Words: 2K
Warnings: None
The bright blue ribbon holding up the apron tightens around your waist. Expertly you maneuver around two small children who play between the aisles with a tray of pancakes above your head. It's an early morning at Denny's where you work five days a week as a server to try and pay the bills. When you're not here you're taking your classes online while your annoying roommate plays Guitar Hero and smokes weed. Of course this isn't your dream, but it's the daily grind that's propelling you closer to your life goals. There's not much that drives you out of bed in the morning besides your dreams.
That... and the chance that you might see your workplace crush.
He's not a coworker. He's not your boss. He's a customer: one that's been coming in for almost two months now. It started back in February with an empty corner booth and a cup of black coffee. You'd barely been able to see his face over the top of the menu, but when he finally lowered it, you swear your heart stopped. He's got shaggy blond hair trimmed just above his ears, clean shaven cheeks, bright denim blue eyes, and the most glorious smile you've ever seen. He wears a pair of adorably dorky glasses and always—always—a blue baseball cap. His sweatshirt is always zipped real tight, leaving you to wonder what it is that he looks like underneath all the layers of fabric.
A repetitive 90s song plays on the radio while you skitter around the diner. Your coworker Stacy with the big hoop earrings grabs you by the arm before you can pass. "Hey! Loser! Lover boy is here," she hisses at you. "He's at my table! I'll switch you."
You grin. "You're the best, Stacey."
She winks at you. "No worries. Ask him if he'll share his sausage." She wiggles those blonde eyebrows suggestively before you can smack her arm. "Or maybe if he'd want to try whipped cream with your..."
"That's enough, Stacey, I think I got it." You cackle a bit and then hurry off to deliver your dishes so that you can see mystery boy. All your coworkers call him by a different name: Stacey refers to him as lover boy, but most of them know him as "Waffle Abs". He's never ordered waffles, nor have any of you seen his abs, it's all purely speculation.
You? You just long for the day you get to call him by his real name. He's never given it to you, but you've never been brave enough to ask. You keep hoping that one of these days he'll pay with card or check. But every time he comes in (which is at least three days a week now, all on your shifts) he pays with cash.
Carefully you smooth your apron and wild ponytail hair before daring to step up to your crush's table. He's seated alone by a window with his menu on the table in front of him. He always looks over it as if he doesn't already know what he's going to get.
"Hi."
Those gorgeous, glimmering sapphire eyes dart up. They sparkle brighter when they register you standing there. "Hello."
"How are you?" You bite your cheek to keep from smiling too eagerly.
The man nods, "I'm good, thank you. And how are you, Y/N?"
Every damn time he reads your nametag you want to melt into a puddle. His voice is just so smooth and sexy!
"I'm doing well," your reply is calm and collected even though you are most certainly neither of those things right now. You tap your pen to the side of your notepad. "What can I get started for ya?"
The man chuckles. "Got any guesses?"
Your smile makes him turn slightly closer in his chair. You playfully tap the pen to your chin in thought. "I'd say a double stack with extra bacon and strawberry syrup, but there's always the chance you could surprise me." You don't know how this man can eat so much and stay so fit! He's built like a god. He must work out a lot, you assume.
"No surprises today. I'm a man of habit," he chuckles and hands you back the menu.
Your fingers brush and you clear your throat. "I suppose that's why you've made this your regular place, yeah?"
The man gives his head a little side to side sway. "That and a couple other reasons." His smile hints at things that your mind jumps to conclusions to.
You rise up on your toes. "Like what?"
He laughs, "Let's just say it's not the outdated wall art that I look forward to seeing when I come in here."
Your heart is a fluttering mess right now. Your mouth opens, lipstick lined lips perfectly posed to flirt back, but then you're shamelessly being beckoned for from your last seated table.
"Waitress! Get over here!"
Momentarily you close your eyes. A disappointed breath flutters out of you. Looking back at your crush, you sigh. "Sorry, I've gotta go deal with... that." You gesture back to the rowdy teenage boys in the corner booth. They're here before school to make your life miserable.
The man nods, but looks a bit sorry to see you go. "Yeah, no worries. I'll catch up with you in a bit?"
You nod. "I'll bring you a cup of coffee, too." You tap the table next to his folded arms before leaving. You see his reflection in the window—he watches you leave with a smile fondling his lips.
The teens in the corner are jeering at something they see on one of their phones. They cackle and giggle like the sort of losers your roommate would hang out with.
"What can I get for you, boys?" You pull out your paper and pen.
The leader of them, the tallest and probably cockiest, smirks. "How about a date?" They all laugh in response to what he's said.
You refrain from rolling your eyes. "Sorry, honey. You're a bit too young for me." You try to play along real nice and sweet, when all you really want to do is shove them onto another server so you can go running back to Waffle Abs.
