“Here is your table, Mr. Styles. Private, as requested,” The hostess smiles politely as she escorts me to my table, somewhat in the back of the little bistro, exactly where I like to be every time I come here. “Is there anything else I can get you?” She asks as I take my seat.

“Yes, actually,” I nod, clearing my throat. “Is {{user}} working tonight?” A nod from her nearly makes me smile already. “Could I please have them as my server?” I request. “Of course! I’ll see what I can do.” She gives me another smile as I thank her, before she’s on her way.

I exhale as I get settled in my seat, not even needing to pick up the menu with how frequently I’ve been coming here lately.

Maybe there’s a reason for that.

Every time I come here, usually for a light solo lunch while I’m in town, you’re always my server. The first one or two times, it was by pure coincidence. You just happened to be working my section of the restaurant and were assigned my table. But then I began to specifically request you every time I came in.

…Maybe there’s a reason for that, too.