Thanksgiving Fic: Is This Seat Taken?

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

“Is This Seat Taken?”
(C) Willa Okati, 2008

“Is this seat taken?”

Randall glanced up from page 63 of his paperback, scanning the 90% emptiness of the diner. Not many folks came out for a burger and fries on Thanksgiving. To give the folks here due credit, they’d decorated with paper turkeys, orange and brown crepe paper, and they were serving turkey burgers tonight along with mashed potatoes and a choice of cranberry-topped cheesecake for desert. Still wasn’t the same.

“Sure, because it’s so crowded you’ve got to take any seat you can find,” he said, wondering if the guy was joking.

The guy rubbed the back of his neck, long and smooth, and grinned shyly. “This is gonna sound creepy, I know, but it sucks enough being alone on the holidays and you look like a decent guy and you’re alone too, so I figured maybe you didn’t have any family or friends, or at least ones who weren’t busy. So can I?”

Randall wasn’t in the mood for company, really he wasn’t, hardly ever was, and he liked it that way. He and his books got along fine. Yet there was something of the look of a lost puppy on the guy’s face and Randall wasn’t totally heartless, no matter what some–okay, most–might say. Shrugging, he put his book aside and waved at the other side of his booth, cheerfully upholstered in primary blue, yellow and red.

The guy brightened, and it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. He thrust an overlarge, raw-boned hand at Randall. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Casey.”

Randall tried not to stare as Casey’s hand enveloped his. He wasn’t a small man himself, but though boyishly cute with seal-dark hair that curled over the collar of his navy blue stadium jacket, this guy was of an overall size and shoulder breadth that could put grizzly bears to shame.

Unfortunately, he seemed to have all the grace of a shaggy bruin, too. As he sat, folding his long legs up into a space not big enough for him, he knocked the tabletop with his knee. The salt and sugar shakers tipped over on their sides, their tops coming off. White crystals scattered in a cascade. Randall barely rescued his book in time.

“Oh, jeez.” Casey turned the color of ripe tomatoes. “Sorry. I’m a little clumsy. I should be okay now I’m stationary. Mostly. I won’t knock over your coffee or anything. If you’re getting coffee. Which I am, since it’s cold enough to freeze a brass monkey’s balls out there.” He tried to twist the lid of the salt back on and gave up when it slipped in his grip and salt flew, then ran his salt-crusted hand through his hair. He looked like Jack Frost when he said, dejected, “Maybe I should leave you alone.”

Any other day with any other guy, Randall, who admitted to being a cranky bastard, would have agreed. Promises or not, something hot was going to end up in his lap or spilled down his shirt with an uncoordinated ox sitting across him, but he found himself philosophically shrugging. Casey might never have figured out the grace to work his long arms and longer legs, but what the hell. He made up for it in shy adorableness.

“Nah. Stay,” Randall said. “If you order the turkey burger, though, you’re out of here.”

“I was hoping for macrobiotic,” Casey said with a straight face. If Randall hadn’t been on his toes he’d have missed the tiny but mischievous twinkle in Casey’s eye. “Seriously. I could go for tofu Chik’n or an unbleached rice cake right now like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I’m sure,” Randall said, amused. “So what’ll you really have? A hamburger all the way, barely cooked?”

“Trot the cow through a warm room and bring it mooing by the table and I’m a happy man,” Casey agreed sunnily. “What’re you ordering? If it’s the cranberry cheesecake, we’re gonna have strong words,” he teased, looking pleased by his daring. Randall’s heart melted just a little bit more.

“Lucky me for wanting pecan pie instead.”

“Pie.” Casey closed his eyes in pleased anticipation. “I want the strawberry shortcake. Trade you half-and-half?” He bit the inside of his cheek. “If you’d care to, that is. If you don’t, it’s cool. I can still go sit somewhere else if I’m making you nuts. I tend do that to people a lot of the time. Most of the time. If I want to get to know them better, that is. And I do with you.”

Randall took his time in answering, not sure what to say. There was something more to Casey’s stream of chatter and fidgeting than embarrassment over being clumsy or even your basic jitters. Something damned cute that Randall couldn’t quite… oh.

He coughed and turned his attention to the scattered salt-and-sugar, neatly sweeping it off the table into the palm of his hand. “Don’t take this the wrong way if I’m off base, but are you trying to flirt with me?”

Casey sank guiltily deeper into his brightly-colored booth. “Maybe?”

“It’s usually a yes or no question.”

“Would it piss you off if I said ‘yes’?” Casey asked, fiddling with the lid to the salt shaker. “I don’t usually hit on strangers. Guess you can tell, huh? Just sucks not having any family around this year–I’ve got a year-long position as a translator down at the–”

“You? You’re a translator?”

Casey laughed. “Believe it or not. I’m okay when it’s not my words.” He gestured fluidly, ungainly fingers dancing in a way that Randall recognized, after a moment, as sign language. When they knew what they were doing, his hands were beautiful, strong and sure.

A slow roll of heated interest blossomed in southward regions. Randall couldn’t not smile, wondering what else those hands knew how to do. “Casey?”

Casey dropped his hands into his lap, looking like a kid who’d been caught dipping into the cookie jar, his eyes wide. He had to be pushing thirty and he was as socially awkward as a teen on his first date. Randall thought he’d die if Casey got any cuter, but he was remarkably okay with that.

“Hey,” Randall said, nudging Casey’s foot under the table. “I never said I minded you hitting on me.” This wasn’t his style either, not usually. He could always blame it on the contact sugar high, though he didn’t think he’d want to. “I could even go so far as to say I’d like to split a piece of pie. Just don’t knock coffee in my lap and we’ll be fine.”

Casey’s grin was a thing of beauty when he offered it unselfconsciously. Randall only realized Casey was on the move a half-second before Casey’s lips met his. Startled, Randall opened for Casey’s sleek, questing exploration, exhaling the startled breath he’d taken into Casey’s mouth.

“I told you I’m not great with words,” Casey explained when he sat back.

“You’re not clumsy when it comes to sex. I mean, kissing,” Randall noted, dazed.

Casey laughed. “Is that a hint?”

Randall considered that. “It might be,” he said, throwing caution and the risk of a broken ankle to the wind and hooking his foot around Casey’s. “Might just be.” And after that? Whatever came next, cranberry cheesecake or spilled coffee or accidentally flicking a condom across the room, Randall knew one thing for sure–it wouldn’t be boring.

The book he’d been reading? It could wait.

Written by Willa Okati

Possesses an abundance of crazy ideas, writes constantly, and drinks an insane amount of coffee. Grooves to the beat of a different marching band and loves coming up with fun, quirky heroes and tales with unusual twists. You can find Willa at http://www.willaokati.com or on twitter as "willaokati". She'd love to see you there!
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