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This is my first fanfic and I just wanted to say how excited I am to finally be able to contribute to this fandom I love so much! I got inspired to write about it after listening to one of my favorite Adele songs "When We Were Young" and it gave me not only CMBYN vibes but Charmie vibes as well. So this fanfic is heavily inspired by the song. I hope you enjoy it! Feel free to leave comments and kudos if you do! :)
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“Armand!” Hearing that loud, rough voice boom a few feet from the stock room I was in made me tumble on the ladder I didn’t particularly need but always grabbed because it meant going outside to the shed out back. Because it meant buying myself more time away from work. Because it meant more time away from him. Once I regained my balance, I felt the energy in the room shift and knew he was waiting by the doorway—most likely arms crossed with a scowl on his face. Like a character in a horror movie, too curious to not look but too afraid to sacrifice their entire body to turn completely around, I slowly shifted my head to glance over my shoulder and came face to face with the scowling, cross armed figure causing me to jump back a little. He pinched the bridge of his nose in response.
“If you’re finished with the dramatics” he waved his hand at me in annoyance “table #5 has been there for over five minutes without being waited on. Fix this.” “Yes sir.” I said respectfully—fearfully. Once he exited the room, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding and reluctantly made my way through the kitchen towards the overcrowded dining area of the restaurant. I groaned when I noticed how packed it was. Sure, it was a mid-summer July afternoon, but it was also just a Tuesday. How did it get so crowded? As my eyes scanned around the room, they briefly met my Mother’s and once they did, her smile grew twice the size of her face as she made her way towards me.
“Armand! I’ve been looking for you! Where did you run off to?” I knew very well she hadn’t actually been looking for me because there was only so many places, I could hide in this 1,000 square foot hell-like Hell’s Kitchen, New York restaurant but humored her with my signature small smile. “I was just re-stocking the stockroom until Dad informed me of how busy we were. Now I’m going to wait on table #5.” She scanned my face for a moment and must have approved of what she saw because her smile returned. “Well I’ll let you get right to that then.” She pats my shoulder, waits until I give another small smile. “The smaller the smile the less forced it looks” my Dad had finally broken down and said this after watching my smile get wider and faker while dealing with a particularly rude customer. Little did he know I’d use this not just at the Iron Hammer Diner but in my daily life as well. Just like he does. He’s trained me well I shivered at that thought and finally made my way to table #5.
I was expecting to be met with the “I’ve-been-waiting-here-past-five-minutes-what-kind-of-establishment-is-this” friendly New York attitude but was instead met with three pairs of kind smiles and even kinder eyes. Must be tourists. I thought to myself. “Good afternoon, my name is Armand and let me start out by apologizing for the wait—”
“No need to apologize, Armand.” The man chimes in, smiling up at me from his seat. “We could see how busy it is here and wouldn’t expect you to just abandon other tables just to get our orders. That wouldn’t be fair of us.”
I searched his face for signs of sarcasm but was only met with signs of sincerity. Yup, they’re definitely tourists. “Well I thank you all for being so understanding. Now what may I get you all to drink?”
“How are the cappuccinos, Armand?” The patriarch of the table asks.
I suck air in between my teeth and tap two fingers on my chin “Well that depends… are you Italian?”
“French.”
“In that case I think our orange juice is pretty good.”
This small table of three erupts in boisterous, laughter. The kind of laughter that draws attention from every eye in the room. I felt my face heat knowing my father was probably watching.
“Orange juice for me it is then!” The charming man finally says as his laughter dies down. Somehow the outburst had only made him look even more friendly, a feat I would have otherwise thought impossible. The older woman, I assumed to be his wife, lays a comforting hand on his arm. “It’s too late in the day for cappuccinos anyway, mon amour.” They smile at each other as he places his free hand on top of her’s and squeezes. My heart clenched at this simple, sweet gesture. More and more I’m kicking myself for making these wonderful people wait. “Alright that’s one orange juice and what would you like, ma’am?” I say, showcasing a rare genuine smile. She shines her smile right back at me, “Oh just an orange juice and water for me is fine, thank you.”
“I would like the same please!” A pretty, younger woman seated across from her exclaims excitedly.
“Of course, of course.” I beam. “I’ll get your orders back to you as soon as possi—”
As I make to leave, the older woman reaches out to stop me. “I’m so sorry, Armand, but would you mind getting us an extra water and orange juice? Our son is finishing up his acting class and will be here any moment now.” The older woman asks with eyes bluer (and somehow warmer) than the Amalfi Coast.
“I don’t mind at all but are you sure he’ll want an orange juice?” I begin to panic, realizing I just questioned a customer and fight the urge to search for dissaproving eyes. “I mean I-I don’t mind coming back and asking him once he arrives.” I gulp. Just breathe, just breathe. My nerves settle once I hear them giggle. “Oh he’ll want orange juice. Trust us.” The younger woman says. I dramatically exhale to feign exasperation with my hands on my hips, “I suppose I could trust you.” I flash a grin. “I’ll be back with those waters and orange juices momentarily.” I then hustle quickly back into the kitchen, wash my hands, grab our orange juice machine and a bag of oranges and begin squeezing them into juice as fast as fast as humanly possible. Besides, I wouldn’t want to make that lovely family wait any longer than they already have. Once I finished extracting the juice from the oranges into four glasses, I prepare the ice water, load the drinks on the tray and hurry back towards the table. As I approach my ears are immediately flooded with that laughter, I am becoming to grow more and more enamored of. I bite my lip to control the urge to smile for the 100th time in response to this family’s wholesomeness.
