Disclaimer: All characters/Twilight belong to S Meyer… I’m just twisting their world around with a bit of reality. There are also names of real bars and theatres in this story. No infringement intended.

FYI: Some remarks are made in this story implying that college students just drink and annoy people. It is in no way meant to demean college students in real life. This is fiction and part of Bella’s character for the first arc of the story. Don’t hate, she might be harboring a little bit of residual jealousy.

Summary: Bella’s journey to define what it means to be successful in life. A story of accepting yourself and finding happiness in the middle of a lower tax bracket. Not everyone wants the white picket fence. AU/AH BxE

Expectations of Success

Chapter 1 - How I Got Here

I heard Peter call out to me over the voices at the bar. “Hey, B, your Mary’s are up!” I nodded to let him know I had heard him and then returned to getting the order from the two-top just sat in my section.

Some nights I just know are going to be shit. Shit for tips, shit for fun, shit for all around ease of workload. Tonight was already irritating the fuck out of me and I’m pretty sure it had a lot to do with my PMS and only a little with the fact that we were slammed because of the new show at the Milwaukee Repertory Theater across the street. Normally, I embrace my PMS. It’s four solid days a month that I have a legitimate excuse to be a bitch.

The other 26 are just ‘cuz.

I rushed to the waitress station near the bar and put in the new order and then turned to grab a tray and load up my six Bloody Mary’s. Ah, Saturday night during theater season in downtown Milwaukee. Gotta love it.

Or not.

Right now, I’m not.

Usually the first Saturday show of the season brings in larger crowds and great tips. We’ve hired back a lot of returning staff from last year. Most of this place’s employees are college students. It works out well. The theater does not have a summer season so from late May to mid August, we’re mostly filled with the business office lunch crowd. The tips are less, but the deck out on the water fills up and if you can turn your tables then it makes up for the slower seasonal business.

Dinners in the summer are just no where as busy. The college students have all left campus and gone to the homes of their loving *gag me* families; and, after the offices close at 5:00, we’re stuck with a few regulars for dinner or overflow from summer events. Those of us not in college usually work doubles most of the summer and help each other when we need days or shifts off.

We’re close and look out for each other. Our careers are in the food service industry. There’s not a 9 to 5 desk, stethoscope, or government job in any of our futures.

I had just approached the large corner booth to give the blue haired theater women their Bloody Mary’s when grandma on the end decides she needs to flail her arms to really fucking drive home the point she is trying to make to the other five old bitties at the table; effectively slamming my tray up and sending six tall glasses right down the front of my chest. Of course, my station is directly in front of the line and our chef, Felix, has decided that applause is in order.

Hmm, should I bow?

So, I’m standing there, white polo covered completely in tomato juice- which is only slightly darker than the stain of embarrassment on my face and neck- and as I begin to apologize to the elderly thorns of my night, the ‘talks with octopus arms’ grandma stares at me, and I shit you not, says, “Sweetie, you got a drop on my jacket.”

A drop? A fucking drop?! I’ve got celery stuck down the opening of my polo and I’m pretty sure pickles are wedged in my bra. I am silently praying that I have an extra work shirt in my locker and this fucking woman wants to point out the DROP of tomato juice on her jacket. Should someone at an age so close to death really provoke me?

I took a deep breath and got ready to let this over-botoxed bitch know that she can use the remainder of my generation’s social security to pay for a new one, or even better yet, take it home to her housemaid whose name she can’t remember, so she just calls her “Maria”, when Tanya rushes up and explains to the, for lack of a better term, lady that she can mail us the dry cleaning bill while nudging Seth to clean up the spilled mess and broken glass and shooing me off to change my top.

I pass Jessica on the way to the stairs leading to the employee locker room and beg her to watch for table eight’s food to come up for me and to print and drop off the check for table seven. Tyler catches up to me and says he’ll take care of getting the Miss Daisy Brigade their drinks.

Yeah, I called it. I knew tonight would suck.

“They should have been yours to start with,” I yell back at him. Angela, the hostess, passes by and apologizes saying that Tyler’s section was full and I had the only other booth big enough for all six grannies. I just shrug her off. It fucking happens.

