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It could be said, without any major objections, that Laran was one of the best waitresses in Urithiru. She was articulate when calling orders— some chefs refused to just read the ticket— quick with refilling drinks and bringing plates, and terribly pleasant with customers.
Now, Laran didn’t know much about the owner of the high-end restaurant she worked at, but she knew he had a daughter. An intelligent, beautiful, confident, did she say beautiful, daughter. According to Mr. Wistiow.
She had no reason to doubt her boss, she guessed. She never expected to wholeheartedly agree.
“This is Laral— Laral, Laran! Isn’t that funny?” Mr. Wistiow was saying, a hand on Laral’s shoulder, chucking at his own joke. Laran briefly wonders if her name was what got her the job.
“It is, Mr. Wistiow.” Laran smiles at him, because it kinda is, and because he’s a very nice old man. Laral smiles briefly, acknowledging the joke, before her face drops back to something between neutral and pissy.
She was gorgeous. Black and golden hair— was it natural, or dyed? — with pale green eyes, like the— fuck, she can’t think of a simile. Her mind goes blank.
She’s wearing the cutest dress, dark red and made of a sturdy material, heavy cotton or something, with a high neck and no sleeves.
Her expression minutely, so minutely Laran wouldn’t have caught it if she wasn’t staring like a weirdo, when she glances down at Laran’s lanyard. The one with the tiny little lesbian flag pin she stuck to it. Oh, okay. Cool. cool shes either also gay or like weird about gay people so that’s not—
She stops herself from spiralling. What, she had a chance with Mr. Wistiow’s daughter? This restaurant was worth— probably more than her parent’s house. No, definitely more. Maybe more than her whole childhood neighborhood. It was fancy.
Laral probably vacationed in the Reshi Isles and sipped martinis on her million dollar yacht or some shit, no way she'd be into some waitress at her father's restaurant.
“Nice— uh— nice to meet you, Laral.” She stutters out, and mentally berates herself; but Laral just smiles, and exchanges a similar pleasantry, and gets whisked off by her father.
She didn't see Laral again for a few months— that seemed to be a weird bring your kid to work day one-time thing, until Lyn tells her she sat a seat in her section, and she bustles over to find Laral in the booth, all alone.
She’s not wearing that pretty little red dress this time, or any dress; she has on form fitting flared jeans and a quarter-zip sweater, also red. Maybe she likes red.
“Oh, hello Laral!” She plasters on her customer service voice, determined to not break her flow of the day.
“Hello, Laran.” She responds, voice dripping with amusement. Her face reflects it, a small smirk on her plump lips.
She places a menu in front of the other woman and takes a very deep breath and tries to maintain eye contact. Laral crinkles her eyes in a smile. Almighty.
“Do you want something to drink, or would you like to see the menu first?” She asks politely. So politely, so normally, so amazingly.
“Does this restaurant serve Kurth Auburn?” Laral asks, hands resting on her lap.
“Of course, yes, we have a few different ones available. We have—”
“Please, just pick one.” She interrupts, leaning in. “I trust your taste.” She practically whispers it. Her eyes are burning into Laran’s, disintegrating higher cognitive functions in her brain.
“Uh.” She blanks, then nods and hurries off. Storms storms stormsstormsstorms—
Lyn catches her by the arm as she's hurrying off to the back, aiming a raised eyebrow at her.
“What was that, Laran?” She sounds a little angry. “ She’s the owner's daughter, I picked you because you’re our best server. You can’t—” She frowns at Laran’s face.
“You’re blushing,” She says neutrally. Then grins, face splittingly.
“You’re blushinggg,” she sing-songs.
“Stop, stop, stop it— it’s so dumb I know.” Laran whisper-yells, burying her face in one of her hands. She’s so thankful the hostess stand is against a wall, blocking her from the view of Laral’s booth.
“She is pretty, I get it. But like seriously though, anything that happens here she’s telling Mr. Wistiow.” Lyn pushes her away from her, shoving her towards the back “Go get her wine.”
Laran nods and rushes off.
