Devious Obsession

“ T hanks, Robby.” I lift the plates of pancakes and scrambled eggs from the pass-through and fill my tray with table two’s breakfast order.

The aroma of bacon sizzling away on the grill wafts through, and my stomach tightens. It’s been non-stop since I got in this morning at seven, and my stomach is getting angrier by the moment.

Usually, on Saturday mornings after closing the Dive Bar the night before, I’d be working on four hours of sleep. I’m not that lucky today.

That stupid scribbled note kept me up all night. When I got home, I searched my apartment three times before I finally convinced myself no one was hiding under the pull- out bed. The rest of the night, I stared at the ceiling, reminding myself that there is no way anyone could find me.