-----------------

“Is it ok if I take off, B?” It must be close to ten. While Jessica is nice, she also likes to get her party on. This is her second year working here and she tries to do this every shift. She likes to show up, work the rush, and then hit Water Street early enough to spend all her tips on Rum Runners and Tequila Rose shots. Fucking college students! Her section is cleared out and I give her the nod to go on down and meet Tanya in the office to do her credit card receipts.

“Are you coming out with us tonight?” Felix is asking me while ladling himself a cup of the soup of the day.

“Who all’s going? And don’t say ‘everyone’ because you know that shit pisses me off! I need specific names. I can’t hit the bars on Water Street and be stuck with all college students who are trying to find their one true night stand.” I gave him the evil eye so he knew I was fucking serious.

“Bella, we’re not going to Water Street tonight. It’s too crowded, so we’re going to head over to Cush.” He looks pretty smug. “Oh, and it’s just the back of the house, and Tanya, and you… and maybe some of the guys from the catering staff at The Rep. No college kids tonight.”

I should clarify. I’m only 25. It’s not like college kids are so much younger than me. I just prefer not to spend all my time off with them. I don’t have a lot in common with them and I’m a bit of a snob when it comes to going out. I like to enjoy who I’m out with and what we’re doing. Music and drinks. Shooting pool and conversation. Meeting up with the other servers and cooks, making fun of the people we wait on. We’re our own community in a way. When we go out, we tend to avoid the loud pop music and drinking contests that occur at bars packed shoulder to shoulder. We’re not in to stressing about our life goals or discussing the pressure to succeed that parents inflict.

I should also state for the record that not all college students get on my nerves, just almost all of them. Yeah, I’m rolling my eyes. Like I fucking care. If you’re cool then we’ll invite you along. If you prefer beer pong and screaming “Cheeseburger in Paradise” at the top of your lungs, then maybe not.

Although, just between you and I, beer pong is actually a really fun fucking game!

“I’m going to have to pass tonight. I smell like tomato juice and pickles. Skunks will not be the only thing I repel this evening,” I huff while blowing the hair that has escaped my messy bun out of my face.

“Well, Eric is closing up tonight and I’m going to take off now, so if you change your mind, shoot me a text.” Felix tosses his cup into the black dish bin and leaves me to finish my tables.

I wave at Jessica as she rushes out the door, fully changed and looking skanktacular. It’s a shame. She really can be a nice girl. I turn to see Tyler finishing up with his last table. A four-top of girls who are asking him what his tattoo on his forearm means. He’ll flirt and play the tortured artist card soon and that’ll be a big tip for him. Asshole. He should have had the grandmas tonight.

He glances over at me and mouths, “P.M.S.” That fucker. He better not fucking piss me off anymore. I’m seriously considering walking over there and telling him his fake girlfriend is on the phone and hopefully pissing off the women at his table, thereby dwindling his tip from them. HA. Don’t fuck with me. I smell like tomato soup and I’m cranky!

Tyler and I have a deal in place with the hostess. She intentionally sits tables for us. Yeah, that whole rotation for fairness thing is bullshit. Tyler is a senior this year at the University of Wisconsin, and he is one of the few college students that I actually like. He wears glasses and seems like a book nerd, but he has a shit ton of tatts and plays in a band. A good band, too. Not some cover shit. They can be a bit emo sometimes, but it seems to work for them.

The day Tyler returns from summer break, he and I corner the hostess and work our magic. This year, the hostess is a Marquette freshman from Iowa. She’s cute but Tyler thinks she is naïve and will just do what we ask if he is sweet to her. I, however, sat in the office with Tanya when she did her interview and know that Angela is actually pretty fucking sharp.

“Hey, Angela, is it?” Tyler uses his boy next door look. I’m holding back a snort. It so is NOT going to work. “Bella and I were wondering if we could give you a few pointers about seating and such. You know just to help you get used to it.” He reaches out to put a strand of hair behind her ear and she just gapes at him like he’s a fucking moron. I love it. I’m calling it now. She’ll work out fine here.