Laran ends up ordering fettuccine with salmon and some white truffle cream. She’d never tried it before, it was worth more than a quarter of her paycheck, but Laral had taken the first bite in front of her and made the most… satisfied sound at it she’d believe the dish cured illness.
She ordered water after she finished the auburn, but ordered a whole bottle of it to go. Laral paid the bill before, and as Laran came back with the bottle she found her gone.
She looked down at the table, seeing— 400 dollars— and a small note on the receipt. She had to revel at the money, more than she got in tips for the whole night, before reading the note.
Keep the auburn ;)
The auburn itself was 300 dollars. By the almighty. And then, under the note, her number. She let out a deep exhale, then smiled like a huge idiot.
7:14pm, Saturday
Hey, this is Laran from Wistiow’s! I just wanted to ask, haha, did you mean to leave such a big tip? You left, like, 400 dollars. I’ll return it if it was a mistake!
No, I meant to tip that much. I have a very firm grasp on my finances. Do you like the wine?
Laran was sitting at the counter of her mid-rise apartment, taking small sips of the wine from a shot glass. It was expensive, and she should probably like, collect it for her kids or something, but whenever she took a sip and remembered the note, she cracked a little smile.
Ah, yes, I'm actually drinking some now. It has a very… It almost tastes like I'm drinking a flower.
That’s good. I was worried you wouldn’t try it. It’s one of my favorites.
They talked into the evening, and then the day after, and then the day after that. And a few days after that. She seemed to be a little more curt over text than in person, but she couldn’t bring herself to mind all that much.
Laran was at the gym on the hack squat, when her phone chimed. It was a bit embarrassing to admit, but she had a special notification sound for Laral’s messages. Whatever, sue her.
She finished her rep and opened her phone.
Hey, good morning beautiful.
She had gotten in the habit of calling her that, and sending good morning texts. It was impossibly endearing, both because this gorgeous woman was calling her beautiful, and because her good morning texts were usually closer to noon than the actual morning.
Good morning, how’d you sleep?
Laral told her about her dream— something crazy, like flying, glowing men with blue people on their shoulders— and Laran told her about her day so far.
So, I was thinking. Could I take you out for dinner tonight?
Laran’s heart nearly stopped, and had to manually restart it to respond.
Yeah, yeah of course.
Laral gave her a time, Laran gave her her address, and then she had to leave the gym because she couldn’t focus on her workout.
It was evening, and Laran kept fixing her hair as she fiddled with her jewlery— the nicest stuff she had— and the doorbell rang. She rushed to open it, her boots clicking as she did.
Laral was on the other side, wearing a crimped dark teal dress that brought out her hair, which was in a half up half down style, a section of hair falling over her exposed shoulders. She suddenly felt extremely undressed in her button up and trousers.
“You ready?” Laral said. She didn’t seem to mind her simple attire, sizing her up like Laran was a steak and she a hound.
She swallowed, feeling something catch in her throat.
“Yeah,” She replied, watching Laral watch her. It was an odd feeling.
Laral stepped closer, an inch taller with her heels. She had to suppress the instinctual urge to back away, because now she could smell her perfume; floral and rich— it, storms, it smelt like the storming Kurth auburn.
The dinner was nice— the restaurant mid-range, less classy than Wistiow’s, which was actually pretty nice of Laral. She’d feel outclassed if she couldn’t afford anything on the menu. The view was good, the music— live— was better.
They stood outside the restaurant now, in a dimly lit corner of the parking lot where the car was parked.
Laran held the door open for her, but with a slight nudge of her hand, Laral pushed it back closed and leaned forward, barely an inch from Laran’s face. Her heart stopped. Maybe non-metaphorically.
“I was thinking—” Laral placed a hand on Laran’s chest.
“Uh huh,” she said, dumbly.
“We go back to my place?”
“Uh huh,” She repeated, weak.
Laral laughed, that sickly smooth one that all rich people do, and leaned forward and captured her lips in hers.
Laran’s short circuiting mind thinks back to Lyn’s comment at the hostess stand, and— I don’t think she’s gonna tell her father about this. She leans into the kiss.