"A phone number?" At this, Abigail hesitated. She really didn't know him. Not completely. All she knew was that he was a handsome, smooth-talking gent named Thomas Dean whom she had, more or less, serviced at one time. Or many times.
Chewing on her lower lip, Abigail finally gave a shrug of her shoulders. "Alright, alright." Another piece of paper and she was writing down her number and sliding it over to sit beside his plate of pie. "And, for the record, there is another job. But, you'll just have to wait and see if you're ever lucky enough to get one." Because, while it was fun and quirky? How many people still sent singing telegrams unless they were cheesy, romantic, old-fashioned, or just enjoyed seeing the, at times, horrified expression on someone's face? At least, in Abigail's opinion, she was one of the better performer's.
Another piece of paper was place on his table, the check, and Abigail just smiled. "Have a nice day, Thomas. Come back and see us?" Clicking her pen closed, she once again moved to another table to check on other customers, clear some plates, and get refills as needed.