I push him aside, “Quit fucking around, Tyler. Look, Ang, here’s the deal. Tyler and I have found a system that seems to work well for all of us. When it’s time to seat our sections we ask that you take into consideration the table as a whole.” Her interest looks sufficiently piqued so I continued. “If they are all female sit them in Tyler’s section and if they’re all male put them in mine.”

I may not be fuckhot, but I’m cute and know my fucking job. I have mad acting skills when it comes to working a table and the fact that I look about eighteen helps. Plus, I have this weird ability to read a table and then adapt to that. Most guys are easy to flirt with. Business suits are the easiest. It’s sad to admit that I can manipulate a table that is just in for a meal, but hell, I got bills to pay.

She touches her finger to her chin and stares at the ceiling. “What’s in it for me?” Yep. I so saw that coming. Naïve my ass, Tyler!

“Well, I could show you around, introduce you to some people.” Tyler is so arrogant. God, love the boy.

The ‘you’re a fucking moron’ look was back on her face, and I was growing impatient. “Look, if you do this and can make it work without the other servers noticing, then we’ll start kickin’ you back a few bucks each shift we work together.”

She shrugs and says, “Sounds good,” and then walks away to take up her post by the front door. Tyler and I now make sure to slip an envelope through the slots in her locker at the end of each shift. Tonight, I’m considering using that money to pay for my new work shirt that I’m going to have to order. Tyler should probably tip Angela double for not giving him the grandmas.

After locking the door behind the last of the wait staff to leave, I turn to Eric behind the line and ask him to turn up the music. Tanya came upstairs and helped me get the chairs on the tables. Then she went behind the bar and poured us each a beer while we waited for the kitchen crew to finish closing out their stations.

Tanya is my best friend. She is 26 and has the coolest kids ever. She started working here her freshman year at Marquette University. She went home that summer and when she returned for her sophomore year she reclaimed her job. That’s the year I started here.

Half way thru that theater season she found out she was pregnant. Her God fearing parents freaked out. They quit paying for her college and said she had to go live with her Uncle, a Jesuit priest, until the baby was born and then put it up for adoption. She hasn’t spoken to them since.

Tanya had been seeing one of the actors in the production of Moby Dick at The Rep. Who the fuck puts Moby Dick on stage in a Milwaukee play house? Idiots. He, of course, was married and wanted nothing to do with Tanya. He moved to Oklahoma City after Moby Dick’s run. Thank fucking God. Sneaking out during the dinner rush to give his car a flat tire every night was getting tiresome.

Hey, I was 19 and she’s my best friend.

I had just started working here and while I didn’t have much, I had a futon and I let her crash on it. Tanya and I worked our asses off. After her daughter, my god daughter Jane, was born we continued to make it work. We would rotate work shifts and babysitting schedules. Three years later, Tanya took over managing the wait and bar staff after completing a business course at Milwaukee Area Technical College.

Today she is the restaurant manager and happily married to Felix, our chef. Tanya and Felix welcomed their son, Alec, just over two years ago and while her family still does not exist as far as any of us are concerned, Felix’s family is the shit.

“So, I was standing behind the bar cutting limes when you dropped that tray.” I have to give Tanya credit. She tried to say it without laughing.

“Ha Ha. I almost went off on them, Tanya. I hate waiting on old people. Angela better not sit those old broads with me again. You just know they’re season ticket holders or contributors or some shit like that, so they’ll be in here again. Oh, and they had the nerve to pull out those ten percent discount cards!” I was still harboring some residual anger at the situation.

“I believe they’ve officially been labeled the Miss Daisy Brigade or some shit.”

“Yeah, whatever, do I fucking look like Morgan Freeman? I’m done talking about it. Add them to the list of people 86’d from my section, along with the douche that sends his meal back every single damn time, the lady with the fuckload of kids who pour the salt shakers out on the tables, and that couple that steals the silverware.” People are weird. I don’t even want to tell you about what happens in the bathrooms here.

