Chapter Two-Hundred Fifty-Seven: That Girl
Chapter 257
That Girl
That evening, Fabien stepped out of his house wearing his Danny Donger’s uniform: green hot pants, calf socks, and green sneakers. He held his server pouch in his hand.
Fabien walked briskly to his immaculate 1970 Shelby Mustang, tossing his server pouch onto the leather passenger’s seat. He slid on his signature Ray-Bans and started the engine, which erupted with a powerful roar. Depressing the heavy clutch, he slotted the shifter into reverse and backed smoothly out of the driveway. With a quick throw of the gear lever into first, he eased off the pedal, feeling the car bite into the asphalt as he accelerated into the evening.
~
The dinner rush at Danny Donger’s was buzzing with high energy, synth-pop humming from the jukebox, and neon light shimmering across the crowded floor.
Fabien clocked into his shift, buckled his server pouch, and approached Janine.
Janine: “There are four customers at table twelve, Fabien. They already ordered a strawberry daiquiri with extra strawberries and draft lagers.”
Fabien nodded and headed to the bar to pick up the drinks. At the bar, he gathered the frosty draft lagers and the vibrant strawberry daiquiri, which was piled so high with extra fruit it looked like a small mountain of red. He hoisted the heavy tray onto his shoulder, balancing it with practiced ease. Navigating the floor was like a choreographed dance; he ducked around a boisterous group by the jukebox and squeezed past a busboy, his eyes fixed on his destination.
He arrived at table twelve, a large booth near the glowing Glacier Lite sign where a party of four middle-aged women was out celebrating a birthday night on the town.
Fabien: “All right, ladies! Welcome to Danny Donger’s! My name is Fabien!”
He announced with his warm, effortless charm, balancing a tray loaded with ice-cold drinks on one palm.
Fabien: “Who had the double strawberry daiquiri with extra strawberries, and who’s starting with the draft lagers?”
The table immediately lit up with delighted gasps and playful giggles.
Birthday Girl: “Oh, sweet mercy.”
She laughed. She was a vibrant woman in her late 40s wearing a bright pink sequined top and feathered hair. She adjusted her glasses, looking Fabien up and down with an appreciative grin. One of her friends chimed in.
Middle-aged woman: “Our girl Brenda here is celebrating her 48th birthday tonight! We told her Danny Donger's was the place to come, but we didn't know the service was going to be this good.”
Fabien: “Happy birthday!”
With a charismatic smile, he lowered the tray and began distributing the drinks, placing the extra-strawberry daiquiri in front of the birthday girl with a flourish.
Middle-aged Woman: “You are an absolute angel, Fabien.”
She chimed in, fanning herself dramatically with a laminated paper menu.
Middle-aged Woman: “Tell me, are all the servers as handsome as you with a smile like that, or did we get lucky?”
Fabien beamed.
Fabien: “Only the best for you, ma’am. Now, are we feeling brave enough for a round of loaded nachos and buffalo wings, or should I give you a few more minutes to look over the menu?”
The birthday girl’s friend—a lively woman in a blue blouse with big hair leaned over.
Blue Blouse Woman: “Honey, you could bring out a shoe, and we’d probably eat it if you served it with that smile.”
She teased, fanning a stack of twenty-dollar bills onto the table.
Blue Blouse Woman: “You just keep those cold drinks coming, and we'll make sure you’re taking home the best tip in the bar tonight!”
Fabien: “Deal.”
He winked.
Brenda: “We’ll get the Grand Slam Platter, and wings with teriyaki and mild sauce.”
Pulling his pad and pen from his pouch, Fabien jotted down their order.
Fabien: “You got it, ladies.”
He smiled.
Fabien turned on his heel and wove through the crowded dining room, slipping behind the swinging double doors into the kitchen. He marched up to the stainless steel window, where the heat and chaos of the line were in full swing. Fabien clipped the ticket onto the spinning wheel. Sal, the head line cook, looked up from a sizzling flat-top, wiped his brow with a towel, and gave a sharp nod.