But all that effort to conceal gets shot to hell once the father spots me, throws up his hands and exclaims “ARMAND!” as if I’m an old friend that he hasn’t seen in ages and not their unworthy, seventeen-year-old waiter. I blush and the two women laugh and cover their faces to feign embarrassment even though they’re looking at him fondly but I notice in between the women a menu flies up to hide what must be a truly embarrassed face owned by, whom I would guess, be the son this family had been waiting for.
“Hello again.” I grin shyly as I set the drinks down then decided to put on a show. “I come bearing gifts. Only the finest and freshest squeezed orange juice for the finest and freshest family here.” I proclaim with the fakest British accent I could muster.
“Fine and fresh? My that’s a first for us I believe!” The mother chuckles.
“Speak for yourself.” The boy behind the menu said, tone pretending to be insulted. I smile in response. “Ah so you must be the orange juice-obsessed, mystery child we’ve been waiting for.” Even though his face was hidden, the ear that poked out from the sides of the “dessert” portion of the menu burnt a shade of red that not even fire could imitate. But as quickly as that ear appeared it vanished as he ducked, obviously trying to make himself smaller and unseen. The young girl smirks, so amused by the boy’s discomfort I could only assume that she was his sister. “Oh, he’s no he’s no child. Actually, he’s at that awkward cusp between man and child,” then she snapped her fingers, “a man-child! Ow!” A shuffle of feet from under the table leads me to believe the boy had kicked the girl. Yup, their definitely siblings I smirk to myself. The father gives a knowing glance between the two of them.
“Now Paulie don’t tease Timmy, he’s had a traumatic day as it is.” He says with no smile on his face, but his eyes are shining. At hearing this, oddly I felt a strong impulse to make this “Timmy” have a better day. “I’m sorry to hear your day hasn’t been going as well as you would have liked Timmy, but it’s only 12:30. You got almost half the day still and who knows, something incredible might happen to make all you went through worth it.” I watch as an ocean of brown curls appears from the top of the menu then become hidden again twice as quick and I’m absolutely enchanted. Well this isn’t adorable at all I thought to myself. I then look over at the family to see if they’re watching him but they’re not. Instead their watching me… watching me and smiling. Something about the way they’re looking at me makes my face heat up several degrees. I adjust the color of my uniform and clear my throat. “Oh, uh I suppose you all might be here to eat, right?” To my relief they all four laugh. And when I mean all four, I also include the precious, wheezy laughter coming from behind the menu.
“Hm coming to a restaurant to eat, what a thought.” Paulie (maybe short for Paula? Pauline? I wondered) gleams. “I would like to order the double bacon cheeseburger with home fries, please.” My eyes widen and I chuckle from surprise at this tiny woman’s appetite. “A double bacon cheeseburger and home fries’ pairs well with the orange juice.” She gasps at that “Oh you’re right” then hands me the menu, a shine in her eye “better get me a chocolate milkshake, too.” Oh, I like her. “Another great idea from Paulie. I’ll second that but make my milkshake a strawberry, please.” His dad requests, politely. “Of course.” I smile back taking the menu from him. “Oh, I’ll just take the French Toast with a side of fresh fruit please.” The mother says, now handing over her menu. “Only the freshest.” I say as I take her menu, now turning to the only remaining menu left.
“Last but certainly not least, what would you like Timmy. He sighs and puts down the menu revealing his face and what. A. Face. It. Was. My throat constricted as if I was being strangled from the inside and chills washed over me like a baptism. These chills made everything sensitive... everything vulnerable and I didn’t know if I wanted to run or wanted to bask in the wake of it all. All I kept thinking was Thank God his eyes are closed Thank GOD his eyes are closed but he must’ve read my mind. Because right as the thoughts entered my brain his eyes opened up to reveal this vast emerald oasis that beckoned me from the end of my table. I gulped. “Scrambled eggs, bacon and home fries with lots of ketchup, please.” He says incredibly fast and smiles bashfully. Those chills that were just finally beginning to settle spread like an infection across my skin once more. I’ve seen so many faces come through these doors and as consequence have seen many smiles as well, but this smile wasn’t like any smile I had ever seen. Plump, pillowy lips curved by a prominent cupid’s bow flawlessly dressed in a dark shade of pink normal people can only achieve with makeup. I watch as he bites his bottom lip to suppress a nervous giggle and I realize that not only has he been trying to pass me the menu for some time now, but I had also been staring. I look down quickly and feel my face heat up hot as the rest of the table tries to suppress their amusement. “Uh right I’ll uh—yeah I’ll get those orders right up.” I choke out somehow despite not being able to breath. Despite not being able to think. Desperate for retreat, I attempt to hastily, but gently, grab the menu from this overly distracting god-like creature named “Timmy” without meeting his gaze, looking down the entire time. But not looking became a mistake, because instead of grabbing the menu… I had grabbed his hand.
... And the amount of electricity that flowed through our hands could have powered all of New York City.