"Good evening sir, could I take your order please?" You smile politely to the man, taking in the sharp image of his pristine suit - probably bought solely for tonight. And the crisp line of his haircut, probably done by someone that was in business purely because of his payment. You weren't being judgemental - if he had enough money to eat here, he had enough money for all of that to be true.
He lists off his order and you bow your head politely, remembering the order since writing it down was apparently below the status of a, restaurant like this. You absolutely despised it here. The uniform was far too uncomfortable and your hair always felt way too tight in the bun on your head. The customers always looked like they could've been made in the same factory and they all spoke to you in the same, rude tone.
As you typed the order into the computer to be sent off to the chefs, your eyes caught sight of the door. And you realised that your previous thoughts on customers fell flat when this anomaly walked in.
He had become a regular customer - coming from the well-known Osterfield family that even owned their own table here. And he always, always, requested your service. Once, they even called you into work because of his demand. It irritated you that you never knew why - your boss told you to never ask.
"Good evening sir," You begin, walking to the front of the restaurant to greet him, "May we take your coat?"
"Oh, please, don't keep calling me sir," He rolls his eyes, hands tugging the coat from his shoulders, "But, yes, thank you,"
"Please, follow me," You nod, picking up the menu book and guiding him across to the even posher side of this posh-enough place.
"So, do I get to find out your name today?" He asks as he follows after you, winding through the tables until he reaches the one for his name.
"The specials are listed on the front page and there will be a bartender arriving soon to make your drink for you," You recite the typical run-through, brushing past his regular comment, "Do you have any other requests, sir?"
The boy brushes a hand through his messy curls and looks up, blue eyes sharp enough to break you, "I'll speak to your manager, madam,"
Your lips part slightly as the smirk grows on his own and you mentally kick yourself for wanting to melt at his handsome nature. You were sure he did this at every other restaurant, to every other girl. You were one in a sea of many hopefuls. So you quickly lost that hope.
Bowing your head, you walk over to the door where your manager was greeting a customer who had travelled from Dubai to be here. Really? The food isn't that good is it?!
"Miss, Harrison Osterfield would like to speak to you," You say to her, still feeling sick with nerves whenever you had to converse with such a powerful woman. She could fire you in a heartbeat and all hopes of earning enough money from here would be lost.
She frowns and hurries over, greeting the loyal customer before discussing his issue in hushed tones.
"Mr Osterfield has requested that you join him for dinner, you are off work. Enjoy your night," She rushes off, partly because she didn't want to argue with you to stay.
So you're left there. In a matter of seconds going from work to... This? You turn to face Harrison and raise your brows as he looks at you with an expectant smile from the other side of his grand table.
"Please, sit," He encourages, pulling out the chair beside him for you to take.
"I-" You glance back to your manager who is staring daggers at you from across the hall and take a deep sigh, sitting down cautiously in the chair.
Beside his pristine suit, your uniform felt highly unflattering and you found yourself brushing over the material like it would help even remotely.
"Don't worry about how you look," Harrison comments quickly, "I just want to get to know you a little,"
You scoff without being able to stop the instinctive response, "Why would you want to do that?"
"Because I see you here all the time, and I think there's a lot I don't know," He swirls the water in his cup, "So, can I at least get your name?"
You eye him with suspicion, "It's (Y/n),"
He nods slowly, "So, tell me all about yourself, (Y/n)," He appeared far too smug to finally be able to say your name - why did he care to know?
"I'm twenty two years old, I grew up in the countryside and then moved to London for this job, mainly because I couldn't afford to miss out on the pay," You explain quickly, brushing your hands over your apron, "And I think that's pretty much it,"
"Can I take your order?" One of your coworkers stands opposite you on the table and you feel ridiculously uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of such question.
"We'll have the-" Harrison begins, reciting off dishes from the menu that you only knew the name of, not what they included or tasted like at all.
When the waitor disappears, Harrison turns all of his attention to you, shifting slightly in his chair.
"What about you?" You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling the scent of his aftershave tickling in this warm setting.
"My name is Harrison Osterfield, but just call me Haz. I grew up in a family with more money than they know what to do with and I've been spending every day since trying to make myself more than the Osterfield son," He smirks, taking a sip of the whiskey that had been set in front of him, "Though the title does come with its perks,"
You smirk and look down to your hands in your lap, blushing slightly to have so much attention on here.
"Why do you do it? You're here all the time and it doesn't seem like your ideal career,"
"Well I-" You stop and look up to catch his bright eyes in this dim light, "I want to travel. Yeah, my dream is to set up a culinary school to teach underprivileged children how to cook with what's around them and to find passion in the art," You're really blushing now - you'd never truly told that to anyone.
"That's -" Harrison clears his throat, "Wow, I mean, that's incredible,"
You smile and quickly avert your eyes once more, "I still want to know, though, why me? You could do this with any other girl at any other place, any other time. Why did you have to make me sit here and have dinner with you?"
"Well, I'd like to think I'm not forcing you to stay," He laughs and the corners of his eyes crinkle with warmth, "You are truly fascinating in your work. I see you here and you love it! You go to every customer and still smile and do your job perfectly. And then you come to me and my family and always do the same. But it's a complete and utter act!" He chuckles and you find yourself chuckling too, "You clearly hate it here and I wanted to know why. I wanted to know what dream you had that was forcing you to stay,"
"Seems like you've done quite the analysis," You mumble.
"And what did you analyse about me?" He asks with a cock of his arched brow, clasping his hands on the table and turning even further in your direction.
You look at him and take in the full details of his handsomeness. He has lips littered with a desperation to be kissed and a sunkissed flash to his skin, chilled only by the icy nature of his eyes and the sharp set of his jaw.
"You're an anomaly," You shrug and watch his confusion build, "I see people walk in and out of here and they ask the same questions, make the same requests and give the same looks to all of us. And then you come in. And you're wearing jeans and trainers and you're staying at the table until we close and you're asking about our days and you're asking for my name and- and you break the expectation that I have for every customer to be an absolute asshole!"
He looks down at his hands and you're sure when he looks up again it's one of those looks from the movies that you wish you'd be on the receiving end of.
"Well, I'm glad to be your anomaly,"
When you just think he's about to lean in, you're interrupted by the arrival of your food.
"Enjoy," The waitor smiles and leaves you once again.
You're overwhelmed to say the least - the plates all filled with flavours you couldn't possibly think you'd ever get to try.
"I-" You stop yourself, "I don't know where to start,"
Harrison smiles and decides to reach his fork into one of the dishes, collecting a piece of each item on the china before lifting it up, "Take a bite,"
You eat from the fork and already feel way beyond your depth as the flavours utterly explode, your chef-heart fluttering just a little.
"Well?" Harrison cocks a brow, "Is it as good as your food?"
You smirk, "Nothing is as good as my food... But I guess we could call it an anomaly,"
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