Archive of Our Own ^beta

I look up at the clock, gnawing on the inside of my cheek. It’s a bad, bad habit of mine. Every time I’m anxious, I chew the skin inside my cheek so raw it bleeds. I can’t eat for days afterwards. And unfortunately, anxiety riddles me almost hourly, so I’m in permanent pain. 

After today, I’m going on leave for a week. Look forward to that, Sylvia. Come on. You can do this. The clock chimes seven o’clock. Or not.

“Alright, people,” I call out to the kitchens. “The critic from The Oregonian is gonna be here any minute. Best behaviour, you got that?”

I grab a menu from a stack by the kitchen and fly my gaze around the foyer to ensure nothing is out of place. It's picture-perfect.

“You okay?” Carla asks me, placing her hand on my shoulder gently. She knows how much tonight means to me. The manager of the restaurant has my job on the line depending on the outcome of this review. 

“I will be when this goes well,” I mumble, my eyes glued to the door. I see a matt black Jeep drive into the reserved parking right in front of the restaurant. Suddenly, it dawns on me that I haven’t looked in a mirror in more than an hour. I face Carla with a new rush of anxiety. “Do I look okay?”

“Hey, stop chewing on that poor cheek. You look beautiful, Sylvia. I still can’t believe you paid three hundred bucks for that dress.”

“It better be worth it,” I breathe, smoothing over my stomach and facing the door again. A tall figure makes their way up to the entrance. “Eddie!” I gesture to the door vigorously and Eddie opens it in a rush, welcoming a very different person than to whom I’d been expecting.

“Holy shit,” Carla mutters. “She’s hot.”

The tall, attractively half-blonde, half-brunette woman who’d crossed the threshold is elegant and sexy, and her warm smile lodges a lump into my throat. I swallow. “Let’s hope she’s easy to please.”

“Look at that tailcoat. That’s not faux leather, Sylvie. That’s one sophisticated woman.”

“I thought M. Marx was a man,” I huff, walking away from Carla and shaking a few worries from my head, ready to put on a brave face. This may be harder than I thought.

I meet Miss Marx’s eyes as confidently as I can, and immediately I’m struck by her presence. Her soul oozes from within her like molten chocolate. I smile from sheer fear.

“Miss Marx,” I greet her, keeping my voice warm and practised. I offer her my hand. “I will be your hostess tonight. Sylvia.”

“Sylvia,” she repeats, letting it swirl on her tongue like a sip of wine. She takes my hand and squeezes it, letting her thumb brush over the back of it. “Please call me Meg. I don’t bite.”

I wouldn’t complain if you did, my mind muses – much to my surprise. Since when do I see women this way?  

“Meg it is,” I laugh, trying to recover. I let go of her hand with what I’m sure are severely flushed cheeks. “We have the perfect table ready for you. We feel honoured to have you here all the way from Portland.” 

“I feel honoured to be here,” she counters, allowing me to lead her to a table in front of the largest window; out of the draft, away from the bathrooms and ahead of the best view. “This is supposed to be one of the best seaside restaurants in Oregon.”

A thrill runs through me. I straighten my spine. “I hope we live up to your expectations.”

“I’m sure you will.”

I feel her look me up and down as I pull out her chair. She slides into her seat, eyes still trailing on me, waiting for me to meet her stare. I move each item set out on her table a millimetre back into place, trying to stall making eye contact with her. Eventually, I have to hand her the menu and stand still. I meet her eyes, tightening my knuckles against my arms. She smirks a bit, just a slightly off smile, and crosses her ankles. 

“I trust you received my email about my allergies and preferences?” She says with an air of arrogance, as she removes the clip keeping her hair twisted against the back of her head. She lets the locks drown her shoulders and runs her hand through them once. I inhale as much air as I can, trying to keep my eyes on hers and not let them run the length of her body.

“Um, yes,” I stutter, wanting to kick myself. “We had originally prepared the mushroom risotto as your main course, but we have adjusted the menu to accommodate you as you can see – “ I open her menu to the second page and point to the apt ‘salmon risotto’ beneath the mushroom. “– here.”

“Attagirl,” she murmurs, running her teeth over her bottom lip and making my abdomen scream.

My eyes widen as a result, and immediately, I notice she becomes uncomfortable with her comment.

“I apologise if that came across differently to what I intended. I didn’t mean to sound pretentious, it was supposed to be flirtatious.”

“No, no,” I assure her, taking a step closer. “It was fine. Good! Good, actually. It was good.” I want to kick myself.

“Wonderful,” she soothes. “Thank you, Sylvia. Perhaps if tonight goes well, you’ll join me for a glass of wine after dessert.”

