Annabelle hadn't wanted to burn the restaurant down initially.
In all honesty, she had been in a good mood. The food smelled great, the weather was perfect, and the boy she had met on Tinder looked like an absolute snack in all his pictures.
But t...
The adrenaline of it all was still pulsing through her. But the waiter was there – guiding her to a table, shaking his head as she pulled out her purse.
"You weren't actually short-changed," he told her. "You just looked like you needed saving."
"I did. A little bit."
In one fluid movement, he had plopped a glass onto her table, a jug of water sloshing right after it.
"If you stay behind for a bit, we can make sure you get to your car safely," he said. "Would you be okay with that?"
For the first time that night, Annabelle properly looked at him.
His eyes were a beautiful green – clear and smooth, like jade crystals. His dark hair fell in waves around his ears, and his smile...
Annabelle felt her heart skip for a second as he fixed his apron.
"Sure," she told him. "That would be lovely."
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Annabelle had to admit: after watching the waiters and chefs close down the restaurant for the night, she absolutely did not envy them. Every night, once the chatter fell into silence, they got to work – stripping down the tables, snatching away all the fragrances from the kitchens, and wiping down every damned piece of furniture around.
Worse yet, they still had people strolling in when they were clearly closed for the night, asking to order some food.
Ridiculous.
The other waiters at the restaurant didn't seem bothered by Annabelle, even as she tried to help balance dishes over to the kitchens. She saw a few of them exchange knowing glances and stride over to nudge her favourite waiter. She even caught one dangling a rather long, curled chilli in front of him.
Which told her that, perhaps, more people were involved in the chilli schemes than she had initially thought.
Once the chandeliers had blinked out and the restaurant smelt more of soap than pasta, her favourite waiter was there, holding the door open for her.
They had been supposed to go to her car. Instead, though, with stars finally lighting the sky like little snowflakes, Annabelle found herself walking away – anywhere, really.
It was always the stars, for her. When she had first moved away from her parents, and into the city to find work, it had been the stars that helped her find solace. Their choreographed blizzard, the way they tumbled and darted through millions of galaxies, and yet still watched over her. As if her galaxy was just as important as all the other ones out there.
The waiter, to his credit, said nothing as he followed her. Whether it was because he had nothing to say, or he could see her attention on the stars, Annabelle didn't know. All she knew was that he seemed content in the silence, with his hands stuffed in his pocket, wandering down the crisp autumn night with her.