“Good Night,” Tanya and I both look up to see the remaining staff heading out the door. She grabs her purse and I follow her out.

“Felix said you didn’t feel like coming out tonight. I’d offer you a ride home, but you smell like ghoulash.”

“Again with the funny.” I shrug at her. “I’m going to catch the bus. It’s nice out. I’ll see ya on Monday.”

Tanya started her car and rolled the window down, “No, I’m off Monday. Felix has something planned. A surprise.”

I wave her off and walk to the corner to meet the bus. I just want to shower and forget this night. I was busy as hell and only made 80 bucks in tips. That is pathetic for a Saturday night. Even if I do have PMS and am being bitchy!

I have tomorrow off. I can regroup and remind myself that I actually really do like my job.

The restaurant is usually slow on Sundays, so I’m not missing out on a big tip day and I would rather use the day to catch up on shit like cleaning up my apartment and doing laundry and grocery shopping.

My small one bedroom apartment is in a secure building right off of Prospect Avenue and within walking distant to a lot of our favorite places to hang out. That helps because I can’t afford a car or parking. Well, technically, I guess if I quit worrying about my savings, which is quite nice, thank you very much, I could afford one… but I really wouldn’t drive it enough. The bus is fine and I like to walk when it’s nice out. Of course, this is Wisconsin, so it is only truly nice out about four months of the year.

The only time I really wish I had a car is for grocery shopping. The food stores around here are all little vegan or health food stores. They’re expensive and I’m not into that shit. I like a burger.

I like a burger with fries.

I like a burger with bacon and fries and a milkshake.

I can’t subscribe to the alternative eating habits of some of my neighbors. So, I have to take the bus to grocery shop. Pain in the ass, let me tell ya. I can only carry so much, ya know?

My neighbor, Rosalie, offers to take me with her when she goes to Pick ’n Save and I’ll say yes when the weather is bad or I’m just too fucking tired, but not today. Today I feel like getting out and enjoying the nice weather before the cold shit moves in.

I moved to Milwaukee just over seven years ago. My mom, Renee, and my step dad, Phil, were relocated here when he was called up from the minors. He was an official MLB Milwaukee Brewer for half a season before he broke his arm and got sent back down. After that, they moved back to Arizona and I chose to stay here. I had just finished my senior year of high school and was going to start at the University of Wisconsin when they left.

But, shit doesn’t always go as you plan. Phil left Renee a few months after they returned to Arizona. She didn’t take it so well and decided that going out and getting drunk and meeting a new man would teach him a lesson.

Not so much.

Instead, Renee and her bar date crossed the divided line on the highway and killed a father of three - and themselves. Our house in Wisconsin was seized along with all other property and money. They worked all that out legally with attorneys and the bottom line is that I was left without a way to pay for college and no place to live.

My mom had told me once that my dad was a cop in Washington, but I never went looking for him. Why ruin someone else’s life by dumping my shit on them? Phil and his family don’t want anything to do with me, so that left me alone and surprisingly, I was ok with that. I got my job waiting tables at Volterra the same day I applied. Tanya trained me.

I took all the money I had earned from my job at the grocery store during high school and instead of using it toward books and housing for college as I had originally planned, I used it toward first and last month’s rent for my new apartment, some furniture, and groceries. I then threw myself into picking up shifts and learning how to do my job better than anyone else. Only problem with that is that I never allowed myself the time to try and figure out what I wanted to do with my life, and now my life is this.

It could be worse. I could have absolutely no friends. No job. No family - well, two out of three ain’t bad, right? And, I actually like waiting tables. Ok, well, not four days out of the month, but for the most part. I can’t even imagine being stuck in an office and having to wear clothes everyday that are dry clean only.

After I get home from the grocery store, I take my laundry down to the coin operated machines on the bottom floor. Rose is already there and moving her wash into the dryers. “What are you up to tonight,” she asks me as I start separating my whites into the first machine.

“Fuck if I know. Why?” Rose likes to go out every night and I truly believe that she thinks it is her mission in life to get everyone she knows to go out with her. She succeeds 9 out of 10 times.

