༺ SIX ༻

It's my first day working at Mamma Mia, and I'm nervous as hell. Only because of the thing I told Thomas yesterday. I'm afraid he might dislike me now, or that his training to be a server will be awkward.

The guilt of what I said has been eating me alive. I've said that words do a lot to me, and that also applies to my own words. Words are like... everything. It's why compliments mean so much to me.

Words can be lies and truths, said warmly and coldly, believed or not... it's everything texts are not. Texts don't show honesty and an apology through a text never works out.

When I enter Mamma Mia, Thomas is already standing there in his apron. He smiles, which makes me happy already, then holds out his hand as he bows down a bit.

Laughing, I take his hand. "What's this formal greeting for?"

He looks up, his eyes dark but bright at once, and places a kiss that heats my whole body up, on my hand. "It's my greeting to show I'm an awesome colleague and that this restaurant is amazing."

My smile brightens. "You've kissed even an grandpa's hand? If he starts working here?"

"Of course not. This is my first time trying this way of training someone!" He takes my wrist. "Come on, Blondie. Gotta get to work."

"Your way of training someone? By kissing their hand?" I laugh, and have to hold myself back from doing it in his shoulder because that's what I usually do when laughing with someone. "Sure that'll work out."

"I serve with charm." He stops walking when we're behind the bar, where no one but the bartender is, except we're in the corner. "That, I will teach you."

"So they'll order more drinks? And give me tips?"

"You're not a dumb blonde, I see." Thomas looks up and down at me. "Yup. But I'm sure the charm part won't be a problem for you." And he winks again, then leads me to the kitchen. "Now here you've got to pick up the food you're gonna serve. The drinks are at the bar. They'll tell you what table."

His hand is still wrapped around my wrist when he pulls me in a room behind the kitchen. It's cold and tiny here, with millions of products around us. "What size are you? Need to get you an apron. No tutu's here."

Luckily, the apron in my size fits. Thomas hands me a hair tie which he just magically got somewhere, and waits for me to finish making the ponytail. My hair can't get in the food.

"Now here you got the tray." He hands me the black thing. "You balance plates on your hands and wrists. It's hard in the beginning, but you'll manage. If you drop something, do some ballerina move as you pick it up and no one will mind."

I raise an eyebrow. "Do you do ballerina moves when you pick something up?"

"Unfortunately, I'm not capable of that." He cracks a smile. "But I never drop anything."

"You seem like you would."

"Well, maybe they got like... twenty new plates and thirty new glasses since I started working here, but that are some little mistakes." He cringes at his own words. Next, I'm standing back in the kitchen.

"Luca!" Thomas cups his hands around his mouth. "Rosetta is all trained and well. I'm sure she can bring some drinks."

The cook looks up. "Alright. But just start with cleaning up tables and putting cutlery down as you pick the dirty dessert plates and bowls up, Tommaso. Don't drop anything."

"As if I would dare to shatter your heart like that." He makes a dramatic movement before I'm pulled away again.

We're at a dirty table. The guests have already exited, their leftover desserts and plates the only clues left.

Thomas smoothly picks the bowls and plates up and I start cleaning with the wet cloth he gave me. The job happens fast, and in no time, other guests sit down at it with clean plates and cutlery Thomas and I got ready.

He lies a hand on my shoulder once we're back in the kitchen. "You seem like a natural, Blondie. Just need some more interactions with the guests and you'll be fine. Did you discuss your salary?"

"Fifteen dollars every work hour," I reply.

He nods, face close. "Nice. So if you'd work as much as me you'll do three hours on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, which is nine, plus five on Friday because it's show night then, and sometimes an extra hour on Sunday... meaning you'll get hundred thirty five dollars a week."

"Oh, so you're also a genius?"

"I'm many things." I think he has a thing for winking, because he does it again, and then disappears to take orders as I start doing the same.

Honestly, this is the best job ever. It's fun to take up orders as long as the guests are nice and working with Thomas and all the other kind employees is awesome. Hundred thirty five dollars a week for nine hours of this? Perfect.

Matches my ballet schedule. On all days except for Sunday, I have to work right after ballet, because on Sunday I don't have ballet. Just on Saturday.

After three hours of hard work, but a lot of enjoying, the guests are gone and it's just for me and Thomas to clean up. Luca agreed to me joining so fast because apparently, the boy Thomas had been working with before quit right before I showed up. Otherwise either Thomas would've gotten a lot of work, or someone from the kitchen had to help.