Sal: “Got it, Fabien. Five minutes.”
He grunted, already pivoting to drop a basket of wings into the fryer.
~
Stepping into Danny Donger’s was Lena, still in her sundress, sunhat, sandals, and carrying a butterfly purse over her shoulder. She approached Janine.
Janine: “Welcome to Danny Donger’s! Just one for today?”
Lena: “Yes, please. Somewhere a bit quiet, if you have it?”
Janine: “I know exactly the spot. Follow me.”
Janine grabbed a menu and led Lena away from the pulsing jukebox and the boisterous birthday party at table twelve. She guided her toward a small, secluded booth in the far corner, nestled under a dim lamp that cast a soft, amber glow.
Janine: “Here we go. A little peace and quiet for you. Your server will be with you in just a moment.”
She handed her the menu.
Lena: “Thank you, ma’am. This is perfect.”
She sat down, and Janine left her. Lena took off her hat and set it beside her.
~
As Fabien strolled by table twelve, the woman in the blue blouse rested her chin in her hands and looked up at Fabien with a sly, delighted grin.
Blue Blouse Woman: “Hold on a second, sweetie…”
She said, tapping her finger on the table. Fabien stopped and smiled at them.
Blue Blouse Woman: “Fabien… That’s a very fancy name and a lovely accent. Are you French?”
Fabien smiled, tucking his order pad into his back pouch with a natural, easygoing charm.
Fabien: “Born and raised in Nouvelle Gaule, ma’am.”
The women at the table gasped in unison, buzzing with excitement.
Brenda: “Oh, stop it! A real French gentleman in short shorts!”
She giggled, fanning herself with her cloth napkin.
Brenda: “Please, you have to say something to us in French! Just one sentence—make us feel like we're in Argentville instead of Danny Donger’s!”
Fabien laughed softly, running a hand through his hair. He leaned in slightly toward the birthday girl, his green eyes sparkling under the neon signs, and dropped his voice into a smooth, effortless French cadence.
Fabien: “J’espère que vous passez un anniversaire absolument magnifique, madame. C’est un vrai plaisir de m’occuper de vous ce soir.”
The entire table went silent for half a second before bursting into a chorus of swoons and loud giggles.
Blue Blouse Woman: “Oh, my goodness! I have no idea what you just said, but it sounded incredible!”
She squealed, clutching her chest.
Fabien: “It was just a birthday wish.”
He winked, flashing his signature relaxed grin as he stepped back into the aisle.
Fabien: “Now, let me run back to the kitchen and get those buffalo wings and grand slam platter out for you lovely ladies before you swoon right out of the booth!”
Sal: “Order twelve is up, Fab! Watch out, those platters are piping hot!”
He barked through the window, pushing two massive, steaming oval plates across the stainless steel pass.
Fabien: “Got it.”
He replied with a grin, picking up thick cloth napkins to handle the scorching metal bases.
The first platter was piled high with crisp, glowing orange buffalo wings, dripping with tangy sauce and served alongside a towering cup of teriyaki and mild sauce. Beside it, the Grand Slam Platter was a mountain of indulgence, piled high with beer-battered onion rings, deep-fried mushrooms, golden fries, mozzarella sticks, and crispy deep-fried pepperoni.
Balancing the heavy, steaming feast on one hand, Fabien navigated smoothly back through the bustling dining room and arrived at table twelve.
Fabien: “Wings and the grand slam platter for the birthday party.”
He announced with a flourish, setting the platters right in the center of the table with a smooth, practiced hand.
Brenda: “Oh, it smells heavenly!”
She cheered, instantly reaching for a drumstick.
Fabien: “Careful, Miss—they're fresh out of the fryer.”
He cautioned playfully, resting one hand casually on his hip as he flashed his relaxed smile. Fabien: “Can I get you ladies another round of drafts or another daiquiri while you dig in?”
Blue Blouse Woman: “Bring us another pitcher of draft, Fabien. And don’t be a stranger!”
She chimed, dropping a twenty-dollar bill onto his tray.
