The Bus Stop Waiter

I found myself waiting on the bus stop, locking eyes with the only other waiter, a rather attractive young man who sent a rather charming smile and a nod of acknowledgement my way. He seemed to have a polite disposition, respectable as he crossed one leg over the other and turned back to the ground, taking great interest in shifting the pebbles on the ground with his boots but me being myself, I panicked, attempting to find words to say. And so, I blurted out the only thing I could think of.

“So, do you come here often?” I did not say a hello or comment on the weather, no, I asked do you come here often. And I regretted it as soon as the words stumbled out of my mouth.

Do I come here often?”  The other waiter repeated. His crystal eyes shone with amusement under raised, thin brows. A hand that was previously toying with the large pebble in his palm halted in action as the corners of his thin lips started to turn up into a smirk that was borderline cocky. “Miss, I must say that is the absolute worst pickup line I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”

“No, no, no!” I protested, waving my hands in front of myself. “I-uh. I didn’t mean-” But I was cut off by the smirk that continued to grow on The Waiter’s lips. I blushed, now too talking great interest in the rocks and pebbles under our feet.

“Didn’t mean…?” he pried, brushing almost sky blue locks from his lake water orbs. I made an effort to compose myself as best as I could, my cheeks still burning.

“I, myself do not come here all that much. And I was wondering if you were,” I stumbled, my words becoming long and stretched. I met The Waiters gaze, smirk ever growing. “a bus stop regular.” I finished weakly.

“A bus stop regular?”

“Yes, a bus stop regular.”

“So you could ask me what time the bus is getting here.”

“Exactly.” I fiddled with the pebble between my fingers when I heard The Waiter chuckle. I questioned him with a pout.

“You want to know when the bus is coming, Miss-” he held out the “s” and I spat my name, not daring to look up from my pebble. The Waiter rolled my name on his tongue, making a remark about “a lovely name for a lovely lady” before stating, “It’s coming right now.” And I never jumped up faster. The contraption had barely stopped before I had started boarding, saying the fastest hello to the driver and taking a seat that I would continually sink into the whole ride.

I sat in a huff when I saw The Waiter came into my diverted line of sight. A piece of torn paper landed in my lap. I followed him out of my peripheral vision before looking down at the paper. In neat cursive, it said a name and under it, a phone number.


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