Chapter 2
LIV
Four hours later, I’m feeling completely wiped out, but I’ve got a slim wad of tips in my apron. I just finished all of my cleanup, and I should be going home any minute.
Or not.
Leah is on after me today, and she runs late more often than she’s on time. A worst-case thinker might believe she sleeps in on purpose and leaves me cooling my heels with no customers in the wee hours, since the breakfast crowd doesn’t come in until around six, which means neither do the tips.
But I prefer to think of Leah as well-meaning and flighty. After all, she always apologizes profusely. I can’t really believe she would stick me with extra hours on purpose.
Of course, my two best friends have their own opinions on the matter.
Hailey says I should confront her, or go to Robert about it.
And Tessa grumbles that Robert knows, and the only reason he hasn’t fired her yet is because Leah’s a flirt. And also because I always cover for her.
Clearly, neither of my besties likes the idea of me being a pushover.
“Could this be… you know?” Hailey asked me quietly one day, when it was just the two of us.
“What?” I asked.
“Your inner fat girl?” she whispered, like fat was a bad word. “Is there part of you that thinks you don’t deserve to be treated fairly?”
I only frowned and shook my head. Plenty of fat girls are confident and more than happy to stick up for themselves.
But she did make me think about it, and honestly, I’m not really sure what makes me avoid conflict like the plague.
At the end of the day, I love my job and I’d rather end my shift a little late once in a while than rock the boat. I’d also rather believe the best of my coworker. There’s nothing wrong with choosing to see the glass as half full, and having peace in your life.
I like to think that I would totally stand up for myself if it came to something really important to me. At least I hope I would.
The place is finally empty, so I slip into the restroom to splash a little cold water on my face and redo my messy ponytail.
While I’m putting myself back together, the bell over the front door jingles.
I guess Leah is here after all. Thoughts of my warm, cozy bed are already swirling in my head as I head back out.
But when I open the door, I can hear Robert, and he’s definitely not talking to Leah.
“…so glad you stopped by,” he’s saying effusively to someone at one of the booths. “You’re a legend around here and you always will be.”
So much for Leah showing up almost on time. Looks like I’m getting one more table before I can have that date with my bed.
I can’t see the person in the booth that Robert is fussing over from back here. Whoever it is, he replies in a deep, low voice.
As I stand in the middle of the dining room trying to figure out what could possibly have my stoic boss acting like a giddy schoolgirl, Robert himself rushes over.
“Go,” he whispers to me, making a shooing gesture toward one of the smaller booths in what used to be the smoking section back when that was still a thing. “Hurry.”
I head over and as soon as I turn the corner I can see the man that’s attached to that deep voice.
He has broad shoulders, dark, slightly too-long hair, the bone structure of a prince, and big brown eyes that are currently narrowed at the menu.
It’s him…
For a moment, my heart forgets how to beat and I can almost feel the cold metal of a locker against my back.
Then a wave of heat starts at my toes and rises to fill my head. In the span of about two seconds, I’m so furious that I can barely see straight.
My feet act on their own, marching me straight up to him and in that moment I learn two things about myself.
The first is that even though I’m feeling good, I might never be completely over what his crowd did to me in high school.
And the second is that I’m not completely opposed to confrontations after all.
Because I’m about to give Caleb Stone a serious piece of my mind.
But before I can open my mouth, a small, unhappy howl relaxes my tunnel vision, and the rest of the table comes into focus.
Caleb isn’t alone. There’s a tiny girl beside him. She has dark brown braids and cute denim overalls over a lavender t-shirt. She’s frantically trying to wrestle the menu out of his hands, and I realize now that she’s not howling. She’s clearly saying no in a high-pitched tone.
“Okay, Daisy,” Caleb says patiently, letting it go. “You can have the menu.”
But Daisy only flaps the menu around, looking no happier than before he surrendered it.
She’s adorable, but I can also see there’s something a little different about her from the average kid her size.
“Hey,” Caleb says quietly, barely looking up for a second I take in his little dining companion. “Sorry. We had trouble sleeping, and I thought we might be happier here. Daisy loves pancakes.”
His gaze moves back to his daughter without missing a beat.
For a moment, I’m too stunned to move.
He doesn’t recognize me at all.
I’ll admit I’ve pictured bumping into my former tormenters and seeing their faces when they realize how much I’ve changed.