"You've already worked here for a year, huh?" I resist the urge to clean up in a ballet position. It's what I usually do when cleaning my room. "You must really like it."

"I do." He scoots some chairs on the right place. "It's always so busy that it also keeps my mind busy. Off the worse things, you know? And it's fun, too. I would probably continue working here even if I didn't get paid."

I nod, totally understanding his statements. "Great. And nice that it's some kind of... distraction, yeah." A smile forms on my face. "Ever dealt with horrible guests?"

"Oh, certainly." Laughing, he looks up. "Some don't like the jokes. Good thing I've learned. You can tell by first greeting which guest not to mess with. It's just a thing you have to learn. I'll teach you that, then."

I smile. I'm doing it a lot these days, even through the fights. "You better. I don't want to piss people off."

"I'm sure you won't. Just smile like that and they'll be over the top," he encourages, sometimes looking up. "Have you got a driver's license?"

I shake my head. "No. I biked my way here."

Thomas runs a hand through his now messier hair. "Well, Blondie, you're maybe a little bit of a dumb blondie after all. I won't let you bike through the darkness! Newt will kill me if something happens."

"Can you drive?"

"Of course I can," he says it with confidence. "I don't have my own car, though. Always have to beg for the keys. My mom gives me 'em if I behave well. Which I, of course, always do."

"Oh, I'm sure you do." It comes out a bit teasing, and I smile wider. "If you really need to bring me home so badly, do you think my bike will fit in that car?"

"I'm sure it will." He tosses away some napkins. "So, Rose... if you're asking me all those questions, I'd like to ask some, too."

"Shoot."

"Favorite color?"

"Pink."

He doesn't judge, which most guys do when a guy hears a girl's favorite color is pink. "Dream pet?"

"A rabbit."

"Favorite food?"

I hum for a while. "Mac and cheese."

"Age?"

"Eighteen."

"Birthday?"

"May twenty fourth. What's yours?"

"August twenty sixth."

"And everything else you just asked me?"

"Blue, a dog, pizza, nineteen."

I tilt my head. "Hm. Good taste."

"I work at an Italian restaurant. Of course I got good taste, Rosetta." He clicks with his tongue. "Come on. We're not even cleaning anymore, and Luca wants to close in five minutes. Let's go before Newt shows up angry you're late."

I smile. "Newt won't. He barely knows where this is located and how late—"

"Newt makes sure to know every place you and little Sonya go and he keeps track of time. I know because I've seen him worry when Sonya was already two hours late from school, while she was just at a friend's house." Thomas waves a goodbye at Luca after I did, then turns back to me. "He's a good brother. Maybe a bit too caring sometimes, but you'd be surprised."

Something in my chest warms up. Smiling at the thoughts, I feel Thomas pull the knot at the back of my apron so it moves off, and he can put it back. "Taking my clothes off already, are you?"

My face gets red again. I need to stop bloody doing that around Thomas, or maybe just consider not saying those weird things.

He grins. "Should I?" Then, he's holding my wrist again, leading me outside. "Kidding. Newt would also kill me for that."

My mouth drops half open before I reply, "Ah, so Newt's the only problem?"

"I'm suppose there's one big problem, too, if I'm taking a girl's clothes off," he says, almost without shame. I nearly choke on nothing. "Moving on, there's the car."

He gets there before I do, so he opens the door for me, then starts the vehicle. "Let's not speak of taking clothes off anytime soon again," I say, half flustered.

"Agreed," he says. His driving is definitely not as perfect as Newt's, but I think I'll survive.

"How'd hockey go today?"

I hope my question doesn't ruin his mood or anything. I'm just interested.

He doesn't seem to mind too much, though he seemed tense for a second. "Mwah." He shrugs. "Jorge, our coach, says I might not be able to join the season after an accident that happened a while ago." His voice shakes at the word accident. "Apparently, I've lost my strength and I— well, am sometimes reminded by the accident out of nowhere, and get quite panicky so maybe he's right."

I can't help but lie my hand down on his. Physical touch is often comforting to me when I'm upset, so maybe he'll feel the same. "That must be awful."

He shrugs. "I mean, yeah. It's not like I wanna be a hockeyer when I'm older, but it's the sport I've been playing since forever and I know I was good at it."

