Mona Lisa's

Jon Walker arrived for his shift exactly six minutes before it started. Spencer told him so.

“Jon, you do realize that we work at a restaurant! Where we need to set the tables before we let the people come sit down, right?” Spencer scolded, pointing at his watch. “And you come in here six minutes before your shift like it’s not big deal at all!”

Jon just shrugged off his jacket and sat down to change his flip-flops for dress shoes at the break table. It was tucked in the corner of the kitchen, before the barrier with the small window where the waiters dropped their orders off to Frank, the head chef.

“I’m sure you did a good job setting my tables,” Jon smiled calmly.

Spencer puffed out his chest in defiance. “And who said I set your tables, Walker?”

“Well,” Jon began. “I’m assuming Wentz finished his tables first and set mine. But you probably freaked out because the knives weren’t perfectly aligned with the forks, or something like that.”

Spencer deflated a little. “Just…whatever. C’mon,” Spencer said when he noticed Jon’s feet were safely tucked inside his shoes and the laces were tied. “Patrick posted tonight’s arrangement at the front desk.”

When the two arrived at the front, Pete was leaning on Patrick with sleepy eyes, Brendon was fighting with Zack and Jack, and Ryan was messing with his vest and tie. Spencer stormed over to Ryan, and straightened it back out for him with a mumbled threat.

“But you promised I could work front desk tonight,” Brendon pouted, his bottom lip turning over in a huge frown while his eyes got all puppy dog-like. “I’ve been waiting weeks! Please, please, please!”

Jack rolled his eyes and looked at Zack. “Can’t you just deal with it?”

“Zaacckkk!” Brendon whined.

Zack looked away, his face flushed. “I can’t, Brendon okay. Don’t…don’t give me that look.”

Just when Brendon was about to make another point to his never ending argument about “why it really is my turn, look I even wrote it in the book! Bden at FRONT!” Frank walked in, carrying in a grocery bag.

“Someone called and said Urie was upset?” Frank laughed. Zack just looked at him with helpless eyes. Even though Patrick and Zack were actually the managers, Frank was all about running the place. He was good at directing people around, getting the waiters to pick up the speed, and really make the customers happy. Right now, Frank was on operation Fix Brendon’s Pouty Face and Tantrum. He tugged on the younger kid’s sleeve and pulled him into the kitchen, saying, “Look, I bought you skittles. Don’t tell Spencer, he hates when you have sugar before your shift.”

When they finally disappeared, Jon glanced at the arrangement for the night. He smiled, and when Pete leaned over his shoulder, he could feel him grinning.

“You owe me, Walker,” Pete whispered. “You don’t know what I had to do to make Patrick change the arrangement.”

Jon smiled back. “Your wish is my command.”

Patrick ended up rounding the waiters up and shuffling them to the back when Jack started getting confirmation calls for reservations. When they all got back in the kitchen, both Frank and Brendon were giggling from a sugar high, as Ray and Bob readied the cooking equipment. Alex was finishing his job of filling the pitchers with ice water, and readying them for each waiter to take.

“Jon,” Brendon grinned. He was bouncing in his seat at the break table. “Jon, I’m going to beat you in tips tonight. I just know it.”

Jon laughed and sat in the chair next to him. “I’m guessing I’ll average one hundred fifteen.”

Brendon’s smile deflated only a little around the corners. “I was thinking I’d get ninety five.”

Pete laughed. “Flash that smile of yours and shake that ass you just might find a couple singles in your back pocket.”

“Don’t,” Ryan stated. “Don’t give him any ideas, please we’re sharing tables tonight.”

“Ry, Ry, Ryan,” Brendon jittered. “How much will you get?”

Ryan hated this. He thought it was the stupidest thing, how every night Brendon made everyone guess what they think they would get in tips. He thought it was so stupid how Jon and Brendon were in competition to see who made more. But since it made Brendon smile, Ryan always threw out a number. “Eighty,” he said. Brendon turned to Spencer, who said eighty-five, then Pete who guessed ninety, and Mikey who estimated ninety-five.

Before Frank snuck off into the kitchen, Mikey warned him, “Frank, Gerard’s coming in again tonight.”

Frank hid his smile, but failed at stopping his blush. “Great,” he said sarcastically, but everyone knew he didn’t mean it. “I’ll make sure not to spill anything on my apron so I look okay when I walk out.”

Pete snickered. “Frank, should I write your number on the bill when I give it to him?”

Frank’s eyes lit up with a playful anger. “Do it and I’ll spit in your pasta!”

They all laughed, and when Jack walked in he could only guess what was happening. “First customer guys, your side of the floor, Spencer.”

Spencer straightened up, took his pad, and walked out, but not before he heard Alex encourage, “Go get ‘em tiger!”