Chapter 4 - Gossip At The Diner Booth
The afternoon shift at the diner was always a blur of grease, clattering silverware, and the low, droning chatter of regulars complaining about the weather or local politics. But my focus was entirely shattered. All through the lunch rush, wiping down formica tables and pouring endless refills of iced tea, my mind kept drifting back to the sparse kitchen on County Road 4, the smell of eucalyptus, and the heavy, calloused warmth of Cole's hand brushing against mine.
By two o'clock, the lunch crowd had thinned to a few lingering retirees in the corner booths. I was standing behind the counter, absentmindedly wiping down the stainless steel espresso machine with a damp rag, when the bell above the front door chimed.
I looked up, expecting the usual delivery driver, but instead saw Marty—a regular who worked down at the county tax office and spent his afternoons nursing black coffee and reading the local paper from cover to cover. He slid into his usual booth near the window, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses before looking up at me as I walked over with the check pad and a glass of water.
"Afternoon, Cassie," Marty said, tapping a finger against the folded newspaper on the table. "You look a little distracted today. Everything alright on the floor?"
"Just a long night, Marty," I said, offering a practiced, polite smile as I poured his water. "What can I get you? The meatloaf special is still up."
"Just coffee, black, thanks," Marty replied, then lowered his voice, leaning slightly across the table as if sharing a confidential tip. "Say, speaking of long nights... I saw you leaving the diner late last night just as that fellow in the black suit was heading out with his kid."
My hand froze for a fraction of a second, the coffee pot hovering over his cup. I forced my breathing to stay even, sliding the pot back onto its tray. "Cole? Yeah, he comes in sometimes for coffee."
"More than just a customer, from the looks of it," Marty murmured, a knowing, slightly cynical edge creeping into his tone. "People around town talk, Cassie. That guy keeps to himself, drives an old sedan with primer spots on the fender, and walks around like he's hiding from a federal marshal. Not the kind of local character you want getting mixed up in your life. The folks down at the county office remember his sort—rough edges, tattoos up his neck, no steady roots."
The defensiveness flared in my chest so fast it tasted like copper. I set the water pitcher down a little harder than intended, the glass clinking sharply against the table.
"Cole works forty hours a week at the freight yard and raises a thirteen-month-old baby entirely by himself, Marty," I said, my voice dropping into a low, hard register that made the older man blink in surprise. "If people in this town spent half as much time offering a hand as they do gossiping in booths, maybe the county would be a better place to live."
Marty raised both hands in a defensive gesture, leaning back against the vinyl cushions. "Easy now, Cassie. I'm just saying. Be careful who you let into your orbit. People with pasts like that usually bring a storm with them when they finally decide to blow through town."
May you like
Before I could answer, the front door chimed again, the sharp ring cutting through the tense silence of the diner. I turned sharply toward the entrance, half-expecting to see Cole walking through the glass doors with Noah in his arms, but instead found myself staring at an unfamiliar face—a broad-shouldered man in a rumpled leather jacket standing just inside the threshold, scanning the empty booths with cold, assessing eyes that lingered too long on the register before locking directly onto mine.
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