Trapped In Your Bleeding Heart (Riff x Reader)

Chapter Twenty Five - First Day

"When the customer tells you their order, write the meal first, and the preferences after. Chef Anton don't like it any other way. He'll complain 'till his throat is sore. 'What's the good of knowing no pickles before I know the sandwich? I can't take pickles off of a sandwich that doesn't exist yet!'"

Watching Clarice talk was like watching a children's cartoon. She was so animated– throwing her arms around and making funny faces. Her vocal inflection changed with every impression she made. And boy, she made a lot of them. "Sometimes the customer will want some fancy drink, but we only have coffee, water, and fruit juice, so don't give 'em nothin'." She led me to the burner, where a pot of coffee was steaming. "And don't let 'em trick you into making nothin'! One time I had a lady ask for some warm milk into her coffee, and then she asked for sugar in it too!"

An interested expression had been coated on my face for quite a while. My mouth was growing tired of forming an artificially surprised 'o'. "Just give 'em what they ask for, and let 'em put it in there themselves. That way you can't mess up!"

She busied around the register area, putting more toothpicks into a small bowl that sat by the register, and constantly re-tying her apron. Now was one of the far and few between opportunities for me to speak. "By the way, thanks for the other day."

Confused, Clarice looked towards me. "The other day?" She repeated.

"Those three boys– the ones that surrounded Doe and I. You distracted them so that we could get away."

Something clicked in Clarice's brain. "Oh, no need! Those boys come around here all the time. We get a surprising amount of wealthier customers, considering we are in no man's land. It must be because we're so close to Uptown."

That couldn't be right. "Wait, is Uptown closer to no man's land than the Northside is?" I asked.

A rather funny expression grew on Clarise's face. "Do you not live around here?"

"... I'm new."

An older man came to the front, and placed cash onto the front counter before hobbling towards the exit. Halting our conversation, Clarise opened the register and began the checkout process, which she had shown me earlier. Part of me wanted to practice, but by the time I thought of it, Clarice had already finished. "We are in no man's land. Puerto Ricans come around here often, which is why the Jets frequent it. If you go further North– that's Uptown. That's where all the fancies live. They come here because it's close, and convenient. And with their wealth, it's hard to do anything about their behavior, so don't you dare make a fuss to them. If you go far North, past Uptown, that's where Northside is. Because it's on the edge of the city, a lot of it's being demolished or rebuilt. They say it'll look great when it's done, but right now it looks just sad. I don't really go up there, though. The Jets are most of the Northside's population."

"Where do you live?" I asked.

"Here, in no man's land. My mom rents an apartment. What about you?"

The city of Manhattan was smaller than others. Each section of the city only reached about ten blocks, with the exception of the Underside and the Southside, which reached about fifteen, and the Northside, which was inherently shrinking in population with all the construction that was going on. "Around here, yeah." I said.

Originally, Manhattan was meant to be a huge city, with large populations to feed the shopping and dining centers set up everywhere. Unfortunately, the big buildings and advertisements didn't pull in a big enough crowd with competitors like New York City so near. That's why it was convenient for Puerto Ricans to move in. You'd think that the white population would be happy that their city was doing better, instead of tearing these people apart...

The small bells above the entrance jingled. Clarice glanced at the door, and then walked towards the kitchen. "How about you get this one– get some practice in ya'."

Was she leaving? What if I messed up? Quickly, I turned towards the entrance. "Hi, what can I get–" I halted, and then sat into one of my hips. "Go away, I'm working."

"That's fair. Rude, but fair." Riff took a toothpick out of the bowl near the register and shoved it between his teeth. "But for your information, girly-girl, I frequent this place often— even when you're not working."

Well, he wasn't lying. The day I had applied there, he was sitting in a booth with a bunch of other Jets. I guess I should've counted myself lucky for only having to handle him today. "Okay." I said quietly, pretending to be very busy typing numbers into the register.

Riff leaned over the counter. The familiar dark smell I had recognized nights ago came back to my borders. Looking at him now, there were indistinct stains on his tank top, and smudges on his face. "Where were you just now?" I asked.

"Work."

It had never occurred to me that Riff likely had a life outside of diner's and dances. "Where do you work?"

"Auto shop- East of no man's."

"You have an Uptown job?"

"What, did ya' think I didn't?"

"Well..." We met eyes. "Do you steal our toothpicks? Is that why you always have a toothpick in your mouth?"

"Now don't take me for a crook, these are complimentary." A winning grin popped onto his face, but the dimples are what caught my attention this time. "Didn't know you had a habit of paying that close attention to my mouth." He said.

Darting away from his gaze, I fiddled with the register once more. "Well you bash ears, you know. If you stopped running your mouth, maybe you wouldn't draw so much attention to it."

"Hm. Maybe."

That day I felt less nervous in his presence. Whenever he spoke short or unreadable replies in the past, I felt as though I was shoved back to square one— as if he was irritated with me. But as time progressed, I learned that Riff was a not-so-tough tough guy. "'Maybe.'" I mocked his flat tone.

Previously fixed on the bowl of toothpicks, his eyes glided up to me once more. His haunting irises peered over the white of his downturned eyes, but he was amused– I could tell. Advancing his arms further along the counter, Riff's tall body leaned forward, and hovered closer to mine. "You're lucky you're cute."

A smile appeared on my face, and I looked down. Noise came from the kitchen. Promptly apprehensive, my eyes flickered to the door behind me. "You should back up. And order something."

"Why's that?"

"I don't want to look unprofessional on my first day. And you're going to make me."

"I'd never dream of it, dolly."

Sounds erupted from the kitchen once more, and immediately Riff pushed away from the counter, and took a step back. Clarise bustled out of the door and took the coffee off of the burner. She glanced at me and muttered a quick, "Anton wants coffee." Before returning to the kitchen.

There was a beat, and then Riff returned to the counter. "So," he began, growing closer to me once more, "there's this storm."

Authors note: things are about to get spicy 🌶