The Waitress and the Wolf (Book 1 of The Guardian series)

Chapter 1. Table 4

Just thought I'd try something new. Pic of Venus above :D Tell me if I should keep writing!

I sighed, scrubbing the table furthermore. Of course this couple had managed to bring all 4 of their kids, shove them into a booth and watch them as they decided to color in ketchup and mustard. I frowned, wiping a strand of my loose brown hair behind my ear.

"Venus, you've got another customer coming at booth 4!" Marge hollered from the kitchen. I glanced at this table. On it sat a big paper 4.

"I'm not even finished," I replied, scrubbing twice as hard. Who knew a kid could make such a detailed mustard painting of a fish?

Marge frowned, her large head of blonde hair swishing up and down in it's tease. Marge, though she was 54, liked to wear the brightest green eye shadows and all shades of purple lipsticks. Her frame remained small and petite, well, if you discount her huge melons in both her front and her back.

"Yeah, tell that to the party of 5 coming in 15 minutes," She hollered. I frowned, and stepped back from the messy table. No other customers had arrived yet, and so far it was just me, Marge and my two friends Moira and Will working.

Marge was always here, though no one really knew. She had a small sleeping bag down in the basement along with her strange assortments of lacy undergarments. As rambunctious as the hopeless romantic woman was, she was like a mother to me, and allowed me to work here when I was 16. Now here I am, 24 and still scrubbing ketchup and mustard painted tables.

Moira came here when she was 18, blonde hair, lip piercings, the whole goth chick look. Now 22, temperamental and feisty was how she walked in and out of these doors, but to where, no one knew. It was quite possible she was even living on the streets, though I'd never point that in conversation.

Will came around way before me and Moira. Marge is his aunt, and though he's never said much about his real parents, no one bothered to ask. Now at 24, he was quite the charmer. His dark brown hair, blue eyes, and broad shoulders helped to bring in the high school girls.

All of us had our reasons for working at this diner, but the ideas of sharing those reasons with each other seemed to be a mystery to us all.

"Moira, what have I told you?" Marge began to scold the gutterpunk. Moira rolled her ice blue eyes and continued to dip her finger in the cake batter. She leaned back on the counter, swaying her ripped stocking covered legs back and forth.

"No one is even going to eat it," She retorted. I heard Marge let out a deep sigh, as though her life had been made that much harder. Moira shrugged and continue to dip her finger in the batter. I turned around and hustled to get this table cleaned off. Wiping off the last bits of mustard from the seats, I walked into the kitchen to get new rags.

"How was the night shift?" Will asked, appearing behind me out of nowhere. I nearly jumped, but his off presence wasn't new to me anymore.

"A couple too busy lip-locking than to even touch their cheeseburgers with extra pickles, and 4 kids who decided the table was an art easel and their markers were the sauces, so what do you think?" I asked, washing my hands off in the sink. He laughed heartily. I smiled.

"I guess we have another customer this morning, group of 5, mind helping me out?" I asked him. He nodded in an instant, his eyes seeming far off.

"Why don't we ever tell each other why we all came to work here?" I asked, wiping my hands on my apron. He shrugged and crossed his brawny arms.

"I like to think we all have dark and twisted pasts. It's more fun to think of it that way than to give away the mystery of it all, right?" He asked, raising his brows. I nodded, though I knew we all did have dark and twisted pasts. Whatever helped him sleep at night, right?