Abigail's POV
Beep! Beep!! Beep!!! Beep!!!!
"Awwwnnn, it's another bright and beautiful day," I said while turning to hit the snooze button and took a deep breath. The sound of the alarm still rang in my ears, a constant reminder that a new day had begun whether I was ready for it or not. My eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the thin rays of sunlight streaming in through the half-closed curtains. The golden glow spread across my room, touching the posters on my wall, the neatly stacked books on my desk, and the little plant by the window that I'd been struggling to keep alive.
"Ahhhh," I moaned as I stretched every muscle in my body, arms reaching toward the ceiling while my toes curled into the soft blanket beneath me. My bones cracked in protest, but the release felt so good. After my little morning stretch, I said a short prayer, whispering words of gratitude that instantly gave me comfort. Then, with a reluctant groan, I climbed out of bed and reached for my phone on the nightstand.
I unlocked it with sleepy eyes and scrolled straight to Spotify. Within seconds, my favorite playlist was blasting through the speaker, filling my room with beats that made my sleepy mood vanish. I started dancing lazily across the room, swinging my arms and snapping my fingers, the rhythm carrying me along as I picked up my toothbrush. With a dramatic twirl, I went into the bathroom, pressed some toothpaste onto the bristles, and started brushing. My head bobbed in time with the music, foam bubbling at the corners of my mouth as I tried to hum along.
After brushing, I hit the showers and the water cascaded over me like a curtain of warmth. Without hesitation, I screamed my lungs out, belting the lyrics to "Which One" by Drake. The tiled walls bounced my voice back at me, making me feel like I was standing on a stage. My shampoo bottle became my microphone, and I danced like a mad woman in the shower, twirling, sliding, and even attempting a hair flip that nearly made me slip. For those few minutes, I wasn't just Abigail—I was a superstar headlining my own concert.
After I was done with my live concert in the bathroom, I got dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a cute white top that said "Best Chef". The words always made me smile because they weren't just words—they were a piece of my identity, a little nod to the restaurant my dad and I ran together. I applied some lip balm carefully, smacking my lips before leaning toward the mirror.
I checked myself out in the reflection, turning my face left and right, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. Then I grinned at my reflection and said, "You look good girl." The little pep talk boosted my confidence, and with that, I rushed downstairs.
"Hey, Dad," I said brightly as I gave him a kiss on the cheek. He smelled faintly of flour and coffee, the scents that always clung to him after long mornings in the kitchen.
"Good morning, sunshine," he replied warmly, his eyes crinkling with affection. I didn't linger though, I rushed into the kitchen, picked up a slice of toast from the counter, shoved it into my mouth, and quickly tied my apron around my waist.
"Abigail!!!"
"Yes, Dad, I'm coming," I yelled back as I hurried into the restaurant. My voice echoed between the neatly arranged tables and chairs. "You called for me," I added, my mouth still filled with toast, the words muffled.
He chuckled at the sight of me, shaking his head. "Yes, I need you to quickly clean the tables and chairs, and then come help me in the kitchen where I presume you stole that toast."
I giggled, brushing crumbs from my lips. "On it, Dad."
Grabbing a piece of cloth, I moved from table to table, wiping down each one carefully until the surfaces gleamed. The smell of fresh polish mixed with the faint scent of roasted coffee beans coming from the machine. Not long after I was done, I went over to the coffee machine to start brewing because we were about to open. The familiar hum of the machine was oddly comforting, like a heartbeat of the restaurant itself.
Curiosity got the better of me, so I sneaked into the kitchen to take a peek at what Dad had prepared. To no surprise, he had made a mountain of toast, as usual—alongside other breakfast items from the menu. Pancakes stacked high, golden and fluffy, bacon sizzling on the pan, scrambled eggs perfectly whipped. The sight made my chest tighten with both pride and a little sadness.
This kitchen always reminded me of Mum. I remembered how she and Dad used to work side by side, moving in perfect rhythm like a dance. Now it was only him, and though he never said it out loud, I could see the way his eyes softened whenever Mum's name came up.
But my thoughts were cut short when Dad's voice bellowed, "Will you keep standing there or come help your old man out here?"
I laughed, shaking off the sadness, and joined him in the kitchen. Together, we worked with the ease of practice, preparing trays, setting up plates, making sure everything looked perfect. After a few minutes, it was time to open. I walked to the door and flipped the sign so that it read OPEN.
And so the day's work began.
The first rush hour hit hard—though if I was being honest, it was probably going to be the only rush hour we'd have today. People streamed in, some with hurried steps, others with sleepy eyes, all looking for a quick breakfast before work. The bell above the door jingled nonstop, and the restaurant filled with chatter, the clinking of cutlery, and the aroma of fresh coffee.
I was everywhere at once—taking orders, writing quickly on notepads, rushing to the register, handing out receipts, serving plates. Some customers were polite, offering smiles and thank-yous. Others barked their orders like drill sergeants, barely glancing at me. I didn't mind much. I told myself, They're just passing through. I'll never see them again after today.