Fabien: “Right on it.”
He winked, sliding his order pad out as he turned back toward the bar.
Fabien headed straight to the taps, pulling down on the handle to fill a tall, heavy glass pitcher with ice-cold draft lager. The golden liquid sloshed beneath a thick, creamy head of white foam as he topped it off, wiping down the sides with a fresh towel.
Balancing the frosty pitcher on one hand and a stack of clean, chilled glasses in the other, he maneuvered back through the lively dining room.
He set the pitcher down in the middle of the table, the glass instantly fogging over with condensation against the warm air of the sports bar. With smooth, effortless precision, he poured a fresh round for each of the women, filling their glasses right up to the brim without spilling a single drop.
Brenda: “You really are a dream, Fabien.”
Fabien chuckled warmly, tucking the empty tray under his arm.
Fabien: “Enjoy your food and the beer, ladies. Just wave me down if you need anything else!”
~
Fabien glided over, his signature relaxed smile brightening the shadows around her booth.
Fabien: “Hey there, Lena.”
He greeted her smoothly, resting a hand on the edge of the table as his white hair caught the amber light.
Fabien: “I saw you slide in a few minutes ago. Tucked away back here in the quiet spot, huh?”
Lena’s heart skipped a beat, her fingers nervously tapping against her knees under the table.
Lena: “H-Hello again, Fabien.”
She murmured, offering a sweet, slightly flustered grin.
Lena: “Yes… I thought I’d avoid the crowd by the jukebox tonight.”
Fabien: “I get that…”
He chuckled, running a hand through his hair.
Fabien: “Don’t worry, you get top-tier service in the quiet corner.”
He pulled his order pad out from his pouch, leaning in slightly with an easy, friendly charm.
Fabien: “What can I get for you, Lena? Unicorn float, an appetizer, or just a little peace and quiet?”
Lena: “A unicorn float and a garden salad!”
She blurted.
Fabien: “One unicorn float and a garden salad coming right up.”
He said smoothly, jotting down the order on his pad with a quick, practiced flick of his wrist. Fabien: “Ranch dressing, or do you prefer Italian?”
Lena looked up, her blush deepening under the dim amber light.
Lena: “Uhm… Italian, please!”
Fabien: “Italian it is.”
He smiled, tucking the pad neatly into his server pouch. He leaned in just a little closer, his bright green eyes locking onto hers with that signature, easygoing warmth.
Fabien: “You just sit back and relax, Lena. I’ll make sure they toss in extra croutons for you.”
He gave her a quick, charming wink before turning on his heel and gliding off toward the kitchen, leaving Lena floating on cloud nine in her quiet little corner.
Balancing the drink on a small serving tray, he glided back through the soft hum of the restaurant toward the back corner.
Fabien: “One unicorn float, an extra cherry on top, just for you.”
He announced smoothly, stepping up to the edge of the quiet booth. He placed the sweating glass onto a fresh coaster in front of Lena with a practiced, gentle touch.
Fabien: “Salad’s being tossed in the back right now.”
He added with a warm, easy smile, resting one hand on his hip.
Fabien: “How’s the quiet corner treating you so far?”
Lena: “Good… How about you?”
Fabien: “Can't complain.”
He chuckled, resting his elbow casually on the high back of the booth and offering her a warm, easy smile.
Fabien: “Just pacing myself through the dinner rush. But honestly, taking a second to stop by a quiet table like yours is the best part of the shift.”
Lena’s eyes sparkled, her fingers twirling the straw in her float as her heart did a little flip.
Fabien: “I’ll be right back with that salad, Lena.”
He added with a soft wink, stepping back into the aisle.
Fabien: “Enjoy the drink!”
Fabien glided back out of the kitchen, balancing a chilled wooden bowl loaded with crisp garden greens, juicy cherry tomatoes, sliced cucumbers, and a generous heap of crunchy croutons. Beside the bowl rested a small ceramic boat filled with Italian dressing.
He smoothly navigated the dining room, stepping into the dim, cozy ambient light of Lena’s secluded corner.
