Neon paint splatters covered my clothes, and I didn’t realize how ridiculous I looked until I pulled up to the gas station. I stepped inside, feeling sore and a little dazed from an intense paintball match, and that’s when I saw her. The cashier.
Her blonde hair was tied up in a messy bun, a few wisps escaping around her face. When she noticed me and smiled, I swear my heart somersaulted.
“If the Terminator walked in right now,” she teased, “he definitely wouldn’t ask for your clothes.”
I blinked. For a second, I didn’t know whether to laugh or melt into the floor. “I… I was just playing paintball,” I replied sheepishly. My cheeks flamed up in what I could only hope wasn’t an obvious blush.
She grinned wider, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Really? That was my first guess.” She looked me up and down, making a show of inspecting the damage. “Did you win, or…?”
“Uh, yeah. My team won.” I shrugged, trying to appear casual, though it was hard to feel composed under her playful gaze.
“Well, congrats, soldier. Need a victory snack?” She winked at me and nodded at the candy shelf, her tone still dripping with mock seriousness.
I couldn’t help but laugh. This woman — Beth, her name tag read — was a breath of fresh air. I don’t know what came over me, but the next thing I knew, I blurted out, “Would you like to grab dinner with me sometime?”
She blinked, the smile fading slightly as surprise flickered in her eyes. For a moment, I feared I’d misread the whole thing. But then she tilted her head and her grin returned. “Alright. Sure… just no paintball, okay?”
We exchanged numbers, and I walked out of that gas station with a date to look forward to. I was excited, but it didn’t take long for the anxiety to set in. I’ve been burned too many times before. Women were often more interested in the idea of Nate, the wealthy restaurateur, than in Nate, the man who liked obscure indie bands and reading Manga. So, I devised a little test. Maybe it was crazy, but I had to know.
I invited Beth to my upscale Italian restaurant downtown. It was the crown jewel of my empire, and would now also be the stage on which I’d expose Beth’s true intentions. I watched from across the room as Beth entered in a simple red dress that made her look effortlessly beautiful. The staff already knew the plan, so I hurried over to greet her, my heart pounding.
“Hey,” I said, guiding her to a corner table. “I’m so glad you came. I saved us the best table.”
Beth smiled, glancing around. “Oh? You come here so often you know which table is the best?”
I chuckled as I sat across from her, fidgeting with the napkin. “Yeah, I work here. Just finished my shift, actually.”
Her eyes flickered with surprise, but her trademark grin quickly replaced it. “Really? I’ve always wanted to be a waitress. Maybe I’ll jump in for a shift after dinner.”
I laughed nervously. “I don’t recommend it. The pay’s awful, and the hours? Brutal.”
As if on cue, one of my waiters approached with menus, winking subtly at me. “Good to see you, Nate. Still recovering from that lunch rush?” he asked, playing his part perfectly.
“Yeah, barely survived,” I said with a tight smile.
Dinner arrived, and soon we were talking and laughing like old friends. She told me about her love of books, and how she used to want to write, but ended up working at the gas station to help her mom out. She was funny and quick-witted. Her humor caught me off guard at every turn and I was thoroughly charmed by her. Being with her felt… effortless.
As dessert approached, my restaurant manager, Tom, came over, looking furious. Of course, it was all part of the act.
“Nate!” Tom snapped, glaring at me. “You skipped out on the last 15 minutes of your shift. What the hell? Get back to the kitchen and wash the dishes, or you’re fired!”
Beth’s eyes went wide. She stood, her face softening with concern. “Hey, it’s okay. If you need to go, go. We can always—”
“I’m really sorry,” I cut in, feeling the weight of the lie. “I’ll have to finish up back there. I’ll, uh, text you later?”
“Sure,” she replied with a wink.
And with that, I excused myself, heading toward the kitchen, my mind racing. I needed time to think, but I had barely been back there for two minutes when the kitchen door creaked open. Beth slipped in, her face glowing with amusement and determination.
“You haven’t started yet?” she teased, rolling up her sleeves. “Come on. Let’s wash these dishes together and then go for a walk on the pier.”
I stared at her, completely floored. How did I get so lucky? A flood of emotions swept over me. It was clear now that Beth really did like me, enough to wash a mountain of dirty dishes just to spend more time with me.
I couldn’t keep the lie going any longer. I took a deep breath, took her hands in mine, and told her the truth—that I wasn’t just a waiter, but the owner of the place. I expected her to be angry, but she just laughed and told me she didn’t care about the money; she just liked the guy in the paint-splattered clothes.
