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It’s ten minutes until time at Hungry’s, which is personally Cleo’s favorite time. Since taking Jake in, Hungry Hix gave much responsibility of closing to her nephew. Jake is to clean the dishes, wash and squeegee up the tables and floors, and take out the trash.
What Hungry Hix does nowadays is write a list of what needs to be restock, and shoo out the customers. Or rather, those who don’t pay for their meals right away. Those that did order a meal or drink are given a grace period to finish up right until closing time itself.
Cleo Knight loves being that customer. Currently, she is sitting by the counter, taking small sips of her sweet, iced peach tea, looking over her notes of her latest failed ink experiment. It is odd to have a chill, refreshing drink in February? Perhaps. But inside, Hungry’s is rather warm, and Cleo felt the need to cool down.
And maybe something to chew on. Literally. The last of her ice is gone. She ate them all.
As if the boy behind the counter read her mind, Jake Hix returns back with a tall glass of ice cubes. Towel over his shoulder, hair slightly becoming messy, and a smile that has Cleo wishing and thinking a particular thought.
Said particular thought can’t be act out though. Hungry Hix goes back and forth from her position from around the corner. She is trying to keep her eyes on her nephew while trying to write down what ingredients they need to restock for their various breads.
“Would you like a refill of ice, Miss Knight?” Jake asks in a booming voice.
“Why certainly, Mr. Hix!” Cleo replies loudly. “As much ice as you can!”
Cleo can see Hungry Hix narrows her eyes. Whatever it is on the woman’s mind, she doesn’t act on it. All that she does is walk away further into the kitchen. Cleo returns her stares back to Jake, who is carefully pouring all the ice cubes into her glass.
“I hope it’s to your liking, Cleo,” says Jake. He says her name in a way anyone would want their sweetheart to speak it. A softness, a tenderness that has it known you’re the one for them out of the whole world.
As soon as he is done, Jake slips his hands into his apron pocket. Quickly, he pulls out a small plain white box, wrap in red ribbon.
Cleo without hesitation, slips the box into her bag. The bag is sitting on the nearby counter stool; Hungry hates it when customers place their personal belongings onto seating, but Jake made a successfully argument about how it’s the customer’s way to show they want to be alone.
Cleo finds the courage to place her hand onto Jake’s face. Both his face and her hand are warm. “Everything you serve me is to my liking, Jake. And with what you did, I daresay you deserve a sweet little tip.”
“Oh?” Jake’s eyes widen in surprise. “What sort of tip would that be?”
Cleo’s mouth curls into a smirk.