Fabien: “One fresh garden salad—with those extra croutons I promised.”
He added warmly, setting the bowl down in front of her with a flourish. He placed the Italian dressing right beside it, setting it neatly next to her unicorn float.
Lena: “Everything looks perfect.”
She beamed, her face flushing slightly under the warm glow of the overhead light as she looked up at him.
Fabien: “Glad to hear it.”
He grinned, running a hand through his white hair.
Fabien: “Enjoy your meal, Lena. Let me know if you need anything else.”
Lena: “Fabien?”
Fabien, who was just about to turn and head back toward the kitchen, paused and turned back around with a warm, attentive smile.
Fabien: “Yeah?”
He asked softly, leaning one hand casually against the edge of the booth and looking down at her with genuine, quiet curiosity.
Fabien: “What’s up?”
Lena twirled her fork nervously around a cucumber slice, taking a deep breath to summon her courage before looking up into his green eyes.
Lena: “I… well, I was just wondering…”
She started, a sweet, hesitant smile tugging at her lips as her cheeks flushed dark pink.
Lena: “You look like you’ve been running around all night. Would you want to sit down and join me for a few minutes? If you’re not too busy, I mean.”
Fabien glanced over his shoulder at the dining room. The birthday crew was deep in their meal, and the rest of his section was quiet for the moment.
Fabien: “You know what?”
He smiled, sliding into the booth seat opposite her with a relaxed sigh. He stretched his long legs out, letting his feet rest under the table.
Fabien: “I think Gary can spare me for five minutes. Thanks, Lena.”
Lena practically beamed, her heart fluttering as she sat across from him.
As Fabien settled into the booth, a subtle, unmistakable waft of his Gucci cologne drifted across the table—a smooth, warm scent that mixed perfectly with the cozy ambiance.
Lena’s breath hitched slightly, a quiet smile playing on her lips as she took a small sip of her unicorn float. Up close under the dim light, Fabien looked totally at ease, resting his elbows on the laminate tabletop and flashing that effortless, charming grin of his.
Fabien: “So…”
He began, his voice quiet and relaxed.
Fabien: “How’s the salad holding up? Up to standard?”
Lena: “It’s great…”
She murmured, her heart beating a mile a minute as she met his green eyes.
Lena: “Though, the company is definitely the best part.”
She blurted, turning a deep crimson. Fabien chuckled warmly, running a hand through his white hair.
Fabien: “Well, I’m glad I could make it over. It’s nice actually to sit down for a second and catch a break.”
The slow, iconic drum beat and sultry synth line of Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing” suddenly began to hum through the restaurant’s speakers, filling the cozy, dimly lit corner with a warm, rhythmically smooth pulse.
Lena’s cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of crimson, her eyes widening slightly as she looked down at her unicorn float, trying to suppress a flustered giggle at the jukebox's remarkably deliberate timing.
Fabien, on the other hand, just tilted his head back against the booth cushion, a low, amused chuckle escaping him as he listened to the beat.
Fabien: “Well, looks like somebody at the bar has good taste in classic soul.”
He smiled, his bright green eyes twinkling under the soft amber light as he looked back at her with total ease. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, totally unfazed by the sudden shift in mood.
Lena looked up, meeting his eyes through her dark eyelashes and taking a quiet breath, the smooth music swirling around them in their private little haven.
As the last notes of Marvin Gaye faded out, the iconic, velvet-smooth saxophone intro of Sade’s “Smooth Operator” glided through the restaurant's speakers. The sultry, late-night jazz groove drifted right over their secluded corner, wrapping the booth in an impossibly cool, cinematic atmosphere.
Fabien chuckled, leaned back against the dark booth, looking across at Lena with a playful, effortless grin.
Fabien: “Interesting. Why all the romantic songs?”
He wondered aloud. Lena took a slow sip from her unicorn float, her heart thumping in sync with the bassline as she looked up at him through the dim amber glow.
Lena: “It definitely fits you.”
She admitted softly, her cheeks still warm with a shy blush.
