Smart Mouth Waitress by Dalya Moon

hazard.”
    I said, “So are tile floors that are all wet from people like you tracking in rainwater.”
    We stared at each other for a moment while the diners around us went back to their breakfasts, satisfied with the entertainment value received.
    Marc started to laugh. “I'm so sorry I sneezed on you.”
    “It was refreshing.”
    He took off his glasses and wiped at his eye, still laughing. “It's just a bit of allergies, I don't have a cold, I swear.”
    “If I get a cold next week, I'm blaming you.”
    “I'll bring you chicken soup,” he said.
    “For real?”
    “Yes. I keep my word.”
    “I'm sorry you had to see my horrible underpants. Most of them are much better. By which I mean my underpants.”
    He pressed his lips together tightly, the edges of his mouth curving up.
    I said, “Try not to think about my underpants.”
    “I'll try,” he said.
    I showed him to his favorite seat by the window. “Do you like peaches? Donny's been trying something, and it's not on the menu. Perhaps you'd like to sample it, be our first guinea pig.”
    “I'll devour whatever you bring me,” he said.
    Even though it was pouring rain outside, somehow a tiny shaft of sunlight came in and glinted off his tortoiseshell glasses frames and brown eyes.
    I was in love. I mean, I was in crush, which feels a lot like love.
    Barely a week earlier, I'd decided to give dating a try, casually, and maybe mess around with some fumbling boy my age. What I hadn't expected was that I'd fall madly in crush —like look-at-his-Facebook-profile-photo-ten-times-a-day-madly —with an older guy I barely knew.
    Back in the kitchen, I begged Donny to make the magical dish that could potentially make Marc fall in love, or in crush, with me.
    “I don't just make it for anyone,” he said.
    “Fine. What do you want?”
    “You babysit my kids one night.”
    “Fine. Done deal.”
    “On New Year's Eve.”
    “That's almost a year away!” I said. “What if I have plans? What if my boyfriend wants to take me out dancing?”
    “He can come over and you two can dry hump on my couch after the kids are in bed.”
    “You'll be home by two?”
    “I'll be home when I'm ready to come home. You know this dish has magical qualities. You know it can make people fall in love. Now do you want it or not?”
    I leaned over to the pass-through window and peeked at Marc, framed in the front window.
    “Make it,” I said, shaking Donny's hand.

Chapter 9
    The dish began with Donny's home-style banana-chocolate-chip loaf. He cut it into thick slabs and dipped it in a mixture of egg and cream, then threw the sizzling slices on the grill, along with a chunk of salted butter. The smell of cinnamon infused the air.
    Once grilled to golden-brown perfection, he arranged the slices on a white plate and topped them with a mixture of lightly-stewed peaches and candied pecans. He garnished the plate with a single ripe gooseberry in its paper lantern leaves.
    Careful not to fall again, I walked the plate out to Marc. Conversations stopped as people turned to see what they were smelling.
    I set it before Marc without a word.
    “I don't know if that's edible,” he said, pointing to the gooseberry.
    “There's an orange berry inside. Really sweet and good.”
    “I don't know if I can eat all this food,” he said.
    I pictured myself being jumped on by Donny's kids on New Year's Eve and momentarily regretted the deal I'd made.
    Marc grinned. “But I'll sure try!” He grabbed his fork and knife and dug right in.
    My own stomach growled, but he didn't seem to notice.
    I scurried off to fill the water pitchers with fresh ice and water. Courtney snuck up on me at the bar sink and said, “Marc and Perry, sittin' in a tree.”
    The music playing over The Whistle's old speakers wasn't up very loud, so I told her to shush and not embarrass me.
    “Remember, you have to ask him out,” she said. Using her fake Chinese accent, she said, “You ask out nice boy or I am