The Floor Show

Tabitha Reid wrapped her scarf a little tighter as she stepped into Shelly Benedict's, the cheeriest little brunch spot this side of the airport. The bell above the door gave its signature jingle, and the smell of fresh coffee and sizzling sausage hugged her like an old friend. A few other regulars were already nestled into booths, their conversations low and familiar, full of clinking cutlery and casual laughter. She smiled to herself. A perfect Saturday morning.

Sliding into her usual spot near the back, next to the window where the sun hit just right this time of day, Tabitha allowed herself to relax. It had been a long, hard week. Her boss had been in a foul mood, something that always spoiled the atmosphere at work, keeping everyone (including Tabitha) walking on eggshells. Weekdays belonged to her boss. The weekend, though, was all Tabitha's. A waitress brought her a carafe of coffee without being asked, and Tabitha gave her a grateful nod. Small pleasures.

That was what Saturdays were for.

She pulled out her latest read—American Gods. Another small pleasure. A friend had recommended it, saying it was deep and weird, exactly what she needed. At first she had hesitated. The author had some... not-great press lately, but the book had sounded intriguing enough to push past that. And really, what was a book if not a place to escape?

She had just made it through the first few pages—the writing had a mysterious, dream-like quality to it—when the bell above the door jingled again.

Her eyes flicked up, then widened slightly.

A couple had walked in, and wow, they were something.

The guy was young. Barely twenty, if that. Short, skinny, carrying a backpack, and looking like he'd barely survived whatever night he'd just had. His hair was messy, and his shirt looked like he’d slept in it. But it wasn't him that stole Tabitha's attention.

It was the woman.

The woman was stunning. Absolutely stunning. It was difficult to pin down her age. Older than her date, that was certain, but how much? Ten years? Twenty? Tabitha couldn't tell. Something told her that she was older than she seemed, but the way she was dressed, the way she was acting...

Her bubblegum pink crop top clung to her like plastic wrap, barely hanging on. Her stomach was flat, toned, glinting with some kind of shimmer powder that caught the light. She wore low-rise denim shorts so tiny Tabitha half-wondered if they were even legal to wear outside a beach. Her legs were long and glossy, ending in platform sandals in the same obnoxious pink as her shirt. Her hair was in pigtails. Actual pigtails. With ribbons. Glitter sparkled on her eyelids, and her lips looked dipped in candy.

Tabitha blinked, having a difficult time believing that these two could be a couple. Had the fever-dream quality of the book somehow invaded her reality?

They were seated a few tables ahead of her, near the middle of the restaurant. The woman—goddess? caricature?—sat with a little bounce, like a girl on a date with her crush. The young man muttered something he disappeared down the hallway toward the restrooms, taking his backpack with him.

Tabitha watched as the woman pulled out a phone, leaned back, and started chewing gum with slow, deliberate pops.

She tried to go back to her book.

She really did.

But even when her food arrived—fluffy scrambled eggs, crispy sausage, golden pancakes steaming just right—her eyes kept drifting back to the couple's table.

He came back a few minutes later. Different clothes. His hair looked damp, but neater. He must have cleaned himself up in there. He looked... sharper. Cleaner. The woman gave him a once-over and purred something that made him roll his eyes—but he smiled, too. Just a little.

Tabitha's fork hovered in the air as she watched the woman stretch her leg out under the table. She was rubbing his thigh with her foot. Shamelessly. The boy stiffened, looking toward the window, but didn't pull away.

She leaned forward, laughing at something he said, her chest practically on the table.

She was complimenting him now—Tabitha couldn't hear every word, but the tone was unmistakable. Coaxing. Flattering. Intimate.

The kid was trying to resist. That was clear. He was tense, shoulders hunched, posture awkward.

But slowly... something shifted.

Over the next few minutes, his posture began to relax. His face stopped protesting. His responses, though quiet, were no longer defensive.

She scolded herself for staring. Picked up her fork. Cut a piece of pancake. Tried again to read. She even managed a few bites, though the pancakes had gone lukewarm and the eggs had lost their fluff.

Then she looked up again. Just a glance. Just for a second.

The woman was leaning over the table now, her glossy pink lips locked with the young man's.

Tabitha's mouth hung open, mid-bite.

She put her fork down. Carefully.

Took a long sip of her coffee.

And decided maybe she'd read at home instead. Later. Once she was done watching. Sometimes the show, she realized, is better than the book.