The Waitress

Near Miss

Tom was stewing over lost opportunities the next day when he headed into the café again, not for breakfast this time, or even elevensies but a late lunch or more correctly an early afternoon tea.

She wasn't there.

The café was quiet for a change, there was time to talk and the person he wanted to talk to was off.

He kicked himself again for yesterday. She'd smiled at him and he'd waved and kept on running. He didn't know what he wanted from her. He was attracted to her he knew that much, she fascinated him but even if it was only for friendship and let's face it, with his life and hers, that was all it could be. You had to stop and talk to someone.

He was an idiot.

But the coffee was sensational.

So he stayed.

And he indulged, spoiled himself – just for a moment.

He shouldn't, he knew that, but he'd earned it. This may be his day off but he hadn't been resting on his laurels or sleeping in. Though given his late night the night before after some "bonding" with his castmates he could have probably done with a sleep. Instead, he'd been for a run and then hit the gym.

A decadent cheesecake was his reward.

And it was decadent.

Smothered in fresh mango.

He savored every mouthful as he took advantage of the hotspot and read his emails, caught up with his correspondence and just relaxed.

This was what he needed.

What he'd been looking for.

She wasn't there.

But his body didn't care.

All it wanted to do was relax, uncoil the coiled springs and in a way with Melody not there he didn't have to be on – he could just kick back and enjoy where he was and what he was doing. He was at the bottom of the world filming a movie and being paid to live close to some of the most beautiful beaches in the world.

This was the life.

He watched a man wander in with a camera and for a moment he worried he was about to be papped but instead he turned his lens out on the passing parade not even acknowledging or indeed noticing that Tom existed.

Without even ordering, the man soon had a coffee in front of him, a slice of cake and the company of the chef and one of the waitresses. They were so relaxed and carefree now – the professional air sliding as they laughed and enjoyed a break – he almost felt like he was in someone's home, their living room. It added to the feeling and made this café more and more alluring.

He wondered who the older man was with the sunglass-inducing shorts and long scruffy hair and beard. The staff had brought out cake and drinks of their own like this was a regular thing for them.

It interested him and Tom tried not to watch or listen, he tried to read, to immerse himself in the wi-fi hotspot. But it was hard not to. He heard his name mentioned. The man – Johnny – vaguely looked in his direction like he didn't matter.

"Really – not much to look at," he heard "Johnny "say confirming that you never hear anything great about yourself when you eavesdrop.

"Melody doesn't share your opinion – I think there is a little somethin, somethin, starting up between them," the chef – James – he thought his name was – laughed.

Tom craned to a little harder, pretending with all his might that he wasn't listening.

"Our girl? Is he good enough for her?"