- A little bit of hope -

"A creamy tomato soup, a roast beef and a strawberry ice cream cone for table three please!"

Before the waiter had finished shouting his latest order through the crowded kitchen, the head chef of the restaurant already knew what food to prepare and which table it was for.

Every wednesday without pause this older gentleman, an elderly man nearing his seventies, always dressed in a neat suit and cute round glasses as well as a chic hat, would come into the restaurant and order the same thing.

Every single time.

At first it was nice - the routine of having a customer who was easy to serve, with no extra wishes and other complications. But after months, nearly a year, of the same dishes, it was getting infuriating.

The chef of the restaurant was a famous chef, known for her delicious cooking, her diverse dishes as well as her food experiments. So having a customer who didn't challenge her, who didn't even try a different food once? It was frustrating. But kind of a challenge in itself. One she wasn't afraid to take.

"The tomato soup for table three!", she heard one of her sauciers shout as the appetizer was handed to the same waiter from before.

Quickly she notified her sous chef with a quick hand gesture that she was in charge of the kitchen for now and headed to the waiter.

"Dennis, let me do it," she said and took the tray with the soup, as well as a small basket of warm Mozzarella Crostini from his hands.

He just raised an eyebrow and looked after her without saying anything.

After all, the whole kitchen knew of her desire to change the man's mind.

- • -

"Good evening," she greeted him as she placed the food in front of him; then tucked the tray under her arm and leaned slightly on the opposite chair.

"Ahh!", he exclaimed and smiled up at her, a dimple popping in his left cheek and crow's feet appearing around his eyes. "Hello, my dear. How are you?"

"Ah, the same as always."

"Stressed, tired and full of coffee?", he asked cheekily.

She laughed. "No no, none of that, I'm fine really."

A small pause.

"Okay, maybe a little tired and full of caffeine, but I love my job, so that is a risk I am willing to take," she admitted.

He smiled softly.

"Speaking of my love for my job -", she began and leaned a bit more against the chair, "- are you sure, that I can't tempt you to try something different this time? The salmon is really good, if I can say so myself."

"I'm afraid not."

"Alright, but I swear to you, one day you will," she replied and leaned back, lightly slapping the table as if to underline her words.

"But for now I will leave you to your food," she said, leaned forward in a small bow and walked away.

Wednesday was one of her favourite days of the week. Not just because of the older gentleman, but also because firstly, it was the middle of the week and thus the weekend was nearing; slowly but surely (don't get her wrong, she loved her job, but that didn't mean that it wasn't tiring or stressful and after five days of being nearly all day on her feet, she craved a weekend spent in her bed). And secondly, because there weren't a lot of customers; for some reason. It was quite funny actually, on Tuesday and Thursday there were always more customers than on Wednesday.

Instead of shouting order after order, walking into each other's way and stress, the feeling in the kitchen was mellow and there was laughter in the air.

The chef was standing near the door which was separating the kitchen from the dining area, her arms loosely crossed and was overlooking her staff. She was proud to have such a hardworking, dedicated team.

Owning a restaurant had always been her dream, after all her father was a chef as well and while growing up, she would always be around the kitchen and helping out. He was the one who had begun her interest in cooking, he was the one who supported and encouraged her experiments with different food and he was the one with the dream of an own restaurant - which sadly didn't happen. She would like to think that he would be proud of what she had accomplished. Not her fame, not her success, but that she had achieved her dream. Their dream.

She smiled and turned her head away from her team. Her family.

Through a small window in the door, she could see the elderly man. Sitting alone in the middle of a big restaurant filled with people.

Sadness tugged at her heart.

Looking around the restaurant and seeing only a few people left, she turned around and went to find her sous chef.

- • -

"Here, my good sir, a big strawberry ice cream cone with whipped cream and little pieces of strawberries."

She put the big glass in front of the man, pulled the opposite chair away from the table and sat down; a big glass filled with caramel ice cream, caramel sauce and little caramel pieces in her other hand.

She took a big bite with the table spoon in her hand and swayed a little from side to side. Caramel ice cream was delicious, but self-made ice cream made in her own restaurant? There were few things that could top this.

After a few seconds with the only noise (besides the talking of other guests and the nearly silent laughter coming from the kitchen) being her spoon meeting glass with a small clink, she looked up.

The man was looking at her ice cream glass. A sort of yearning look on his face. Oh?

She raised both eyebrows and looked a few times between her ice cream and the man.

"Do you want to try it?", she asked softly, trying not to let her excitement show. All her tries and ideas of a year, and all it took was a simple caramel ice cream?

He, however, slowly shook his head and set his spoon down. He intertwined his fingers and strained his back.

Oh?

She swallowed the piece of ice cream in her mouth and copied him.

"Since today, exactly nine months ago, my wife has been dead."

Her eyes grew big. Her mouth nearly flapped open in her surprise, but luckily she managed to right herself before that happened.

"And my son has been in a coma ever since."

His breath hitched and he blinked rapidly. "A car crashed into us. Right in the side of my wife and my son."

She swallowed; her throat feeling dry.

"Both my wife and the other driver died instantly. My son was harmed pretty badly and had to be put in a coma. He hasn't woken up yet."

The man picked the spoon up again and looked down at his ice.

"The dishes I order were her favourite food."

Oh ... Suddenly she didn't feel like eating anymore. The cold of the ice cream in her stomach was spreading all over her. Like the hand of a ghost brushing softly all across her body. She shivered.

"You are the only restaurant around that serves all three dishes and makes them nearly as well as my wife had. I don't eat them at home, I can't - I can't cook", he explains when he saw her frowning. He chuckled lightly.

"No, my wife was always the one of the two of of who could cook." His eyes went slightly misty, as if he was remembering all the times he tried to cook for his wife, to surprise her or make her happy, but failed and how they both laughed together.

He sighed. "So I can't really eat the dishes everywhere else, only here. When I'm eating them, I feel like she is still here with me," he whispered the last part and suddenly she didn't see the older gentleman anymore, who was always fancy dressed and was a loved professor at one of the best colleges around - no, suddenly all she saw was an elderly man, all alone, hurting and with no one to turn to; but still holding onto hope, unwilling to let it slide through his fingers.

She reached out and placed her hand softly over his and squeezed softly. No words could ever express her sorrow.

He looked up and smiled. "Caramel ice cream was always the favourite ice cream of my son."

- • -

"A creamy tomato soup, a roast beef and a caramel ice cream cone for table three please!"

Her breath hitched and she turned around. Dennis looked back at her and smiled.

- • -

A few weeks later, nearly a year since the accident, the table of one was seated with two. An elderly man eating strawberry ice cream and a younger man eating caramel ice cream. They were laughing and talking the whole time.

The chef watched and smiled. Happiness warming her heart.

- The End -

I hope you enjoyed this little (about 1500 words) one shot.
I actually quite enjoyed writing it, even if it's maybe a little sad - it's got a happy ending though! I hope it's not too bad.

I am always open for feedback though!

Thanks for reading :)