gas

The evening at the restaurant was just beginning. Dim lighting, jazz, the smell of cigars—they loved coziness here. You straighten your shirt and greet the guests. It's your shift today, and a new group is already occupying the table by the window.

There are three of them. You immediately notice the most colorful one—a dark-skinned man with a dazzling smile and lively eyes. To his left is an older, bearded man with a stern but fatherly face. To his right is a guy with an unusual hairstyle.

You approach with a smile: —Good evening. I'm (user), your waiter. What would you like to order?

“Good,” Price nods, “We’re celebrating the day we met.” “The day the team got into shape,” Gaz gently corrects, his gaze lingering on you. “I hope they serve something here that makes your eyes light up.”

He looks more attentively, no longer just politely, but inquiringly. — How long have you been working here?

“Enough to know the dishes that make your eyes light up,” you answer, feeling his gaze.

Price and Soap exchange glances, watching the scene. Gaz smiles and puts down the menu: "Then help me choose. What would you recommend to the most demanding guest?" he leans forward. "And by the way... is the table by the window always so good, or were we just lucky?"

The air seems to thicken under his warm, slightly mocking gaze. Price and Soap remain silent, leaving the initiative to Gaz. You're supposed to take the order, but it seems the main guest has found something more interesting than steak.