“A bunch of us were going to head to Em’s and watch the Packers get their asses kicked. Football season has started! You know the deal.”

“Uh, you’re not going to say shit like that when we get there are you?” Em is Emmett and he owns McCarty’s Pub. Rose and Em have been dating for a couple of years and while he finds her remarks endearing, I find them dangerous. One time she said that Brett Favre was too fucking old to throw during a Monday night game at McCarty’s and it took Emmett and his other bartender, Jacob, both to hold back the table of guys that started yelling at her. You don’t fuck with Wisconsin and their football - even if Favre doesn’t play here anymore.

Rose laughed, “Don’t fucking worry about it. I’m loyal to my Minnesota Vikings and Em appreciates my loyalty… and I let him wear his cheese head to bed occasionally. Besides Favre is now a Viking, and I don‘t know if I‘m happy or not with that old bastard wearing purple.”

I just roll my eyes. “Whatever, Rose, I’ll go. I could use some hot wings.”

She nods in agreement and returns to laundry. I tell her all about my not so fucking awesome night with the Miss Daisy Brigade and she proceeds to tell me every raunchy joke involving old woman that she can think of.

As her last load finishes in the dryer and she heads up to her apartment, she gives me a wave and says she’ll meet me at the bar. I agree and move my clothes to the dryers.

“Are you ready for some football?” Annoying much? Emmett yells that out all day Sundays and every Monday night. Every time the door opens, he feels the need to bellow it out. He tried to make Jacob start doing it as part of his ‘job description’, but that shit did not fly. It was funny the first few times that he did it… but now, I just want to shove a block of cheese in his mouth and tell him to shut the fuck up.

“No!” He hates when I yell that back. I joined Rose at the bar and Jacob plants a glass of tap in front of me. “Can I get some hot wings too, please?”

“Please? Whoa, someone’s in a good mood today.” Jacob snorts as he turns to punch in the order.

“What’s with the wisecrack? Don’t be a moody bitch with me, Jake. I know where you live and I have your woman on speed dial… And I‘m not afraid to use it.”

He just shakes his head at me. “There’s the Bella I know and love.”

Another Sunday night at McCarty’s watching football with a full house. A lot of people we know from the neighborhood and a lot of guys from UW and Marquette trying to find somewhere to watch the game that is not full of girls in green and gold jerseys pretending to know about football while drinking all their beer and asking if it‘s time to go yet.

The college guys in McCarty’s are usually really into the game and Jacob has a good side job going with taking bets, uhm, on the down low that is, of course. Emmett’s dad is a Milwaukee police officer and stops to place his bet for the game with Jake, so yeah, it’s all very hush hush. Whatever. Everyone knows. As long as some dick college dude doesn’t welsch or fuck it up, then everyone stays happy.

One time this kid who was a junior at Marquette placed a bet with Jacob for the Monday night game and lost. He refused to pay and knew that there wasn’t anything that could be done. Or so he thought. Turns out that Jacob refused to take any bets from anyone for two weeks after that. But, on the third week the kid showed up and paid Jake. It seems that a lot of guys at Marquette were pissed off and kicked the douche’s ass because the two weeks of prohibited betting happened during the playoffs. I think the Packers went to the Superbowl that year. It also seems that he started receiving an abnormally large number of parking tickets… no one has ever fucked up the rules at McCarty’s since then.

The Packers are down by 14 in the third and I’m tired. “I’m gonna head out, Rose.”

“Alright, B, I’ll talk to ya later.” She leans over and we peck cheeks and hug.

I wave to Em and Jake and wink at the table of Marquette basketball players as I leave. They eat at Volterra with their families on a regular basis, and I have a reputation as a fun and great waitress to uphold.

It’s cooled off a lot now that the sun has gone down and I half jog - half walk back to my building. I jump in the shower and then climb into bed with a cup of tea and finish watching the game as I doze off.

“Seth, can you please refill the waters at table five for me?” Monday lunches are hit or miss. It’s the first day of the work week and either everyone feels like going out for lunch or no one does. I have a theory that revolves around Sunday football but nothing solid so far. I’m still working that shit out. It may call for graphs and linear equations.