Fabien: “Does it?”
He winked, running a hand casually through his silver hair as Sade’s vocals echoed softly in the background.
Fabien: “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
As Sade’s sax faded out, the soft swell of horns and lush electric piano of Chicago’s “Inspiration” began to drift gently through the speakers. The dramatic, romantic ballad washed over the cozy booth, casting an almost cinematic warmth across their quiet corner.
Fabien let out a low whistle, shaking his head with an affectionate smile as he rested his chin in his hand.
Fabien: “Okay, this is intentional.”
Fabien laughed softly, his green eyes glinting with amusement under the amber light.
Fabien: “Chicago? Someone at the bar is definitely going through a high-drama love story tonight.”
Lena giggled, a little of her shyness melting away as she rested her forearms on the table and looked up at him.
Lena: “Or maybe whoever is picking the songs just knows a good vibe when they hear one.”
Fabien: “I suppose so.”
He conceded warmly, his smile settling into that familiar, easygoing charm.
Fabien: “Might have to check and see if the bartender is a secret Hallmark movie fan.”
He teased. Lena laughed out loud, her eyes bright as she took another bite of her salad, completely lost in the moment and the easy, comfortable spell he cast just by sitting across from her.
Lena paused, her laughter trailing off into a gentle, quiet smile. She looked at Fabien, her heart fluttering, and slowly reached across the small table. Her fingers brushed against his, and she gently placed her hand on top of his, a soft, deliberate gesture that made the air between them feel suddenly charged. Fabien went quiet as he looked down at her hand covering his.
Fabien grinned as he gently pulled his hand from hers.
Fabien: “Well, I have to get back to work now.”
He stated.
Fabien: “But if you need anything, just wave at me.”
He winked and shot her a fingerbang before heaving back to table twelve.
Lena sat frozen for a moment, her hand still hovering in the space where his had been, her fingers curling slightly against the empty laminate table. The playful warmth in her chest turned to a dull, stinging ache as she watched his retreating, his easy gait suddenly feeling miles away. She pulled her hand back, tucking it into her lap as if to hide the rejection, and forced a stiff, brittle smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She picked up her fork again, though the salad now felt like cardboard in her mouth, her gaze fixated on the colorful swirls of her unicorn float, desperate to disappear into the booth’s shadows.
Suddenly, a note dropped on the table. Lena picked it up, and it read, “ ‘Love Changes’ will play soon. When he comes back, ask him to do a sexy dance for you.”
Fabien glided back over to the quiet nook, holding a fresh glass of a unicorn float, right as the rich synthesizer intro and smooth synth-pop groove of Kashif and Meli’sa Morgan’s duet “Love Changes” began to wash over the room. He placed the glass on her table with a grin, shaking his head.
Fabien: “I swear, someone is trying to turn this place into a romance movie.”
Lena took a sip of her unicorn float, the smooth, emotional rhythm of the song making her feel like her heart was beating right in sync with the bassline. She looked up at him, her Byzantine eyes full of soft admiration.
Lena: “Maybe the music is just matching the company.”
She said softly, giving him a sweet, hopeful smile as Kashif’s lyrics about how love changes everything filtered through the quiet booth.
Fabien paused, resting a hand on his hip and looking down at her with a gentle, warm expression.
Fabien: “It definitely beats listening to the game scores.”
He leaned against the edge of the table for a moment.
Lena fumbled with the note that was dropped on her table, trying to come up with the words to ask him. She fiddled with her locket.
Lena: “Fabien?”
Fabien paused, his hand resting lightly on the cool wood of the booth as the smooth duet of “Love Changes” continued to play softly overhead. He turned his attention fully back to her, green eyes curious and soft, a faint, friendly smile lingering on his lips.
Fabien: “Yeah, Lena?”
He asked softly, swaying just a bit to the synth-heavy beat.
Fabien: “What’s on your mind?”
Lena fiddled with her locket.
Lena: “C-Can you do a sexy dance for me?”