By the time the rush hour was over, it was around 9:00 a.m. My body ached from all the running, and I leaned against the counter, exhausted. My legs felt like jelly, my arms heavy. Still, I was relieved when I realized there were no dishes piled up in the sink—thank God most people had ordered their food to go.
I dragged myself toward the kitchen where Dad was still busy at the stove. With a teasing smile, I said, "Mr. Campbell, won't you rest up before our regular customers start coming in?"
He laughed, the sound booming warmly in the kitchen. "Oh, Young Miss Campbell, I will rest up soon."
But I wasn't buying it. "Nooooo!!! Our regular customers will start coming in any minute," I said, dragging him playfully by the arm. I led him out of the kitchen and sat him down on one of the chairs in the restaurant. Then I sat beside him, leaning my head against his shoulder, letting out a long sigh.
"What's wrong, dear?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.
"It's nothing really," I murmured, staring at the floor.
"Come on, dear. You know you can talk to me, right?"
I hesitated, chewing on my bottom lip. Then, finally, I let the words tumble out. "I know. It's just that I've been thinking… Ummm… well, the thing is that I want to get a job. You know, since Mum passed away I stopped working in order to help you out in the restaurant. But since Nicholas is coming home soon because he's done with school, I thought he could be helping you out here while I work a job as well." My voice trembled slightly as I searched his face, waiting for his reaction.
He looked at me for a moment, then smiled. "Oh sweetheart, that's fine by me. As long as you are happy with it, then I'm happy with it."
Relief washed over me, warm and light. "Awnn, thanks Dad. I love you so much," I said, hugging him from the side, squeezing him tight.
Not long after, the bell above the door rang again, and I broke the hug quickly. Our neighbor, Mr. James, walked in with his usual friendly stride.
"Good morning, Mr. James," I greeted.
"Hello, Abigail," he replied with a smile.
"What can I get for you this fine morning?" I asked, pulling out my notepad.
"Well, a cup of coffee and bacon and eggs with toast… hmmm… that would be all."
"Okay, it will be ready in a few minutes. Have a seat," I said, writing it down neatly before passing the order slip to Dad in the kitchen.
Within minutes, the food was ready. I served it to Mr. James with a smile and watched as he enjoyed it quietly. When he was done, he paid and left, waving goodbye on his way out.
The rest of the day went by in a blur of customers coming in and out. Some lingered, chatting over coffee, while others hurried away as soon as they'd eaten. By the time the clock struck 8:00 p.m., my body felt like it had been running a marathon. I walked to the door, flipped the sign over, and it now read CLOSED.
I let out a sigh of relief and collapsed into the nearest chair. My gaze wandered to the kitchen, where a huge pile of plates waited for me. My shoulders slumped in defeat, and I started throwing a mock tantrum right there on the chair, kicking my legs like a child. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Dad laughing quietly.
"It's not funny," I said, pouting dramatically.
"It actually really is," he said between laughs. "And you have no choice but to wash them all."
"That's the saddest part," I groaned, dragging myself up from the chair. I grabbed my phone, scrolled quickly to my playlist, and let the music blast as I headed to the kitchen. Music was my saving grace—it made even the worst chores a little bearable.
While scrubbing plates, I let my mind wander. I thought of Choley, my best friend. It had been weeks since we last hung out properly. Life had gotten in the way—school, work, the restaurant. A little spark of excitement lit up in me at the thought of visiting her tomorrow since it was the weekend. I'm definitely telling Dad after I'm done with these dishes, I thought.
Eventually, after what felt like forever, I was finally done with the dishes. I wiped my damp hands on my apron and headed upstairs. At Dad's door, I knocked softly before poking my head inside.
"Hey, Dad."
"I see you're finally done with the dishes," he said with a smirk, clearly proud of his earlier joke.
"Hahaha, very funny," I said, rolling my eyes. "Anyways, the main reason I'm here is to tell you that I'll be heading over to Choley's place tomorrow to hang out with her."
"Sure, no problem honey," he replied, his voice calm and approving.
"Okay, Dad. Good night," I said with a tired smile.
"Good night," he replied, and I left for my room.
I took a cold shower, the chill washing away the stickiness of the long day. Afterward, I climbed into bed, wrapped up in the cozy blanket. My phone lit up with TikTok videos, and I scrolled mindlessly, laughing quietly at some clips, liking others. Eventually, the weight of the day pulled me down, my eyes growing heavy.
I dropped my phone to the side table, sinking deeper into the mattress. A smile curved on my lips as I thought about tomorrow—about seeing Choley again after so long. Excitement buzzed in my chest, soft and hopeful. It had been a while since we spent quality time together, and I couldn't wait.
And with that, I drifted into sleep, ready for whatever tomorrow would bring.