Page 4 of With A Little Luck

Chapter Three

Quincy

A fter working here for so long, I’ve come to know a lot of the regulars. Some order the same thing every visit. Some try something new on occasion. Others never have the same dish twice until they run out of new things to try. Everyone is different, and I find it fascinating.

Most of the time, I’ll see a regular at the same time every day that they come in.

Some come in daily.

Others pop in for special occasions, like a Friday night date, but it’s almost always around the same time of day.

My newest regular is a bit of an enigma. He always asks to be seated at the booth the farthest from the door, and he always sits on the same side of the table. Perhaps he just likes to people-watch, but I find it cute that he has such a solid routine.

He orders the same thing every visit, no matter if he comes at seven a.m. or if he drops by during dinner hours.

I still always make sure to check before putting his order in. Pushing the cup against the soda machine, I wait for the Dr Pepper to bubble to the top. Grabbing the cup, a straw, a set of silverware, and a few extra napkins, I make my way to his table.

Sometimes I wish I knew his name so I could be more personable. Also because it drives me crazy that I don’t know it.

If he paid with a credit card, I wouldn’t be above peeking at his info that way.

Only, he always pays cash.

He leaves a twenty for his meal, even though it only comes out to a little over fifteen dollars.

The leftover four dollars and change would be more than a twenty-percent tip, but every single time he comes in, he tips a crisp hundred-dollar bill in addition to telling me to keep the change from the twenty.

I’m kind of terrified of what happens if he ever gets tired of the food here. Without his generosity, I’d be in even worse shape than I already am.

Babies are damn expensive, and she’s not even here yet.

God, I really need to figure out his name.

That way, I can stop calling him “Smoking-Hot Regular” in my head. Sometimes SHR for short when I’m feeling lazy.

I’ve never met anyone who looks quite like he does. He has short black hair that’s shaved close on the sides, cheekbones a model would kill for, and a jawline sharper than cut glass. He alternates between being clean-shaven and having a few days of growth in short stubble.

I’m normally all about a beard, but for him… I could make an exception.

I nearly snort as I approach the table. Much like Hartley is a million times out of my league, so is Smoking-Hot Regular.

Placing down his soda and all the other things I brought over, I shove my hair behind my ear. “The usual?”

“Yes, please.” His head tilts almost animalistically as his dark eyes assess me from behind his black-frame glasses. “Are you under the weather?”

“Just tired,” I say, offering a polite smile.

Some guys might look nerdy with glasses, but SHR manages to pull them off in a way that makes him look almost dangerous. Or that could be the multitude of muscles under his black button-down.

Or the fact that he’s covered in ink.

The front and right sides of his neck boast black roses, while the left side has playing cards in all four suits. More tattoos hide under the neckline of his shirt. I’ve gotten a peek before, and I believe he has wings with a phrase located just under his clavicles.

I’ve played the guessing game a few times when he had the top button or two undone on his shirt, but I’ve never been able to get an up close view.

He leans forward, grabbing his straw and opening it before popping it into his soda. “If you’re feeling rundown, it might be time to consider taking a break from work until after the baby arrives.”

“At this rate, I’ll be working until I give birth.” I snort. “I’ll put your order in.”

“I appreciate it.” He lifts his drink, and thick lips wrap around his straw as he takes a drink of his Dr Pepper.

And that’s my cue to exit…

SHR must love our club sandwiches. He always gets it with no tomato and a side of fries, even during breakfast hours, and he adds on a side salad with extra ranch dressing.

We’re one of the few restaurants that serves the entire menu all day, but I don’t love salads for lunch or dinner, so I would never willingly spring for one for breakfast.

Then again, that’s probably why he looks like that, while I look like…

“Here you go.” I smile and place his sandwich and fries in front of him. The other hand holds his side salad and extra dressing on another plate, and I put it within reach. “Can I get you anything else?”

“I’m good,” he says, shoving his glasses up. “Are you not sleeping well?”

I laugh, shaking my head.

He’s terrible at small talk.

Any time we chat while I take his order or deliver his food, he’s straight to the point with his questions.

After all the talking in circles that Pete did, I find it more endearing than I probably should. It’s refreshing when someone says what they mean, so I don’t have to spend time trying to decipher what he’s thinking.

“As it turns out, an eight-month-pregnant belly is even harder to sleep with than a seven-month-pregnant belly.” I shrug, running my hand over my stomach. “But I’m hanging in there.” I smile, nodding to the table. “Enjoy your food while it’s warm. I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Quincy.”

By the time I check on my other tables, visit the bathroom, and pop back to check on SHR, he’s gone.

I frown.

His food is barely touched.

Damn.

Could there have been something wrong with it?

There’s a napkin with writing stuck under the edge of the plate. I grab it and find two hundred-dollar bills as I’m pulling it out.

Shit.

I wasn’t trying to guilt him into tipping more . He already leaves like a six- or seven-hundred-percent tip. I mean, I’m not great at math, but this is above and beyond.

Shoving the cash into my apron, I read the note.

Quincy,

I’m afraid I had to cut this meal short. I was called into work at the last minute, but I want you to have my number.

If you need anything, call me.

Trigg

Just below his name is a phone number.

My jaw falls.

Okay, he even has a sexy name.

I’m not sure if I could get in trouble for taking a customer’s phone number, but I fold it up and shove it in my back pocket before I can stop myself.

See, that is very sweet.

Not creepy, right?

No.

Trigg is always courteous. He might be direct, but he’s just a little socially awkward. He reminds me a lot of my best friend from when I was growing up.

I’m not letting Hart get in my head.

I’m sure Trigg was just trying to look out for me in his own way.