"One black coffee and two bagels with cream cheese, thanks."

My achy limbs noted the request of the elderly gentleman on my cream-paged pamphlet book as his slouching frame relaxed on our worn-out, fake leather sofa booths with a nasal cannula attached to his wide nostrils and a clear plastic tube linked to his green survival tank.

"Would you like a glass of water or orange juice before you get your coffee?" I smiled at him.

"That would be–" Vroom, Vroom, we both trained our eyes to the Harley Davidson pulling up at our deserted, free-for-all parking. At the same time, the sinking orange sun provided enough light to keep our curiosity piqued as to who was driving such an expensive and noisy bike in this forsaken part of town.

A young guy. About my age.

His dusty leather boot moved forward to the foot controls and unlatched the bike stand. After dismounting the hell rider, I watched and waited as his arms lifted the visor, removed the helmet from his head, and flicked his shoulder-length jet-black locks leftward and rightward, looking like he was doing a shampoo commercial until the slinky waves relaxed on his broad shoulders.

Wow.

He was really good-looking. So inexplicably beautiful; the kind that passes through this town and would not be caught dead aboding here.

I glanced down at my notepad, a reminder that I needed this job until my music career kicked off or when one of my songs would become a hit on YouTube.

The clinking and tinkling at the entrance of our diner, and my eyes were trained on my white rubber sneakers. I couldn't survive looking at his gorgeous face or, even worse, become hypnotized by whatever color his magnetizing eyes would be.

"Was it orange juice or water?" I remembered the task at hand.

"Water, please. Thank you."

Turning on my heel, I returned to the open-plan kitchen and placed the order with our head chef, Javier. "Aren't you going to take his order before Gabriela beats you to it?" Javier jutted his chin toward the table where the mysterious stranger was sitting.

I didn't look back. However, I knew precisely where he was seated. Table four, by the window.

"Take whose order?" I played dumb.

"Ya," Javier snorted as he rolled his eyes, "you know who. He is staring at you. FYI."

I could feel the embarrassment paste all over my face as I bit my lip and bat my lashes at the gray concrete floor.

Maybe Javier is lying.

That's all the encouragement I needed to straighten my spine and flip open a fresh page of my order pad and traipse toward hottie over there and get my last order before the diner closed.

Javier was not lying. His eyes were on me and me alone, a dive-into-me lagoon blue.

"Hi." He chimed before me, taking the lead in the conversation I was supposed to open with, 'Hello, welcome to Olés. What can I get for you today?'

"Hi," I answered his rarin' to go smile with an encouraging one.

"You are so pretty," he voiced.

I literary did that thing where your toes pinpoint to the ground, and I twirled my foot like the hopeless romantic I am. You are still at work! I smacked myself internally and remembered what I was there to do.

"Uhm... uh, thanks." I tucked a nonexistent stray hair behind my ear, then asked if I could get him anything.

"Would a dance with you be okay?" My eyes widened. I knew he would not ask for coffee or water, but I was ready for tequila or whiskey.

"Uhm-Uhm," again with the blushing and the stutter, "I-I still have work. We don't close for another half hour." I grinned coyly, my fingertips doing all sorts of crazy intertwining behind my back.

"Allow me." Without so much as a flinch or caution about health code violations, he jumped to the top of the table and announced while holding my petite hand, "ladies and gentlemen, would anyone object to me having a dance with this beautiful lady? I know she may still have some work, but wouldn't all love to see her dance and smile?"

"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" The other patrons in the diner cheered, exclaimed, hollered.

His feet swiftly landed on the floor, and he beelined for the jukebox. After pressing some buttons on the old faithful, a familiar all-loved tune permeated the speakers. He held his hand high for me to join him, and I shook my head with a smirk as my feet obeyed his request.

Our palms touched, our eyes locked, his hand slid from the top of my back and rested on the small of it. I held my chin high, arched my back, and looked like a prim and proper salsa virtuoso.

He led. I followed.

His foot forward, mine backward, slotting the pieces, then side to side as I shake my hips. He twirls me as I spin an arm's length away from him before his powerful arms pull me back and hold me close to his chest, and we continue to sway to the melodious tune about unrequited love.

He leans in, his breath fanning my ears as he says, "you are the best dancer I've ever met, señorita."

I simper across his chest, counting our steps, stealing smiles from each other, dancing until it was just us two in the diner, until our backs were soaked and our feet were aching to sit.

That night I went home, the happiest girl I've been in a while.

I wanted to have a reminder of tonight, so I took my pen...

I love it when you call me señorita
I wish I didn't pretend that I didn't need ya
But every touch is ooh, la-la-la

***

Author's Note; Thanks for reading. ❤️