(to me) your face is love | Daniel Ricciardo

Part 2 - table number three

There were only a few guests left, including the group of guys. None of them had placed any new orders after the Spanish guy went up on stage and broke into a heartfelt rendition of "Smooth Operator" as the other guys laughed uncontrollably. I hate to admit it but a part of me wanted them to keep ordering so I could meet those brown eyes once again. I tried to distract myself by cleaning tables and serving drinks, yet I couldn't stop myself from repeatedly glancing over at table number three. Sometimes I walked past just to hear him talk as I vigorously tried to figure out his accent. The last two guests waved goodbye and went out in the cloudy night.

"Hey, you want to let table three know that we're closing up?" my mom asked on her way to do the dishes.

"Could you do it? I need to clean the tables" I answered quickly, trying to make a lame excuse.

My mom looked at me with a weird face and headed over to their table. I started cleaning one of the tables on the other side of the room hoping not be noticed. I didn't want to be the one to throw them out of the restaurant, that would have been embarrassing. I quickly looked up and realized my mom were taking a group photo of the guys sitting around the table. I giggled a little as they were heading over to the front door. I brushed the crumbs of my white apron and headed over to the order counter to count today's income. One of the guys wearing a purple t-shirt and skinny jeans turned in the doorway

«Goodbye» he smirked with a French accent as he closed the door behind him.

I smiled back and began counting the money. He also had a somewhat recognizably face. Along with his voice which sounded like something I've heard before. Oh my, I was upset with myself. Why couldn't I figure out where i've seen them before and why didn't I have the guts to ask them.

All of the sudden the front door opened. I looked up and it was the brown eyed guy looking straight at me. Maybe he forgot something?