My heart does some weird somersault. I’m crawling in my skin.

“I look forward to it,” is all I can say as I smile at the ground. I glance up at her and walk back towards the foyer. Still, after every one of my dumb screw-ups, I feel her stare on me until I turn the corner. 

When I’m out of sight, I flatten myself against the wall next to the bathroom and cover my face.

“Did you see that?” I hear Carla exclaim. “Sylvia fucking Martinez? Did you see that? ”

“Oh my God, I was terrible, Carly. Terrible.”

“Are you kidding? She was practically drooling all over you! This is going to be fantastic for the restaurant.”

I peek at her exhilarated face through my fingers. “Really?”

“Oh, come on, Sylvie. You aren’t dumb.”

I drop my hands. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Now, I’ve gotta go bring her the wine so I don’t fuck this up for you – but think about it okay? You can play this to your advantage! In more ways than one. ”

She scurries away with a bottle of chardonnay, and I glance around the corner. Sure enough, she’s almost as charming from this far away. I sigh, committing her sleek black Stilettos, wide leg jeans, maroon turtleneck and silky hair to memory. 

“Miss Sylvia?”

“What is it, Eddie?” I ask without looking away from Meg and Carla.

“We have some guests waiting,” he says in a high-pitched, slightly trembling voice. “They’re asking for you.”

I cringe at my incompetence, following him to the door. I apologise for my tardiness and greet the newcomers. However, throughout showing them to their table and getting them settled, I can’t keep my eyes off of Meg as she sips her wine, catching my gaze every so often. 

I feel like it’s been hours since I’d spoken to her when I’m finally released by the other guests. Carla waves me over as soon as I get back to the foyer. She pulls my arm around the corner, making me yelp.

“ Sylvia. ”

I frown, shrugging. “ Carla? ”

She tuts. “Sylvia, she just asked me if you’re single, so I said, ‘Yes, why?’ cause I’m nosy like that, and she said that you’re just her type!”

My stomach drops. “Her type? Like… Her type. What?”

“Her type , you idiot! She wants your ass, girl!”

I flatten my hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, shut up! This is a fancy place, Carly.”

She grumbles angrily against my hand. I let it go.

“Sylvia -”

“I’ve never been with a woman,” I whisper hysterically.

“Hell, neither have I! I’m straighter than a fucking spirit level, but I’d hit that. Come on, Sylvie. I’ve never seen someone look at you like that.” 

Neither have I. “I’ll think about it.”

“If you don’t, I will,” she mutters in my ear as she walks into the kitchen. I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“You’re married!” I shout after her. It’s no use.

I fetch Meg’s first course from the kitchens a few moments later and flick a towel over my shoulder. I sway my hips subtly as she follows my walk towards her table with dark eyes. I watch her swallow and place her glass back down, shift in her seat, and lay her napkin across her lap. 

“Here we are: salmon and crudites,” I say breathlessly, leaning over her shoulder to place the eloquent plate down in front of her. She curls her fingers around her hair on the back of her neck and brings it over her shoulder. Involuntarily, my gaze is attached to her gold-laden hand. She hums and picks up her fork. 

I huff quietly, feeling panicked, and start rushing away. “Bon appetit!”

“Wait a second, don’t you want to hear what I think?”

I turn around. I’m dumbstruck for a moment. Oh God, am I supposed to watch her eat? This is going to be torture. “Right. No, of course. Please, go ahead.”

She smiles, slicing through the salmon with her fork and swirling it in the soy-based sauce drizzled over it. She stares straight at me as she places the bite onto her tongue, making what I can only describe as a classic move of sucking on her fork as she pulls it from her dark red lips. I tighten my fingers locked behind my back. If that isn’t a starkly obvious sign she’s flirting with me, something really weird is happening here.

I raise my eyebrows, trying to remain nonchalant. 

“This was caught today, wasn’t it?” She remarks.

I nod eagerly, my lips curling upward.

“It’s beautiful. Silky. Tasty. Not too cold.” She moans as she takes another bite, and I try not to squirm. “Mm, lovely. Thanks, darling. You can go.” She gives me a small wink and I release my bated breath, rushing away before I burst. 

The rest of the evening is as chaotic inside me as its precursor. Meg continues to flirt openly with me, Carla keeps encouraging me to flirt back, and I’m still utterly stuck in this brand new world where this one woman is the only person I now see. I contemplate it thoroughly, hiding in the bathroom as she enjoys her dessert – a decadent chocolate panna cotta with strawberries. Sure, I’ve had girl crushes before; hasn’t everyone? Christina Aguilera, Michelle Pfeiffer, Princess Diana… I slow my thoughts, thinking back to the woman with me wrapped around her finger sitting in the dining room. Actually, Sylvia, I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to figure it out. I sigh, utterly exasperated, and rub my face. 