She stammered. Her face flushed a deep, burning crimson the second the words left her mouth, but she held her ground, looking up at him with wide, hopeful Byzantine eyes. The smooth, seductive rhythm of Kashif’s duet was hitting its stride, filling the dim, quiet corner with total R&B energy.
Fabien blinked, stunned for a split second, before a slow, crooked grin spread across his face. He looked left, then right—checking to make sure Gary was nowhere near the back hallway.
Fabien: “A sexy dance?”
He repeated, his voice dropping into a playful, low purr.
Without missing a beat, he stepped back into the open space right at the edge of her booth. With smooth, effortless grace, he began to sway to the synth beat, rolling his shoulders and gliding his green sneakers across the floorboards. He ran a hand through his silver-white hair, throwing in a dramatic, slow-motion hip roll while flashing her an outrageously charming smirk.
He leaned down over the table, placing both hands on the vinyl edge right in front of her, his green eyes sparkling with mischief as the chorus swelled.
Fabien: “How’s that for service with a smile?”
He whispered, winking at her.
Lena clamped both hands over her mouth, a mixture of a gasp and a giddy, squeaking laugh escaping her throat as her heart pounded clean out of her chest.
Just as the smooth synth chords of Kashif began to fade, the jukebox seamlessly transitioned into the bouncy, syncopated funk beat and signature chromatic harmonica intro of Stevie Wonder’s 1981 hit, “That Girl.”
Lena, still breathless and starry-eyed from his last impromptu performance, let out a soft, delighted gasp. She leaned forward over her empty salad bowl, her hands clasped tightly under her chin, her gold heart necklace glittering beneath the soft glow of the green neon signs.
Lena: “Wait, Fabien—listen!”
She squealed gently, her eyes shining with pure mischief and adoration.
Lena: “You can’t stop now! Do a sexy dance to this one!”
Fabien tossed his head back, his silvery-white hair sweeping across his shoulders as a broad, irrepressible grin lit up his face.
Fabien: “Are you trying to turn my shift into a full-blown music video production!?”
He teased.
Lena: “Please? Just a little bit?”
She pleaded playfully, biting her lip and looking up at him through her dark lashes.
Fabien: “Well…, when you put it like that, how can a guy say no?”
Fabien stepped back into the center of the aisle; he caught the precise pocket of the groove. He started with a slow, confident step-touch, his green sneakers gliding effortlessly across the wooden floor. He matched Stevie's soulful vocal rhythm with exaggerated, dramatic shoulder shimmies, rolling his hips in time with the popping bassline.
When the chorus kicked in, Fabien turned on the charm to full blast. He spun around on one heel, landed in a smooth, low dip right beside her table, and ran a hand slowly through his white locks, pointing a finger directly at her. He leaned over the booth, resting his chin in his hand just inches from hers, flashing a smoldering, playful wink right on the beat.
Fabien sang along softly under his breath, his green eyes dancing with infectious amusement.
Lena squeezed her eyes shut for a second, clutching her napkin to her chest as an ecstatic, uncontrollable giggle burst out of her. Her face was flushed bright crimson, her heart racing faster than the tempo of the song.
Lena: “You’re unbelievable!”
Lena laughed, her voice trembling with giddy delight as she looked at him, completely and utterly smitten.
Fabien: “Hey, I aim to please…”
He chuckled, straightening up with a dramatic bow.
As Fabien began to rise from his bow, Lena’s hand shot out, her fingers wrapping around his. She pulled him toward the edge of the booth, her Byzantine eyes dancing with a playful, mischievous glint that caught the dim amber light.
Before he could react, she turned his hand over and brushed her thumb slowly across the very center of his palm, tickling the sensitive skin with a gentle, feather-light touch. A soft, genuine laugh escaped him, and he didn’t pull away right away—instead, he leaned his weight against the booth, letting out a breathy chuckle.
Lena’s heart pounded wildly against her ribs, her cheeks burning bright crimson under the warm restaurant lights, but she held on for just a heartbeat longer, thrilled by the contact.
Fabien gave her hand a gentle, friendly squeeze before softly pulling back, running those same fingers through his white hair with that effortless, easygoing smile.
