I run my hand over the front of my apron, lightly tug the sides of my black uniform skirt down at the sides. It’s shorter than I’m comfortable with, hitting just above mid-thigh because I’m so tall, but a larger size wouldn’t have fit around my waist so it’s something I just have to deal with. Slipping some lip balm out from beside my notepad in my apron pocket, I lean a tad closer to the mirror and apply it. Rubbing my lips together, I put the cap back on and drop it back in my pocket. Eyeing my reflection in the diner bathroom mirror, I raise an arm to smooth some of the baby hairs around my face that refused to cooperate this morning. You look a wreck today, Ember. I'm wearing my hair down today instead of in my usual ponytail because I thought it looked nice while it was still drying, but now that it's no longer damp and the diner bustle has gotten to it, I wish I'd stuck with the ponytail.
Letting out a deep breath, I rub my eyes. At least, I don't have to worry about ruining my mascara. I ran out of my last tube of it a few days ago and it just isn't in the budget to buy more. Thankfully, my lashes are already pretty dark on their own and I can get away without wearing any, and not look too ridiculous. My eyes are my best feature, or so I've been told. I never thought they were any more special than every other hazel eye out there. Soft brown in the middle of a gray-blue ring. I suppose they are more unique than the mahogany brown of my elbow-length hair. I jump when the bathroom door swings open, smiling politely at the woman who walks in. Casting one last long look at my reflection, I grab the door before it shuts and step out into the diner.
I was put on the shorter shifts this week, so I have less than an hour left before I'm off. Usually, I can talk my way into working more but no one was willing to give up any of their hours to me this time. Walking to the register, I look over all of the red pleather booths, doing a quick check of the few customers scattered around. Debbie's Diner, where I work, is styled in the same 1950s glamor as you'd think it would be based on the name alone. Red booths and stools with chrome accents, black and white checkered floors, and neon signs that hang on the walls showcasing beverages and phrases no one has used in decades. We get all kinds of people despite the interior design because of our central location in the city and the fact that we are open twenty-four hours and only closed on Sundays. Typically, I work the graveyard shifts because they're longer but tonight my time was cut in half.
"Did Garry talk to you about the cake?"
I glance over at Becca, a coworker of mine, shaking my head no as I reach under the front counter to change out the empty roll in the register’s receipt machine. "No. What cake?"
Becca started working at the diner a few months after I did and I’d consider her a friend of mine, but we hardly ever visit or talk outside of work. I’m sure she’s tired of me turning down every invitation she sends my way for parties, drinks, and outings but she never says anything and hasn’t stopped inviting me. I don’t turn her down because I don’t want to spend time with her, I just can never afford to go out. One day, I won’t have to worry about that. I’m determined to change my luck but right now, I don’t have any other options but to pinch pennies.
She leans her hip against the counter, tucking her pen behind her ear. "Oh, well, we want to get LeAnn a cake to celebrate her birthday."
I shut the new roll of receipt paper into the machine, leaning around Becca to toss the empty receipt roll into the trash bin behind her. Crossing my arms over my chest, I shrug at her. "Okay? When are you getting it?"
"We will need to order it pretty soon since her birthday is on Wednesday, but we need ten dollars from everyone to help pay for it."
Feeling my nails bite into my arms, I drop my hands to my sides to hide the reaction. Ten dollars? I don't have an extra ten dollars to give. "When do you need it by? I don't have any cash on me right now. Are you sure she wouldn't be happier with one of Marie's triple berry pies we already make at the diner? Those are her favorite." If she got a pie I wouldn’t have to help pay for it, I’m sure Garry would just let it be on the house.
Becca shakes her head standing from the counter, her blonde ponytail whipping around with the movement. "No, she's turning thirty! She needs a fancy cake, not a pie she can get any old day."
Becca is knocking on thirties door herself at twenty-nine, but she doesn’t look it. She could pass off as twenty-two, the same age as me. Her long blonde hair is back in a poofy blonde ponytail today, teased at her crown to keep her bangs back from her face. Her eye makeup is always some bright and bold color I couldn’t ever imagine wearing, yet somehow looks amazing on her. Today she has shades of green on her lids, big fluffy lashes, and black lipstick. I wish I was confident enough to even try a look like that.
