Brigit's Flame Entry Week 3: TRUTH
I'm really closing in on the deadline here. Only 26 minutes left! My story for the prompt "Truth" is the first of several parts. More with these two characters will follow later.
“The truth is,” Jeremy said to the young woman waiting to take his order, “what I really want is not on this menu.” He smiled then, his sweet blue eyes taking in the details of her pretty face.
“So,” she answered, drawing the word out a little flirtatious lilt, “what exactly would that be then?”
Their eyes held a second.
“What time do you get off work?”
“Around 4:00.”
“Can I come back around at 4:00? We could take a walk, get some dinner . . . Somewhere else, of course.”
“Sure. But I’ll just be wearing this.” She indicated the blue jeans and T-Shirt under the service apron.
“Good enough for me,” Jeremy responded with a smile. “I guess right now I’ll just have a cup of the soup. That should hold me until 4:00.”
Serena walked back to the kitchen, holding the image of his smile like a gift. She had seen Jeremy in the restaurant often over the last couple of months, ever since she had begun working there on weeknights and Saturdays, shortly after her 16th birthday. She had noticed his blue eyes, especially aware that they were watching her as she moved about the tables. Serena never felt particularly beautiful at work, with her black curls pulled back in a ponytail, little makeup, and wearing jeans and a T-shirt emblazoned with the restaurant’s logo: a small yellow chicken with it’s mouth open as if singing. La Peep was a quaint, comfortable café that catered to an arty, upscale crowd, and she loved working there. She also knew that she was lucky to have a position at the restaurant, as the other wait staff was over 18. Her dad knew the owner and had pulled some strings for her. Serena was naturally beautiful. Her dark eyes were large and wide, her lips full, and her figure rounded without being lush.
Jeremy had made a habit of eating at La Peep several times a week, a luxury, really. But he like the food and the atmosphere; and for the last two months, he liked the idea of seeing Serena and perhaps talking with her. It had taken him all this time to work up the courage to suggest seeing her, and, as he waited for his lobster bisque, was nearly stunned with the prospect of spending time with her that evening. He sipped the hot soup slowly, anticipating his hand touching hers, their lips meeting tenderly in a kiss. Maybe he could even ask her back to his studio. The idea of holding her close surrounded by waves of music warmed him with desire. Maybe, eventually, she would even model for him.
Jeremy was an artist, mostly of the struggling variety. He held a job at Lowe’s which brought in enough to pay for his studio, keep it warm, and provide sufficient nourishment for a single 35 year old with a slim frame. But Jeremy’s passion was beauty and he expressed it in painting. The studio was lined with his oils and acrylics, waiting for an opportunity for a showing. His big chance. He went to art galleries and openings, had business cards printed up and left them with anyone he thought could help him get his break. Nothing had developed so far, however.
“But,” he thought as he paid for the soup at the cash register and gave a wink to Serena, who was across the room taking another order, “maybe I’ve finally met my muse.”
“The truth is,” Jeremy said to the young woman waiting to take his order, “what I really want is not on this menu.” He smiled then, his sweet blue eyes taking in the details of her pretty face.
“So,” she answered, drawing the word out a little flirtatious lilt, “what exactly would that be then?”
Their eyes held a second.
“What time do you get off work?”
“Around 4:00.”
“Can I come back around at 4:00? We could take a walk, get some dinner . . . Somewhere else, of course.”
“Sure. But I’ll just be wearing this.” She indicated the blue jeans and T-Shirt under the service apron.
“Good enough for me,” Jeremy responded with a smile. “I guess right now I’ll just have a cup of the soup. That should hold me until 4:00.”
Serena walked back to the kitchen, holding the image of his smile like a gift. She had seen Jeremy in the restaurant often over the last couple of months, ever since she had begun working there on weeknights and Saturdays, shortly after her 16th birthday. She had noticed his blue eyes, especially aware that they were watching her as she moved about the tables. Serena never felt particularly beautiful at work, with her black curls pulled back in a ponytail, little makeup, and wearing jeans and a T-shirt emblazoned with the restaurant’s logo: a small yellow chicken with it’s mouth open as if singing. La Peep was a quaint, comfortable café that catered to an arty, upscale crowd, and she loved working there. She also knew that she was lucky to have a position at the restaurant, as the other wait staff was over 18. Her dad knew the owner and had pulled some strings for her. Serena was naturally beautiful. Her dark eyes were large and wide, her lips full, and her figure rounded without being lush.
Jeremy had made a habit of eating at La Peep several times a week, a luxury, really. But he like the food and the atmosphere; and for the last two months, he liked the idea of seeing Serena and perhaps talking with her. It had taken him all this time to work up the courage to suggest seeing her, and, as he waited for his lobster bisque, was nearly stunned with the prospect of spending time with her that evening. He sipped the hot soup slowly, anticipating his hand touching hers, their lips meeting tenderly in a kiss. Maybe he could even ask her back to his studio. The idea of holding her close surrounded by waves of music warmed him with desire. Maybe, eventually, she would even model for him.
Jeremy was an artist, mostly of the struggling variety. He held a job at Lowe’s which brought in enough to pay for his studio, keep it warm, and provide sufficient nourishment for a single 35 year old with a slim frame. But Jeremy’s passion was beauty and he expressed it in painting. The studio was lined with his oils and acrylics, waiting for an opportunity for a showing. His big chance. He went to art galleries and openings, had business cards printed up and left them with anyone he thought could help him get his break. Nothing had developed so far, however.
“But,” he thought as he paid for the soup at the cash register and gave a wink to Serena, who was across the room taking another order, “maybe I’ve finally met my muse.”