I don’t imagine them showering me with compliments or modeling offers or anything. I just picture an expression of surprise, one that says I’m not Twiggy the Piggy anymore.
I never imagined that one of them wouldn’t recognize me at all.
I guess I truly was invisible to Caleb Stone. And I still am.
“It’s fine,” I hear myself say calmly. “What would you guys like to eat and drink?”
“Coffee for me, please,” he says. “Daisy likes water, and if you can get someone working on those pancakes, it will probably be better for all of us.”
Daisy has stopped waving the menu around to peer up at me, but her neck looks like it’s at an uncomfortable angle.
“Hi, Daisy,” I say, moving around the table and getting down to her level so she can see me better. “Would you like some pancakes today?”
“Yes,” she tells me emphatically after a moment.
“Okay, great,” I say. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
I wait for just a second and she nods.
On my way to the counter, I can’t help thinking it’s unusual to take a kid to a diner at four in the morning. But it’s actually a pretty good idea.
The Bluevale Diner has been open since the fifties, and we still have pretty much the same brightly colored booths, mirrors on the back wall, and lemon-yellow laminated menus.
All the waitresses wear bright dresses with white aprons.
There’s no loud music here and the place is well lit with a nice clean bathroom.
It’s a great, safe place to distract a child.
I grab some crayons and a coloring book from my stash under the counter.
Robert doesn’t think a fifties diner would have this kind of stuff, but I don’t mind springing for it out of my own pocket.
Having something to do seems to help younger kids pass the time here—the ones that don’t already have some kind of screen to disappear into, at least.
I also grab a glass of ice water and a coffee, then head back to the table as quickly as possible.
“Hello again,” I say quietly. “Here are your drinks, and something to look at while I get you those pancakes.”
Daisy’s face lights up and she reaches for the coloring book right away.
“Thank you,” Caleb says softly.
I hurry away so I won’t have to reply, and stick my head in the window.
“Okay if I come back, Dante?” I ask. “I was going to make a little girl some pancakes.”
“Sure,” he says with a smile.
He’s busy prepping for the breakfast rush, so I know he isn’t dying to stop everything for one order.
Meanwhile, I’m in my element. I’m mostly a hobby baker, and I usually stick to the sweet stuff, but Daisy’s not the only one who loves pancakes.
“I’m going to doctor a couple of these up,” I tell Dante, indicating the plastic squirt bottles where he puts the pancake batter.
“I know,” he says, rolling his eyes but still smiling as he chops peppers and onions over at the stainless counter.
In no time, I’ve got three different colors of batter and I get to work making a generous enough serving of special pancakes that Daisy will be able to share some of them with her dad.
Though I don’t really care about Caleb Stone getting special pancakes—he’s lucky I’m not putting a big scoop of cayenne in his. I’m just making these to be nice to his adorable companion, who seems to be having a bad day.
Once the pancakes are arranged on the plate, I grab some syrup and silverware, throw it all on a tray, and hurry back over to the table, where Daisy is busy making marks on the coloring books.
“Goooooo… stop,” Caleb says to her with a smile.
Daisy halts her crayon line when he says stop, and looks up at him proudly.
“Hey there,” I say, feeling awkward, like maybe I should just let them play their coloring game since she’s happy now.
“Wow, look at those,” Caleb says, his eyes on the tray.
“I thought you might like some flower pancakes,” I tell the little girl.
I set the plate of daisy-shaped pancakes in front of her. I guess I was hoping that she might smile at them or even laugh.
I certainly didn’t expect her to gasp and wiggle like she’s overcome with amazement, but I instantly feel warmth in my chest.
“She loves them,” Caleb says softly. “Do you like them, Daisy?”
“Yes,” Daisy says, lifting her eyes to me and smiling radiantly. She puts her small hand on her chin and then lets it fall toward me, almost like she’s blowing a kiss.
“I’m so glad,” I tell her. “I hope they taste really yummy. I had fun making them.”
“You made these?” Caleb asks, looking surprised.
“The cook lets me play around sometimes,” I say, shrugging. “It’s not busy right now.”
“They’re awesome,” he says.
Caleb’s compliment hits harder than I would have thought.
I’ve never wanted to slap someone and thank them at the same time before, and I’m still sorting through my emotions when the bell jingles, telling me the door to the diner just opened, and I hear Robert saying something quietly to whoever just walked in.