It seems Meg isn’t the only one with a type. Confident. Sophisticated. Blonde. Shit.

“Sylvia!”

“Yeah?”

“She’s done!”

I scramble up off the floor and exit the stall, quickly touching myself up in the bathroom mirror before exiting with Carla. 

“This is your chance,” she hisses in my ear.

“Shh!” I hiss back.

It’s almost nine-thirty by this time, and the restaurant is mostly empty. They’ve all either migrated to the bar in the next lot, or headed home. Not Meg. She sits, still surveying me, still content, and still completely seductive with her long legs and sensual hands. I feel like an underdeveloped twig approaching her great winds.

“Sylvia, you have one impressive spot here. I hope your manager knows how lucky they are to have you.” She slicks the last of her wine down her throat and purses her lips, perusing me carefully for my response.

I think for a moment of my harsh boss, and his irrational threats. Thank goodness he isn’t around much. “I hope so, too,” I decide to say, to which Meg nods in understanding.

“Have you got someplace quiet in the back?”

I’m frozen by her question. What does she mean ‘quiet’? ‘In the back’? What?!

“Um, sure. The back garden is sheltered from the breeze coming off the sea.”

“Lovely,” she says, rising from her seat. “Grab another bottle of that chardonnay and lead the way.”

She’s standing in front of me, just my height, but I feel intimidated. Not in a way that makes me want to hide, but in a way that makes me feel like she’d shield me from any wind, whether it be a gale or a wisp of air, all by herself. 

“Sure,” I say softly. 

After a few minutes, we’re bundled up in our coats with a glass of wine chilling our fingertips, leaning against the deck railing outside the restaurant. Meg had twirled her hair back up, revealing her soft jawline and ears adorned with delicate gold studs. With nobody around, I now feel at peace holding her stare. 

“I hope I haven’t been too forward tonight,” she confesses to me.

I smile. “No, it was refreshing.”

“You liked it?”

“What, you didn’t see what it was doing to me?”

She laughs. “You looked very uncomfortable. But you kept coming back for more. It was confusing.”

“Sorry,” I say, feeling stupid. 

“Hey, no, don’t apologise. You look like you’re new at this. And that’s totally okay with me. It’s a journey I’d love to travel with you.”

I hesitate. I sip my drink, contemplating her beautiful consideration. “New at what?”

“Sylvia, you’re obviously not straight, but I don’t think you’ve been aware of that before today.”

She’s staring at me with amused wonder. I feel like telling her everything. Every single tiny thing about my life. Again, I hesitate.

“I haven’t.”

“Would you like to be?”

I inhale deeply. She takes a step closer to me, setting her glass down and licking her lips.

“With you?” I breathe. 

She takes my glass, too.

“Mhm.”

“But I have no idea what I’m doing,” I say, trying to hide my shaky hands. 

“I do,” she whispers. A pocket of air bursts from my lips and my eyebrows furrow. Fuck. Carla was right. She’s hot. My knees feel like they’re going to collapse. 

Gently, she places my hands on her neck and hers on my waist underneath my coat. I step into her. Her eyelids are soft over her dark gaze. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this all night,” she utters.

“I’ve been wanting you to,” I admit, slipping my fingers into her hair, making her clip fall to the floor. 

My frown is deep. Our lips are so close and her breath smells divine. I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. She gently brushes her lips across mine; I arch my back and gasp, but I’m way past feeling pathetic anymore. Her long arms envelop my entire frame as she teases me again, barely touching my lips. I’d never felt this level of desire; this craving for someone in my entire life. I whine, and it’s her green light. She kisses me hard. I’m trembling violently from the adrenaline, but she holds me up. Her lips are rich, dark chocolate heaven and I struggle to let go, even though I can’t actually breathe. 

After many throbbing moments, she touches beneath my chin and pulls away. She gasps over my face with a wide smile. I copy it, and start to laugh. She shakes her hair out of her face, still clinging onto my waist. 

“So,” I pant. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Oh, yes. Women kiss so much better than men -”

“Not that. Dinner,” I giggle. I literally feel stoned. Even I know that kiss was incredible.

“Oh,” she says, with an incredulous look. I should’ve clarified. I bite my lip. “It was delicious. Truly. You guys have a five-star rating from me.”

I huff in relief. “Thank God.” I stand on my tip-toes and hug her tight, laying my head on her shoulder. 

The last I see before I close my eyes in her embrace, is Carla giving me a double thumbs-up from the kitchen’s back door. 

I bury my face in Meg’s coat to hide my smile.