Strangers To Lovers

Chapter two

As soon as I walked into the restaurant, I was sucked in by the din of patrons, waiters, and the constant chatter. The familiar ambiance buzzed around me, but today felt different. I watched Levi walk past, as usual, but this time I pretended not to hear him mispronounce my name yet again.

"Ella!" he declared, a smirk playing on his lips, "We've got a table at number four that's been waiting for over two minutes, desperately in need of a server to take their drink order."

I managed to remain calm as he repeated my name, even though it was becoming increasingly obvious that he enjoyed it. Balancing a plate of food, I fought back a smile, letting the irritation wash over me like the dim lighting of the restaurant.

"I'll be right over," I said, grinning mischievously. In an instant, I sprinted back to table seven, my favorite spot. As I approached, I glanced over my shoulder; Levi peered back at me, his brows furrowed in irritation.

"Okay," he muttered, his tone exasperated. I rolled my eyes, a gesture we had developed over time-our little secret language. I felt a bond with table seven; they made my evenings at the restaurant bearable, if not wonderful. But table eight, the neighboring misery, was always a dreadful affair.

It felt like karma or some weird curse; every time I went to table eight, I was met with rude, obnoxious, and arrogant customers. Whenever I dropped my arm to put down a dish or drink, a few businessmen thought it was okay to see beneath my shirt. It gave me the willies-these people, clad in nice suits, had the audacity to behave so brazenly.

"Chicken Cordon Bleu," I remarked calmly as I approached table eight, trying to maintain my composure. A particularly enormous man wearing a tie decorated with stars eyed me with an unsettling intensity.

"Nice," he said, his gaze lingering. For a moment, I was confused. Which breast was he referring to-mine or the chicken's? I forced a polite smile, biting my tongue as I chose to keep my thoughts to myself. Deep down, I knew these clients would likely leave me large tips if I could tolerate their offensive remarks.

Turning to my assistant after serving the dishes, I begged for a break. "Please tell me there's nothing left," I implored her, my eyes betraying my desperation.

Sky-Spangled Moron, as I affectionately called him, chimed in, "It's my pleasure to provide another Blue Moon." I grinned in return, amused by his misguided confidence. When I turned back, I noticed Collin, another waiter, staring at table four with a frown.

I scowled at the table, glancing away from Collin. "Am I the only one on shift?" I exclaimed, letting out a breath of relief as I looked over to the counter and saw only two patrons remaining. This will be easy, I thought to myself, seizing the chance to welcome them.

As I approached the counter with enthusiasm, the two young guys turned to face me. "I'm Ella, and I'll be your server tonight," I introduced myself, attempting to project confidence despite my sudden nerves.

But my confidence faltered. These two were frequent customers of the salon next door, and it was easy to identify them thanks to their stunning appearances. Among all the beautiful people who frequented the restaurant, I often felt unworthy, and tonight was no different.

The one on the right was immaculate, with well-groomed hair and an air of refinement. He remarked on my name with a smooth, inquisitive tone, "That's an odd name, but I don't think that's the point." There was a soft civility in his voice that caught me off guard.

"Absolutely," I replied politely, but his comment about my name made me doubt myself. He continued, "It's cute," and I couldn't help but note how perfect his looks and teeth were. My insecurities flared to life; it was hard to ignore my perceived shortcomings in comparison to him.