During Monday lunches we have a totally different front of house staff working. The college students have classes so our hostess is the only old lady on the planet that I like. Maude. Yes, I fucking said Maude. She is sweet and brings me tootsie pops and I fucking love her. She’s Seth’s grandma and got him the job here. Seth goes to Milwaukee Area Technical College. He takes evening classes Monday thru Thursdays and works at Volterra a couple of lunches a week and then Friday and Saturday dinners. They are both awesome.

I notice that Maude is seating two of my favorite regulars at a booth in my section. I give her a high five as I pass her by, because like I said, Maude is cool and shit, and then pick up the food for my four top of suits. They’re loving my ’innocent shy girl act’today. Especially when I purposely ignore the only young hot one of the group in favor of ‘taking care of’ the older married men. They eat up this shit.

I turn to my favorites that Maude just sat and put away the acting skills. I won’t be needing them for this table. “Dr. and Mrs. Cullen, what brings the hottest couple in Milwaukee in on a Monday?” I plop down next to Esme and kiss her cheek.

“Hi, Bella. Carlisle wanted to have lunch together before his shift and I don’t have a lot of free time today so we just popped over for a couple of quick sandwiches.” I look away as Carlisle winks at Esme. They are so fucking cute.

I beg Eric to push their order to the front of the line so they can skadaddle and have their lunch rendezvous.

I clear the plates away from my table of suits and ask them if they want to sneak some dessert back to the office. They almost always say no to that, but it sounds cute so I still ask. About a month ago, I offered it to this beautiful man who comes in every Friday for lunch and he surprised me by getting the tiramisu to go… and he gets it every single Friday now, probably for his secretary. He’s so pretty. I hope he’s not gay. I’m kind of crushin’ on him.

I like to believe he’s doing it as a nice gesture. Maybe his secretary can’t get out for lunch. Or has to take her aged mother to doctor’s appointments or something.

What? It could happen!

He is GQ attractive, where’s suits that make my panties wet, and pays cash. That sets bells and whistles off in my head, but since he’s fuckhot and actually has been in a dream or two of mine, we’ll keep the good deed theory alive. Plus, his sex hair buys him a reprieve. Le sigh.

I return to the table with their bill and surprisingly it is young hot dude who grabs the check to pay. I notice that all the other guys at the table give him a nod. Awe, I bet he’s the new guy. That’s cute. I run the card and then slip the book back in the front of my apron. I grab the Cullen’s meals and drop those off with their check since they are in a hurry; and tell them to just give me a wave when they’re ready.

Now, here is one thing I’ve learned that you just can’t teach. It’s a vibe you get from a table. It’s just something you pick up and only you yourself will know how to pull it off. You also have to be careful because you can never pull it off with the same person - and never pull it off more than once or twice a year. Too risky. But, I got the vibe from this table so I’m pretty sure it’ll go ok.

I look at the name on the credit card, lean down to young Mr. Hot Suit, and pretend to whisper so that the whole table can hear. “I’m sorry, Mr. Marshall, but your credit card didn’t go thru. Do you have another one? Maybe this one just has a bad stripe?”

Silence. I feel bad for a minute, but before he starts to stutter and reach for his wallet, I gently touch his arm and say, “I’m only teasing. You’re all set. Just sign the top copy.” Finishing it off with a gentle squeeze to his arm and toothy smile for the table.

And now the payoff. Everyone starts laughing. Not just giggles or chuckles, but full belly laughs. I walk away quickly and make myself busy by the bar only looking up to give them a small smile and wave as they exit. The oldest gentleman of the group is actually relaying the story over his cell phone.

Men in suits panic easily about money and that’s why this is so hit or miss. The embarrassment he may have felt of me doing that could actually back fire on me and ruin my tip.

I meet Seth at the table and hurry to pick up the bill to see if he found me amusing or offensive. Seth is laughing and wiping down the table. I notice I have a cash tip under one of the water glasses… a ten dollar bill. Hmmm. I grab the credit card receipt and notice the additional twelve dollar tip there.

