*Author's Note: This story contains subject matter that includes extramarital sex. If this topic offends you, please do not read this story.*
*
Otherwise immersed in worlds beyond my own, the soft rustling near my table prompted me to look up – however solemnly – from the worn pages of my tattered novel. I first noticed the empty, pitch-black night that surrounded me. A night which was empty despite the sizeable gatherings, outside, of perfectly preened women gathering in groups to dance amongst equally preened men at the flashy club across the street, with its large, gaudy sign – a beacon to the masses. It was empty despite the scattered patrons whom, for tonight and tonight alone, shared the scene inside of the posh little café where I often made my home. It was empty because I was empty, as it was sad because I was sad.
Finally my attention drifted, at least partially, to my server, patiently waiting at my corner table for some acknowledgement. "Would you like another mocha?" he asked diligently at the first hint that I would answer him.
Slowly I smiled at this, at him. He quieted a moment, thinking, and asked suddenly, "Are you alright?" I looked at him them, confused, and saw him for the first time that evening. He was a handsome, bright-looking young man of about twenty-five. His pale, cropped brown hair sat neatly upon his head, accentuating his pale, hazel eyes and fair skin. He was virile looking, and seemed genuinely concerned, thus I refused to answer with the whole truth, as I wished, suddenly, not to depress him.
I faked a grin and answered politely, "Yes... for the most part. If you could poison my husband, I would be substantially better. It's a light and happy thought, no?" My mood elevating at the though of poisoning my spouse, I smiled a genuine smile for the first time that evening. "I have to say, this is the best I've felt in a week. While it makes for good material, I'm not too far from being serious about the entire spouse situation. However, that is not what you asked, and I suppose I should simply answer your question and move along."
"No, feel free... I'm enjoying the conversation...." his voice trailed off, quickly scanning the handful of patrons in the entire establishment, all of whom were being tended to by other help. He quickly added, "Besides, it's not like I'm in great demand."
"Well, the articulate conversation is a welcomed reprieve for me, certainly. Rest assured that I don't have even this level of exchange at home."
"That's unfortunate, as you seem pretty bright. What do you do for a living?"
"Oh," I countered, pausing, hesitant to tell this stranger what I did for a living. "Well, I'm actually a sales manager for a pharmaceutical company."
"Really? That's neat..." he hesitated, "but, do you enjoy it?"
I looked into his hazel eyes, interested in what he was saying, as it was clearly genuine. I smiled, then, and raised an eyebrow, "Honestly?"
He nodded, smiling.
"No, not at all," I replied bluntly, "I absolutely hate what I do. I used to be the Vice President of Marketing, actually, but I disliked that more, so I stepped down. I have an education worth nearly one hundred thousand dollars and I can't find a job I like. Life is indeed ironic, no? But, here's the icing on the cake – I used work for an old, eccentric attorney as his assistant, and I enjoyed that more. However, part of me reasoned I couldn't do that forever, as I didn't make any money at it. However, I used to wake up every morning excited to take the bus downtown to get to my tiny office. Go figure."
"That's what's really important, I think. The staff laughs at me for waiting tables, but it's what I like to do."
"Hold on, you lost me... the staff laughs at the other wait staff? Don't get me wrong... I waited tables through college and have nothing but the utmost respect, but... why are they laughing?"
"Oh, because I own this place. I guess I didn't mention that?" he seemed apologetic, which was clearly unnecessary, but still endearing.
"No, you didn't, but it's interesting, nonetheless. For how long have you owned it?"
"Since I opened it about ten years ago. I opened its sister stores about three years ago when this place started doing so well. I prefer this location, still, if I want to actually roll my sleeves up and serve food. The people are more interesting."
He caught my gaze at that moment and held my eye. What I saw in his gaze made me stammer. I saw in him a spark, a life, a passion – a desire for something more than he was, more than any one of us is individually. I saw more in his eyes what I had seen in my eyes, only years before – when I was fresher. It wasn't that I was old – quite the contrary – but I was defeated. I saw in his eyes more than I had in the cold, dead eyes of my husband in longer than I could remember. I found myself suddenly drawn to the handsome waiter/owner standing at my table as he spoke... not at me, not to me, but with me. I smiled, then, and so did he. I felt alive as I watched his eyes glisten in the dim light.
I noticed that he had begun to slouch a bit, shifting his weight from standing in one place for so long. I smiled, again, and gestured toward the seat across from me, "Why don't you sit down?"
Looking almost embarrassed, he smiled and pulled the chair slowly, almost hesitantly away from the table. "Well, okay...."
I paused as he sat down. Thinking about what I was doing, I laughed subtly and inquired, "I don't mean to sound ridiculous, but, I don't know your name, yet."
A wide, genuine smile crossed his soft, pink lips even as the words left my mouth. He chuckled softly, delicately – as if cradling me with his warm laughter – and spoke, "I think I'm going to fire myself as a waiter. I ask the staff to say, 'Good evening and welcome to Zavi. My name is such-and-such, and I'll be your server, this evening.'" He paused, chuckling again. I watched his eyes as he laughed his warm, honest laughter in which I found myself oddly enraptured. "So, at my own request," he answered, "I'm David."
"Well, then, David," I began, extending my arm to shake his hand, "it's nice to formally meet you. I'm Regan." He smiled as I spoke my name, taking my hand in his. Instead of the handshake I was expecting, he slowly drew my arm to his lips, kissing my hand softly. His lips and his skin were warm to the touch and felt good against my hand. My palm brushed against his and, though the sensation was slight, caught my immediate attention. I blushed for the way I was feeling, afraid it was showing on my face.
He paused, also blushing slightly, then caught my eye directly. His lips parted slightly and my name rolled off of his tongue, slowly, almost lethargically, as if he were savoring the taste of it. "Ree-gan... what a pretty name."
"Well, thank you, David."
