Cliff's Good Deed

10 - A King's Breakfast

He wouldn't push it and changed the subject. "What did you do at your real job?"

"I have a management degree and was a department chair at a tech company."

Cliff whistled. "That's impressive for someone so young."

Hannah looked at her lap and muttered, "I was good at my job, too. I miss it, and I miss the people."

"I'm sorry. A lot of good people got swept up in the reset."

She looked him in the eye. "What about you? What do you do? Has your business been hurt by the economy?"

"The business I work in is completely recession proof and doing very well."

Her beautiful brown eyes went round. "Really? What business is that?"

Cliff was about to answer when the server appeared with his iced tea. She addressed Hannah. "Hello, Miss Blessing, would you like something to drink?"

Hannah eyed his iced tea. "I'll have the same."

"Will you have your usual breakfast?"

"Oh, yeah," she said with enthusiasm.

The elderly server turned her attention to Cliff. "How about you, sir?"

Cliff took a moment to process his surprise over how the two of them knew each other. Hannah was obviously a regular customer. "I'll have the Texas omelet with rye toast and a fruit cup on the side. Oh, and hold the hash browns."

Hannah addressed the server. "He thinks anything fried is unhealthy."

As the server walked away, Cliff asked, "What's your usual?"

"It's called the king's breakfast. Two eggs, I take them scrambled, two slices of French toast with lots of butter and syrup, two sausage links, and toast. I prefer wheat to your rye."

Cliff was shocked. He would've never guessed she had such an appetite. "How do you get away with eating so much? I mean..." He motioned with his hand at her body. "You're so slender."

She grinned. "Thank you. Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. I go all out, but then I only have an apple and ramen for lunch and usually skip dinner altogether. I have to work at the bar six out of seven nights a week, and according to my Fitbit, I hustle five to six miles a night serving tables."

"You must have a lot of self-discipline."

Hannah shrugged. "I guess so. It's become a habit."

"Since you're a regular here, I take it you don't live far from town?"

"Not far," she said before planting her palms on the tabletop. "Okay, mister, I know you asked me out to get to know me better. You also implied I would be intrigued by you. So far, I'm less than impressed."

Cliff conceded the point. "For starters, I'm obviously not married, never have been, and I'm not currently in a relationship."

"Why is that?"

He decided to be honest. "Until now, I've enjoyed playing the field."

She cocked her head. "Until now? What changed?"

He took a moment to frame his words, unsure how to express his feelings. "There comes a time when a man's thoughts turn from folly to wanting something more."

"Something more?"

"Family."

"It's called maturing," Hannah said, her tone serious like that of a therapist. "You're proving my point about older guys being more stable. You're still a work in progress, though. A mature man wouldn't get all up in a woman's business uninvited like the way you did at the car dealership. That was a boorish move."

Cliff thought they had gotten past the incident. "I already apologized for that. I already said I only wanted to help you."

She sighed. "I get that now. I just wished you would've asked instead of presumed."

He was about to ask if it would've made a difference, but she beat him to the punch with a change of subject. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm no bodybuilder, and I'm not a football player."

"Yeah, you already told me that. You also told me it would haunt me if I didn't find out more about you. So far, you've told me nothing. I'm beginning to think there's nothing special about you. You're just an ordinary guy."

"Wow, you're really tough."

"You're the one who set high expectations."

He chuckled. "I suppose I did. Okay, some people might look down on what I do."

"You mean like a used car salesperson, like those jerks who conned me into buying a defective car?"

"Hey, that's not fair. Used car salesmen are people too. They're mostly decent folks who work hard. Their profession fills a societal need."

Hannah's face blanched. "Oh, are you a used car salesperson? I didn't mean to insult you."

He couldn't help laughing. "No, I'm not a used car salesperson."

Her expression turned serious. "Please don't tell me you're involved with anything illegal like drug running."

"Wrong again. I work in a legitimate business."

Her expression remained serious. "Guessing games bore me, so why don't you just tell me?"

The beep, beep, beep of a truck backing from an alley interrupted their conversation. A mechanical claw slid into the handles of a nearby Dumpster, lifted it overtop the cab, and emptied the large container into the back of the truck with a crashing sound.

Cliff pointed to the truck. "I'm one of them."

"What?" Hannah cupped her ear to hear what he said over the infernal beeping.

"I'm one of them," he repeated, louder this time.

She looked at the truck. "Do you mean?"

"Yeah, I'm a trash collector."

Did you guess Cliff's profession?