A Knight in Shining Armor is a Man Who's Had His Metal Tested

By Kayleigh Kitt

She approaches, pen poised over a pad, to the background of animated children, stretched adults and volume-loud pensioners. Waitressing, she considers, is romantic when limited to the big screen.

“What can I get you?”

The doorbell tings. Another customer brushes by.

She finally looks up, tucking an escaping strand of hair behind an ear from her messy bun. Jolted forward, she practically lands in his lap. A harassed mother apologises, reversing the stroller for a second attempt through the gap.

“And what are the specials today, darlin’?” he leans against his chairback, hungry gaze roving.

She remembers the dishwasher repairman is due Monday.

“Soup of the day, leek and potato. There’s steak and ale pie with mash, or pea and courgette tagliatelle.”

Languidly drumming his fingers on the table, he widens his legs, smirking, only to scratch his flannel-covered belly with the spare hand.

“So, what will it be?” she repeats.

“Tell me the specials again,” he drawls.

“You heard her, man.”

She spins around, getting lost in the young buck’s sky-blue eyes, a scraped motorbike helmet looped over a chestnut leathered arm.

“Great to see you again, Cassie. How have you been?” He semi-gestures to hug her but stops halfway.

“Well, thanks. I’ll take this guy’s order and come and hear about your adventures,” her voice spikes up.

The patron at the table purses his lips. “I’ll take that soup and tea now.”

She jots this down, walking towards the kitchen, her rescuer in tow.

“On the house. What can I get you?” she moistens her lips, notebook and biro ready.

“Men who don’t greasily hit on women trying to do their job. I’ll take the pasta, thanks and two coffees. And I’m paying, this shouldn’t come from your wages.” The young buck nods.

“I’ll bring it over to table six.” She motions towards the last vacant table.

Delivering the patron’s soup, he says nothing.

Taking the order to table six, the young buck thanks her. Delivering the two coffees, he simply says, “That one’s for you, if you’ll accept. No strings.”

He gestures with his fork, murmuring, “Sit a minute—unless you want Mr Leery bothering you.” His dark eyes track the plaid-clad patron stomping towards the till.

She folds into the opposite seat. “How are your parents?” she asks loudly.

The bell on the door tinkles. The patron leaves.

She exhales, shoulders sliding down from under her ears.

The young buck spears pasta twirls.

“I’d have hunted him down if he’d done that to my sister. My name’s Josh. Don’t feel you have to stay.” He smiles, transforming his beard-scruffed face into dimpled planes.

Her mouth kinks up. “I’m Ally.”

Josh taps the flyer left on the table, peering at it. “Is the inaugural art exhibition any good? I was thinking of checking it out.”

“Me too.” Ally smiles, taking a mouthful of coffee.

Later, by the door, she leans closer kissing his cheek. “Thanks for what you did, and—I’ll see you after my shift.”

💕💕💕💕

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Kayleigh Kitt lives in Shropshire, UK with her husband and ageing cat who thinks it’s a dog. Her writing style is regularly humorous with strong female characters, often with a pinch or generous dollop of fantasy. She’s had work published in the Creekside Magazine, Livina Press, and CNF in Entrails and Across the Margin. She’s a frequent published contributor in Scifansat. Kayleigh perches at the edge of Bluesky @spellboundscribe.bsky.social and a selection of her published work can be found at https://kayleighkitt75.wixsite.com/dragon