KIWI (ED x OC)

Kiwi (Part One)

As Andrea nears the end of her twelve-hour shift at Jimmy's diner, her eyes keep flicking between the clock – where minutes seem to pass in hours – and the man who seems to come around every time she's on the clock. Today he's more preoccupied in his work than usual; hunched over, eyes unrelenting on his computer screen. Andrea crosses her arms over her chest and huffs, trying to give him a few more minutes to unoccupied himself, but he's already been sitting for twenty, and she is growing impatient. She let the hands of the clock swing around its circle once more before she went over to him; even then, he still clicks vigorously at his keyboard, as if he was chasing words he fears he'll forget.

"What'll it be?"

"Uh," He glances at the menu that lay untouched in the middle of the table. "I'll take the usual."

Andrea's tongue flicks to the top of her mouth, her hand gliding over her notepad with a flick of her pen. Even though his order is burned in her brain from complete redundancy, she decides to write it down to forgo a grilling from the cook who insisted everything be in front of his eyes.

"Blueberry pancakes and coffee, then. Shouldn't take too long."

His smile is warm and kind, quite a contrast to the snow that billowed from the sky and the crimson of his cheeks that bloomed from wind that began to howl in between tight streets and tall skyscrapers. Andrea gives him her best tight-lipped smile before backing away, picking up the rag she abandoned on the hightop on her way to the window that leads to the kitchen, where Barry flips a burger on a sizzling grill that was overdue for a scrub down.

"We haven't had an order in thirty minutes, that one for you?"

Barry shrugs, not bothering to look over his shoulder. "Thought so. Make one for me while you're at it." She hangs the order on the wireline, "blueberry pancakes for the regular."

"He's here again?" Katy asks, sliding in next to Andrea. Katy rests her elbows on the white granite and knocks her hip into Andrea's, her tight orange curls bouncing with every movement. "That's like the third time this week."

It's Andrea's turn to shrug, taking a side step to get some room.

Katy smirks, bites her lip and looks over her shoulder to the man who sits by himself at a booth smack dab in the middle of the restaurant. "He's cute. I think he likes you, too. He always sits in your booth."

"He's not my type."

"Not your type?! His jaw alone is a ten. Don't get me started on the dark hair and eyes. I just know he's hiding big things under those clothes."

Andrea shakes her head, "Well, you should ask him out then, Katy."

"I would if I didn't have a kid and wasn't like ten years older." Katy frowns. "The guy has to be lonely. He comes in here, what, three nights a week?"

Andrea snorts. "I'm sure he's the farthest thing."

The sharp ring of a bell and Barry's curt "order up" cuts off their back and forth, and the doodle Andrea started on an extra sticky note she left lying around. She pushes away her dilettante drawing of the Empire State Building to grab the plate, using the ball of her hand to balance it expertly before striding back to her only chance at one more decent tip before her shift ends in thirty minutes.

She places the stacks and syrup before him and watches him push away his computer until it's on the other side of the table. "I forgot your coffee; I'll be right back."

Andrea turns on the heel of her white sneakers. Then, she stalls halfway and twirls back towards him. Not for the first time, she finds herself spellbound by his features. He is the kind of handsome that only comes around once or twice a year, with his whiskey eyes that still sparkle even though the sun has long faded behind the buildings — his beauty belongs to the rays of the west coast, not the bitter-cold of the East.