Yeah, I am fucking awesome.

Young suit dude had to leave a twenty percent tip to show that he could take a joke with the big boys present, especially after old suit dude left a cash tip for me in addition to that. See, this is a prime example of why Tyler and I have our deal. I can’t wait until his next shift to tell him about this.

Esme and Carlisle wave me over and tell me to keep the change as they get up to leave. What’s with people carrying cash? I don’t mind, but it’s rare these days. I give them both a quick peck on the cheek and tell them to be good. Esme laughs and says that they always are. I only half believe her.

I finish up with my tables and decide to head over to The Rep gift shop on my break between shifts. I like to get their book that details all the productions for the new season for two reasons. One, I can see the busiest nights to work and plan my shifts around them; and, two, I can figure out which dates I want my own ticket for.

Every year I get one free ticket to each of the shows that I want to see at The Rep. Aro works in the ticket office and is one of my lunch regulars. About five years ago, he said that I should see the plays and productions because I would have more to talk about with the customers. I thought that made sense and bought myself the cheapest ticket available for The Nutcracker Ballet at The Performing Arts Center. I loved it. I told Aro the following week all about my day at the ballet and he was so tickled that he agreed to trade me a ticket for a meal.

It morphed from there… now, I go thru the book and pick what shows I want to see, and Aro eats a free lunch when I get my ticket. Win win. Tanya used to go with me, but Felix’s parents like to take the kids to The Nutcracker and Tanya doesn’t enjoy the thee-uh-ter. So, it’s a date for one. I prefer it that way.

I notice the time and hustle back out and across the street. Peter is at the bar stocking and we agree that it’s going to be a dead Monday night. It’s dark at The Rep and we don’t get any kind of bar action for Monday night football.

I quickly send Tanya a text to see what Felix’s surprise for her was. My phone chirps with her reply:

FILL YOU IN LATER

Oookay. Be all secretive and shit. Sheesh.

In the back I see Ben, Lauren, and Nicole talking about some teacher they all currently have or have had in the past. “So, who wants to rock, scissors, paper to have the night off?” All three pop their hands in the air. Ben loses quickly. Lauren and Nicki check their shifts for the week and then take off.

Ben, Peter, and I sit at the bar and start talking about going to listen to Tyler’s band this Wednesday. Tyler and Ben are room mates this year and just got a place off campus, so they want to have an after-party, too.

“I went ahead and sent Dean and Brian home.” Eric announces.

I smile at him and say that I’ll help with the dishes tonight - but I’m not doing his pans. He thinks I’m fucking joking. He begs for a little while, so I tell him that if he makes me a mini pizza, I’ll think about it. He fucking knows I’ll cave. I have no problem doing hard work. Plus, I need to keep my “in” with the kitchen crew so they’ll help me out when I need a favor. Right? Right! I fucking love the ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours’ exchange. It works.

We close at nine on Mondays and I talk Peter into heading over to The Tasting Room with me. It’s a quiet little bar that has practically every beer in existence in stock. I like to try something new every time we go there.

I close out the credit card receipts and leave Tanya a post-it to give me off this Friday’s dinner shift. Peter and I walk to the bus stop with our arms linked and I am totally embarrassing him as I sing the theme song for Laverne and Shirley.

Peter is not amused.

Hmmm. Maybe I’ll buy a bunch of felt P’s and sew them on all of his shirts.

A/N: Welcome to the world of the food service industry. Edward will appear next chapter. Although, he was mentioned in this chapter, just not by name.

If anyone is concerned, this will be a HEA story. Just not the typical wedding, kids, picket fence type. Some people’s dreams may not be to get married and take some job just for more money. Sometimes a dream can be realizing happiness and not letting the stereotypical ideals of “riches” bring you down. Of course, Bella has to learn this for herself.

Thank you for reading chapter one. I have this story outlined all the way to the epilogue and plan to update once a week as chapters are completed, beta’d, and tweaked.

Please leave me a note with your thoughts.