Fabien: “I have other tables to tend to right now. This was… entertaining.”
He smiled tightly.
~
A few minutes after the birthday crew finished devouring their wings and the grand slam platter, the lights in Brenda’s section dimmed just a fraction.
From around the kitchen corner, Fabien emerged holding a glowing slice of chocolate fudge cake, topped with a single, brightly burning “48” candle. He glided over to table twelve, a brilliant, infectious grin on his face.
Fabien: “All right, ladies, make way for the grand finale!”
He announced, his voice carrying smoothly over the background chatter of the restaurant.
Brenda’s friends instantly broke into loud, uncoordinated clapping, chanting, “Brenda! Brenda! Brenda!”
Fabien set the cake down gently in front of the birthday girl, leaning in close so the warm glow of the candle illuminated his green eyes.
Fabien: “Make a good wish, Brenda, and make sure it’s a big one."
He purred teasingly. Brenda flushed a deep shade of pink, fanning herself with her napkin.
Brenda: “Honey, I think my wish already came true when you walked over to this table!”
Her friends absolutely lost it, squealing and slapping the table in laughter.
Blue Blouse Woman: "Make the wish and blow out the candle, Bren!"
She cheered.
Brenda closed her eyes, squeezed her hands together, and blew out the candle in one strong breath. The whole table erupted in applause.
Fabien: “Happy 48th again.”
He said smoothly.
Fabien: “Enjoy the cake. I’ll bring the check whenever you're ready—no rush at all.”
As Brenda and her friends started digging into the cake with four separate forks, Fabien left to tend to another table.
In her quiet booth, Lena watched the whole exchange with a mix of awe and possessive jealousy, dabbing her lip with a napkin. She couldn’t help but smile at how effortlessly charming he was—even if a tiny part of her wished that slice of cake was for her.
~
After the ladies had polished off the last crumbs of the chocolate fudge cake, Fabien glided back over to table twelve, sliding the black leather check presenter onto the wooden table with a practiced, smooth flick of his wrist.
Fabien: “Okay, ladies…”
He said, resting one hand on his hip and flashing them his signature, easygoing grin.
Fabien: “I hate to bring down the party, but here is the final damage for tonight’s festivities.”
He teased.
Brenda immediately snatched up the checkbook before her friends could even reach for it.
Brenda: “Oh no you don't, girls—this one’s on me tonight!”
She flipped it open, gasped playfully, and looked up at Fabien with a mischievous glint in her eye.
Brenda: “Now, Fabien… Is your phone number included on the total here, or do I have to pay extra for that?”
Her friends erupted into another chorus of loud cackles and table-slapping laughter.
Fabien tossed his white hair back, letting out a smooth, infectious laugh.
Fabien: “Now Brenda, you know Gary Owens keeps a strict policy on that—strictly off the menu!”
He leaned down slightly, giving her a charming, conspiratorial wink.
Fabien: “But I’ll make sure to give you the VIP treatment anytime you come back through those doors. Happy 48th again, truly.”
Brenda: “You are an absolute doll!”
She swooned, pulling a thick stack of cash from her purse and slipping it into the checkbook without even waiting for change.
Brenda: “Keep the rest, handsome. You earned every bit of it!”
Fabien: “You ladies are too kind…”
He said, bowing smoothly and tucking the check presenter under his arm.
Fabien: “Have a fantastic rest of your night, drive safe, and don’t let Brenda celebrate too hard!”
With one final wave to the cheering table, Fabien turned on his green sneakers and strutted back toward the quiet back hallway, his server pouch noticeably heavier with a very generous birthday tip.
~
Ivy sat out at the patio dining area with Samson strapped to a chair and utensils tied to his paws so he could eat the linguine. Ivy had a cup of oolong tea. She was smiling broadly, holding up her camcorder to show off everything she had recorded so far.
Ivy: “Celeste, I just captured your boyfriend’s infidelity. Chelsea may be dead, but her spirit lives on in Lena.”
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