Chapter 4: The Water Glass Refill
I told myself the pitcher would keep me busy. That was the reason I picked it up instead of letting Marco do the waters. If my hands were full I wouldn't have to stand there empty while he looked at me.
The dining room had filled while I'd been at the station. The chandeliers threw that same warm light over every table, and the mirrors doubled it, but our corner felt tighter now. I came in from the service side with the glass pitcher balanced on my tray, a folded white towel over my forearm. My blazer had ridden up a little at the shoulder and I didn't fix it.
He was still standing. He hadn't taken his chair at all, one hand resting on the back of hers, the other near his tie chain. She had her wine glass turned in her fingers but she wasn't drinking. When she saw me she straightened her shoulders and tried to smile. It didn't reach her eyes.
"Water for the table," I said. It was the steadiest sentence I'd managed all night.
I set the tray on the edge and lifted the pitcher. I went to her glass first because she was closest and because it gave me a reason not to look at him right away. The water poured clean and quiet. I kept the pitcher low so it wouldn't splash.
"Thank you," she said softly.
He leaned in as I moved around the table to his side. I could feel him shift to close the distance I was trying to keep. I kept the table between us and the tray up against my hip like a small wall.
"You're careful," he said. He wasn't talking about the water. His eyes stayed on my face longer than service required, then dropped. "Those earrings. Are they new? They catch the light when you move."
It was such a small thing to say somewhere else. In the restaurant, with his voice pitched low and his gaze locked on mine, it felt like a test to see if I'd answer something personal. I didn't want him looking that close at any part of me.
I tipped the pitcher over his glass and kept my eyes on the water line. My breathing was shallow and I could hear it.
"They're just from work," I said. "Standard."
He smiled a little at that, like I'd given him something to play with. "Nothing standard about them on you. And the blazer. Did they make you wear that? It looks fitted."
My hand tightened on the handle. I finished the pour and lifted the pitcher straight up so I wouldn't drip on the white cloth. I stepped back half a step and brought the tray up again, both hands on it now. The silver rim of it caught the light.
"It's the uniform," I said. I kept it flat and professional. I didn't add anything else.
He held the eye contact. I made myself look at the rim of his glass instead, then at the bread basket I still had to deliver. That was my out. I slid the small wooden board with the sliced sourdough onto the table near the center, using the reach to keep my body turned away from him. My patterned top showed just at the collar of the blazer, and I wished I'd buttoned it higher that morning.
From the corner of my eye I saw her watching him, not me. Her mouth had gone tight. Earlier she had looked surprised and worried, like she didn't want a scene. Now something had hardened. Her brows pulled together and she set her wine glass down a little too firmly. She wasn't looking at me with concern anymore. She was looking at him like she was tired of this exact moment happening.
He didn't notice, or he pretended not to.
"You haven't steered us wrong yet," he said, still to me, his voice easy, as if we were the only two talking. "Tell me something. If we stayed for another glass, what would you have? You've got good taste, I can tell."
The question was casual but it required me to stay. It wasn't about the pour or the bread. It was about keeping me at the table on his terms. The woman in red exhaled through her nose, just audible, and folded her hands in her lap. Her diamond necklace caught the light when she moved, and her chandelier earrings didn't move at all because she was holding so still.
I adjusted the tray against me and glanced toward the kitchen doors where I knew Marco and the manager could see us in the mirror. I needed the answer to be service and nothing more.
"I can bring the list back if you'd like," I said. "We have a few by the glass that pair well with what you ordered. It'll just take a moment to check what's open."
It wasn't a no, but it wasn't what he wanted. It gave me a reason to leave and a reason to come back that was on the clock, not his.
He tilted his head. "Bring it back then. Take your time. I'd rather hear what you like."
She looked away from him then, toward the arched mirror on the wall, her jaw set. The warmth that had been in her face when I'd first approached was gone, replaced by that controlled annoyance that she wasn't bothering to hide anymore.
May you like
I nodded once, picked up the tray, and felt the pitcher shift its weight. "I'll be right back with it," I said.
Neither of them answered right away. I turned before he could find another detail to comment on, and felt the cold air from the service corridor as I walked.
