at him. Poppy gave him a warning look and came around the counter.

"I comped her," she repeated. "We do that for regular customers sometimes, especially when it's just a coffee order. Besides, she had to be on her way in a hurry. She seems to be a nice woman, has a family, looking for a neighborhood place to call her own. And she's clearly got money."

"But …" Edward sputtered, "where's my tip?" Poppy looked at him, disgusted.

"Maybe you didn't hear me clearly," she said dangerously. "She got a call about a family emergency and had to leave."

"Oh," said Edward, belatedly realizing he had fucked up. He thought about the situation for a moment. "Well, maybe she'll come back later and give me my tip." Poppy threw up her hands in disbelief and stalked back toward the kitchen. Edward thought some more.

"Wait!" he called. Poppy stopped and glared back at him. "Did she leave like … a note? Or give you a message for me?"

His boss's face went from anger to … something else. Suspicion, maybe. Surprise.

"She did."

"Why didn't you say so?" said Edward, outraged. "Where is it?"

"She didn't have time to write one," said Poppy. "And she told me only to tell you if you asked specifically for it – not if you only asked for the money." Edward wondered how the woman always seemed to be able to predict his reactions to things.

"Well, what did she say?" he asked, suddenly feeling foolish.

"She said to tell you that practice makes perfect. And that she'd be gone for a while, but not to worry, she'd be back."

~~ - ~~

A/N: I'm travelling on business next week but the adventures of Shalloward will continue. He has a verra long way to go. Read 'n review!