"Hey—I'm 18. It's perfectly legal," he comments back. He's got shaggy dark hair and hooded eyes the color of limestone. "So how about you give that skirt a little lift for me, mamma, and I can slip you an extra ten with the check."
Okay, this is absolutely ridiculous. You've been hit on before, disrespected yes, but today you're just not in the mood. So you don't even bother with a response—instead turning on your heel to leave them all laughing there.
"Hey! Come back, gorgeous!" He's laughing so much that the words are barely audible above the cackles.
You throw a few order slips onto the counter and grumble under your breath. The worst part of working in this place is idiots like that who think that they can say whatever the hell they want without consequences...
You've got a tray of food to deliver in both hands when you step onto the floor and see your blonde haired, blue eyed companion standing above the booth of the young troublemakers. He's taken off the glasses for added effect as he talks low and somber to them with intense looking eyes. The boys have grown eerily silent at his entrance—all of them gawking as if they're being met with some sort of celebrity.
Most of these orders go to the boys in the booth. So you force yourself to walk over there and join them, nervous about what's going on.
Waffle Abs turns his head when he hears you approaching. He steps back to make room for you.
"Y/N," he says your name nice and sweet. You nod in response while placing the meals on the table of the hecklers. "These boys have something they wanna say to you."
You raise an eyebrow. "Alright..."
The dark haired teen swallows stiffly. "I'm really sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean any disrespect. I—It was rude, and I know that. I'm sorry."
You blink. You glance over to the tall, buff man next to you. He's somewhere between annoyed and pleased as he regards the scene.
"Anything else you wanna add, son?"
You nearly laugh at this whole scenario, but instead only smile.
The teen, still intimated by your company, nods compliantly. "I just, uh, hope you'll forgive me." He looks over to the man standing strong beside you now. "And I learned my lesson, Captain America sir. I won't talk to a girl like that ever again."
At this, your jaw drops open wide.
Suddenly the gorgeous man beside you seems much less confident. At this announcement, he nervously scratches the back of his neck. He's grown slightly pink.
"That's good enough, son. Just—stay in school. Be nicer," he hurriedly says. Then he's shuffling away from the booth like it's gone up in flames.
You stare after his receding figure. He's back at his table, hurriedly digging around his wallet for enough cash to cover the meal he hasn't even received. You realize that he wants to leave. There's a very high chance that if he does, he may never come back.
"Wait!" you call out desperately. Hastily you deposit the tray of food onto the closest table and then scurry to the man's side. You grab at his arm before he can make any movements to leave. He's still standing there on the diner floor with that dumb baseball cap and the ratty t-shirt. "Don't leave."
His eyes flicker around your face. "I—I have to go."
You shake your head, willing yourself not to freak out. "Please don't." The man's eyes drop to where your hand is holding his hard bicep. You stare at your own fingers and have to force yourself to let go. "Please don't go." Your eyes turn up to look to his face there above yours. His eyelashes are long and thick as he blinks.
The man, who regards your face for a few silent moments, sighs. He runs a hand over his hair after finally taking off the cap. He looks even cuter without it.
"I didn't—I thought I could—I hoped no one here would recognize me. I was kind of betting on it, actually," he mutters.
Internally you're losing your damn mind, but on the outside you're surprising him with your composure. "So it's true? You're really...?" It feels too stupid to say the rest, especially if it isn't true and this is some big scam or mix-up.
The man chuckles with those pretty pink lips. "Yeah. But I don't really go by that name in these sorts of situations."
Cluelessly, you blink. "What sort of situation?"
The Captain is nervously toying with the frayed corners of his wallet that he keeps spinning around his hands. "When I want to ask a pretty lady out for date."
Eyes wide, you think you've just felt your heart explode. "Oh—oh, well," you clear your throat, "And if she was going to say yes, what would you like her to call you?"
The Captain holds out a strong, calloused hand. "Steve."
Smiling, you let him take your hand. He doesn't shake it—instead bringing it to his lips to gingerly press a chaste kiss to your knuckles. Your cheeks warm with blush.
A sly smirk crosses his face as he pulls away. "Or you could call me Waffle Abs."
Now your face reddens tenfold. Your jaw drops. "You—oh god, I'm so sorry..."
Steve's chuckle stops you. "Don't worry about it. It's not your fault I've got good hearing." He lets go of your hand and you quickly stuff them both into your pockets. "But I appreciate the compliment."
Embarrassed and knocked senseless with what's just occurred, you turn to leave. Now it's Steve's turn to grab your arm—keeping you cemented next to him by the window.
"Wait, Y/N," he beckons gently. "I still haven't asked you out yet."
"Oh, that was me?" you laugh lightly—pushing a lock of hair behind your ear.
Steve smiles then says, "Yeah, doll, the only pretty lady I've got eyes for is you."
Now, you can't be so sure about the rest of it, but at least this dream is coming true.