My stomach twists in knots as I nod at her, shaking my head with a fake smile. “Yea, of course, you’re right.” I swallow when she looks away from me to wave at a customer that comes through the door, sucking my lips between my teeth. I don’t want to tell her I don’t have the money for the cake, but I also don’t want to tell her I don’t want to pay for it. I don’t want her to be disappointed in me since she seems so excited about getting it. One of my arms wraps around my front, holding onto my other elbow as I look around the diner without really seeing it.
“You said you don’t have cash?” I nod as Becca looks back at me, her eyes glancing up toward the clock. “I can have Garry take it from your check if you want. That’s what he is doing with mine since I never have cash either.”
I fake another smile at her following giggle, my thumb running along the inside of my elbow. It’s only ten dollars, Ember. I’m sure it’ll be okay even with the shorter hours. I’ll figure it out if it’s not. “Uh, yea sure. That’ll work.”
“Awesome!” Becca pulls her pen from behind her ear, clicking it closed before dropping it into her apron pocket. “I know you’re off in a few minutes, but can you help the guy who just came in before you leave?”
I peek over the top of her shoulder, noting the dark head facing away from me in one of the back booths. “Yea, I can.”
She smiles, skirting around me, and I move from behind the counter. Smiling at the few other customers I pass, I pull my notepad from my apron pocket. I take a deep breath before stepping up to the table, my eyes on my pen as I pull it from my pocket, clicking it to write. “What can I get you?”
“What do you want?”
My lips part at the slight familiarity in the voice, my brows furrowing in confusion. What I want? It wasn’t asked in a rude manner, but almost as if I was being asked to dinner. Flicking my eyes from my notepad in my hand to the owner of the voice, my breath catches in my throat. It’s him. Blinking to control my reaction, I don’t have to force the small smile I feel tugging along the corner of my lips. It’s been a few weeks since this mystery man paid for my subs at the gas station, but I’ve thought of him almost every day since in some way.
“It’s you.” The words leave my chest in a whoosh of air I was holding in my lungs, making one side of his dusty pink lips twitch. Subtly shaking my head, I close my eyes for a second to recollect my thoughts, still smiling when they open. “I’m sorry, you just caught me off guard. What, um, what did you say you wanted?”
He adjusts in the bench seat, bringing his leather covered elbows up to rest on the table, his long fingers intertwining as he rests his chin on them. Amused stormy gray eyes narrow as he smirks at me. He has a sweatshirt on underneath his leather jacket that’s stamped with the Saint Laurent logo, a black sneaker sticking out from the bottom of the table that looks as if it has only been worn a handful of times; shiny and uncreased with bright red soles. In my panic at the gas station I don’t remember what he was wearing, but I find myself growing nervous over his obviously expensive attire now. His sweatshirt alone has to cost more than my rent payment.
“When are you off—” He pauses, those stony eyes of his dropping to the name tag pinned to my black and white button up uniform top. “—Ember?” He meets my gaze once more, his tongue swiping a slow path over the sharp white edge of his teeth.
Pinching the notepad in my fingers, I chew on my lip, my eyes finding the big clock behind the register. Technically I’m off, but do I want to tell him that? Feeling his gaze on me, I look back to find him staring. “I’m actually—” I pause, watching one of his dark brows raise. Although his mouth is twisted in a half smile, the look is daring me to lie, daring me to see what happens if I do. The same chill that ran along my skin the first time he spoke snakes its way around my ankles now, winding its way up to my throat, forcing me to speak, “—off. I’m actually off.”
His smile grows, his chin leaving his hands as he sits back in the bench seat, raising his arms to relax on the back of it. He’s lounging, taking up space in a way that makes him look too big for the seat. He never ordered anything.
“I can get your order though, it’s no problem.” I know I’m being awkward, I can feel it, but I don’t know how to stop.
He gestures with his chin in answer. “Sit.”