"You can regain your strength with a lot of training," I suggest, even though he probably already thought of that, or got the advice before.

I still don't ask about the accident itself now I know he might panic thinking about it.

I do now know that the accident must've happened on the ice.

"Yeah." He nods. "For the mental part... I don't know. Jorge doesn't have enough time to actually help me. Not that I really want the help, but if someone would be open for it, I guess I'd agree."

I smile. At least he hasn't given up. "Maybe it needs time. Things like this need that. And if you don't manage to get back at the high level, that's alright, too."

A tiny smile forms on his face. "You'd make an alright therapist."

"An alright one?" I chuckle. "I'll make sure that turns into good."

"You'd want to be a therapist when you're older?"

"Oh, no." I shake my head fast. "Ballerina it is. And maybe a side job. Perhaps at an Italian restaurant." My eyes meet his for a second, they're squinty and bright, then he looks back at the road. "What do you want to be?"

"A scientist or something." He shrugs. "I like science and maths."

"Cool," I say. "It's a stupid fact, but Newt and I are named after some."

"Isaac Newton and... Rosalind who? Franklin, Picard, or Pitt-Rivers?"

I barely know the people he just named. "Franklin. Sonya after Sonya Levien. But that's a screenwriter."

"It's a stupid fact," he says just like I had done, "but my parents have always loved the name Thomas and my last name happens to be Edison."

"The inventor of the light bulb." I lean back in my seat, smiling. "Well, it's a nice name."

"My insides warm up like a light bulb at the compliment, Blondie," he jokes.

So do I mine, and he's not even complimenting me. "Blondie..." I sigh the word out. "It's... annoying but nice. And I'll accept it because you immediately called me by the name I prefer."

"Then I'll keep calling you it. I've been waiting for when you come up with Tommy or Tom, because apparently the name Thomas has no other nicknames."

"Tea."

I'm not gonna calling him tea.

He smiles. "An option. But Thomas is fine."

"I like your name, so okay. Thomas it will be." A pause. "However, if I happen to find you another nickname I might use it. I like to give people nicknames. If something embarrassing will happen to you, I'll definitely call you something that has to do with it."

He smiles. "My friend would call you 'sweetie'. I think you and him will like each other, by the way. He's just as kind as you."

A blush spreads on my cheeks. "I don't think I'm that kind after some things I said—"

"Everything you do, you do with good intentions," he interrupts. "Now, Blondie, we're here. What time do I look through my window?"

I snicker. "That's for you to figure out. Maybe I'll keep my curtain closed forever."

He tucks his hands in his pockets at the coldness of the night, and I have to resist to urge to offer him my damn coat. Which I wore because I got here on my—

"We forgot my bike," I realize.

We'd been too caught up talking to realize.

"Oh." He stops walking in realization. "Do you need it tomorrow? It's Sunday then."

I shake my head. "No. But I have ballet before work on Monday, and my dad and Sonya take the other bikes, Newt takes the car, and Mom the other one. I believe they're all gone way before me."

"I can bring you."

I look up at him in surprise. "You would?"

"Sure." He laughs. "In those two hours I'll try not to burst in and kill Janson. Then we drive to work and try not to forget your bike again."

"Alright," I say. "Thank you already. I owe you a lot."

"As long as you don't act like a dumb blonde, you don't owe me anything," he replies, still smiling. His hair moves from the light breeze, and his nose shadows over his face because of the light. I find myself staring a little too long.

"Okay," I eventually say. "Good deal. Guess I'll see you around... a lot. In my house, through my window, at work, at Sports..."

"Small town disadvantages." He attempts to fix his hair, but three seconds later, it's a mess. "Or benefits. Whatever you like to call it."

"I guess after a few months, I'll find out if it's a benefit to see you that much." I start making my way to the front door once I realize we've been talking too much again. It's getting later and colder by the seconds. "Thank you for the lift, Thomas."

"You're welcome, Rose." He doesn't walk up the veranda. "Have a nice day tomorrow. How late does your practice start Monday?"

"At thirty past four," I say. "Thank you for that ride already." My hand reaches for the handle and I miss it because I keep staring at Thomas. "Have a nice rest of your weekend, too."

"Don't do blondie things." He waves. Slowly, the brunette starts making his way to his own house and I catch myself only finding the handle when he's almost there. A faint, "Bye!" is all I hear through the dark night.

I smile, wave, then finally get inside.