Jerrie Oneshot Book

The Green Door

Summary: The one where Leigh-Anne, a waitress in an Italian restaurant, watches Perrie and Jade fall in love.

Leigh-Anne stands at the front of the restaurant leaning on the bar. Her boss is sitting just to the side of her with his hawk eyes glued to her back, and she searches for something to do to avoid criticism. The restaurant is dead, as it usually is, and she scans the tables, all perfectly clean and beautifully laid, for any mistake she can fix – a crooked placemat, a missing napkin.

The windows are shining, the temperature is exactly right, the big green door at the front is propped open, its chipped paint and rusted hinges inviting customers in.

She sighs. Her feet hurt and she looks to table one, the only customers they have in, to see if they're finished.

They're not.

It's a relief when the phone rings, and Leigh-Anne grabs it up quickly, answering with enthusiasm in her fake server voice. "Good evening, it's Leigh-Anne from Pasta La Vista, what can I do for you?"

Her boss gets up, mutters something about doing a delivery and leaves the restaurant.

A feminine voice crackles in from the other end of the line. "Hi, I'd like to place an order for a takeaway."

There's a familiar ring to the voice, one Leigh-Anne can't quite place but she's sure she's heard, like déjà vu, or a dream you mistake for a memory. Shaking it off, she grins, though the customer at the end of the line can't see it. "Sure! Can I get a name for that please?"

The customer coughs. "Perrie Edwards."

Leigh-Anne's eyes widen. Could it really be the Perrie Edwards? Why would one of the world's biggest popstar order something from a tiny restaurant like Pasta La Vista? Impossible. Recovering from her initial shock, she rolls her eyes. "Very funny."

Did this woman really think she would fall for that? It's not even the first time a random customer has pretended to be a celebrity.

"No!" The customer's tone is defensive and, again, familiar in a way that makes Leigh-Anne almost believe her. Almost. "I swear it's really me."

"Okay fine," Leigh-Anne sighs, writing 'Perrie Edwards' by the order. She supposes it doesn't matter what the name says as long as the person coming in knows it's their order. "And what would you like to order?"

Fake-Perrie rambles off her huge order and Leigh-Anne scrawls each item down quickly.

When it's done, Leigh-Anne smiles politely, hoping it conveys down the phone in a sickly way, like syrup drizzled poison to indicate that if the person walking in is not Perrie Edwards, then she's going to be pissed. "That should be about 10 minutes."

"Okay we're just on our way, thank you!" the customer answers before hanging up, not giving Leigh-Anne the opportunity to make a sarcastic comment like 'using your limo to get here?'

Placing the phone back in its socket, Leigh-Anne sighs, there really are some crazy people in London.

Her heart betrays her though, beating with anticipation at the thought of seeing a celebrity. And not just any celebrity, but one of her favourite artists of all time. She wonders who fake-Perrie meant when she said 'we're on our way'.

A clang of forks onto plates from the other side of the restaurant indicates that the couple on table one is finished, so she scuttles over to clear their plates, offers dessert with a polite smile plastered onto her face, and doesn't get much more time to think about it. She picks up the takeaway when she puts the plates in the dishwasher.