Chapter 12 - Second Order at the Same Table
He took the same table.
I saw it from behind the counter when the door beeped at 12:40. Matteo Morealio didn't look around for a clean booth or an empty corner. He walked straight to the light wood table by the brick wall, the one with the wobble in the front left leg, and sat down facing the windows. The bald associate took the chair across from him with his back to the door, which told me enough. They weren't hiding.
My hands were already moving. I wiped down the tray line, checked the cups. Rosa glanced at me over the fries.
"You want me to take them?" she asked low.
I shook my head. "They're mine."
I didn't feel brave. I felt the shift schedule taped under the register, and my rent, and the way my ponytail had come a little loose during the lunch rush. I redid it. Pulled it tight. Smoothed the front of my maroon polo and made sure my black apron strings were tied flat. Routine steadied my breathing.
I built the order the way I had that first day. Black tray. White disposable cup with the yellow arch logo filled with ice and Coke. Small burger box closed square. Two napkins. No extra salt packets he hadn't asked for. I checked the cup for condensation and wiped the base with a bar rag so it wouldn't leave a ring.
When I turned, he was watching me come.
The dining area was half full. A mom with two kids by the play corner. Two high school boys sharing fries at the long table. An older man reading a paper near the windows. Daylight cut hard across the light wood tables. The warm overheads buzzed faint. The smell was grease and cleaner and cold soda.
I stopped at the edge of his table, not too close. The associate looked up first, then back down at his phone. Matteo kept his eyes on the tray.
"Afternoon," I said. My voice came out even. "What can I get you?"
He nodded at what I was carrying. "That. Same as last time. Cheeseburger, no onions. Coke."
It was already that. I set the tray down in the center of the table with both hands, then lifted the cup off and placed it to his right, the burger box to the left. Same setup as before. Deliberate. He noticed. A small flicker passed across his face.
"Anything else?" I asked.
" Sit for a minute?" he said. Not an order. He gestured to the empty chair at the end, half pulled out.
I didn't sit. "I'm on the clock. I can stand for a minute."
The associate shifted in his seat. I felt his attention move to the door, then back to the boys laughing too loud, then to me. Assessment, not threat yet. Still, I kept my weight balanced, feet apart, tray now empty against my forearm like a shield I knew how to hold.
Matteo leaned back in the chair. Gray suit jacket over black shirt, open at the collar. The neck tattoo showed dark against his skin when he turned his head toward the window, then back to me. His hands stayed flat on the table. No rings. The ink on his knuckles flexed when he tapped once.
"I was out of line the other day," he said. "My phrasing."
Out of line. Phrasing. He chose the words like he was paying with exact change.
I waited. A pause stretched. The ice cracked in his cup.
"You mean the born to serve part," I said.
He gave a short nod. "Yeah. That part."
I looked at him directly. My breathing stayed slow through my nose. I could feel Rosa watching from the counter without turning to check.
"I accept the correction," I said. "But here's how it works at my tables. You can be short. You can be particular. You can't talk to me or anyone here like we're less than you. If you need something, say it plain."
He held my gaze. The daylight from the large windows caught the side of his slicked-back hair. For a second he looked younger, then the control came back into his expression.
"Fair," he said. "Plain it is."
The associate made a low sound, not quite a laugh. Matteo didn't look at him.
I shifted the empty tray to both hands in front of me. "Do you want the burger heated longer? The lunch batch sits sometimes."
"No," Matteo said. "As is is fine."
He opened the burger box. Checked inside. Closed it again without eating. Same as last time, a refusal made to look casual. The kid at the next table stared at his tattoos until his mom pulled his sleeve.
I didn't move away yet. The ritual wasn't done. "Condiments are by the window if you need them," I said. "Receipt's under the box if you want to check it."
He lifted the box, found the small slip, set it back down. "You're good at this," he said.
"I'm good at a lot of things," I said. "This is the one I'm doing right now."
That landed. His mouth tightened, then eased. He picked up the cup, took a sip through the straw, set it down precisely on the dry spot I'd made. No ring. He'd noticed that too.
"We understand each other?" he asked.
"We understand the rules for this table," I said.
He nodded once, slow. Not friendly. Not backing down either. Acknowledgment was all it was. The associate glanced at me again, longer this time, then gave Matteo a minimal nod like he'd filed something away.
I stepped back from the table edge. "I'll check back in a few minutes."
I walked to the counter with the empty tray against my side, feeling their eyes between my shoulders all the way across the tile. Rosa handed me a wet rag without a word. I wiped down the next tray.
May you like
Through the pass window I could see them in the reflection. Matteo still hadn't eaten. The burger sat closed. The Coke sweated slowly in the daylight. He leaned toward the associate and said something too low to hear, and the associate answered without moving his mouth much.
I stayed where I could see the table. Mutual, for now. Nothing trusted.
