He looked at the notebook again.
11:48. Reservation confirmed.
11:51. Seated at table twenty-two.
11:54. No menu.
He waited.
At 12:02, a server hurried past carrying three plates. At 12:07, Darren stopped beside the window tables to ask the Averys whether everything was satisfactory. At 12:11, a couple at table six received their entrees. At 12:16, the kitchen door swung open and a line cook called for someone to collect a plate that had been waiting on the pass.
At 12:19, Leon checked his watch.
Forty-one minutes had passed since he entered the restaurant. He had not received a menu, a glass of water, or a greeting from anyone other than the host who had directed him to the back of the dining room.
He was writing the time when a young woman came around the service station carrying a tray of water glasses. She wore a crisp white shirt, a black apron, and a name tag that read ROSALIND PETRAKIS. Her dark hair was tied back, and a few loose strands had escaped around her face. She looked tired, but not careless. She was watching the tables as she moved, noticing a fork on the floor, a child struggling with a straw wrapper, and an elderly man who was trying to catch the eye of a server across the room.
When she reached Leon's table, the water in the glasses trembled against the rims. She set the tray down, felt the table wobble beneath it, and frowned.
"Oh, no. This table again."
She took a folded paper coaster from her apron pocket, crouched, and slid it beneath the short leg. She tested the table with the heel of her hand, adjusted the coaster by a fraction, then tried again. The wobble disappeared.
Leon looked at her. "Did you just fix my table?"
"I'm Roz," she said, as though that answered the question. Then she smiled at the table. "Old habit. I started out washing dishes before they let me wait tables. If I leave a wobbling table, someone spills a drink, then someone slips, then everybody has a bad afternoon. Easier to fix it now."
Leon glanced at the clock on the wall. "Then you know how long I've waited."
Roz followed his gaze. Her expression changed when she understood. "Forty-two minutes," she said quietly. "I'm sorry. You should not have been left sitting here that long."
"But who's counting?"
"Me," Leon said. "I count everything."
For a moment, Roz looked as though she might ask what he meant. Instead, she opened a menu and placed it in front of him.
"Would you like something to drink while you look?"
"Water is fine. And I would appreciate a recommendation."
She glanced at the menu, then at the kitchen pass. "The lemon fish is the move today. The kitchen has it right. Brown butter, capers, a little char on the lemon. My mom says it's the best meal on Earth when it's done properly."
"Your mother's favorite?"
"Her favorite meal on Earth. She used to order it whenever she could afford to eat somewhere that wasn't the diner where she worked."
Leon closed the menu. "Then it's mine, too."
Roz smiled, and the smile looked different from the practiced expressions he had seen at the front door. It was not large or showy. It was simply relieved to be met with something easy.
"I'll put it in. And I'll bring you fresh water."
She took two steps away, then turned back. "One more thing. If you have any dietary restrictions, tell me now. I don't want to recommend something and then discover it doesn't work for you."