I have no idea who he is. I mean, I know he is handsome as hell, tall and fit, strong. With forearms that tell me he's probably been working in a field all day or working the cattle or the horses at one of the ranches in town.
He pulled up in a Chevy – alone. He has worn blue jeans that hug his hips and a flannel shirt tucked into a belt. He has a clean jaw and recently cut hair, which tells me someone's looking after him, or at least taught him something about looking after himself. His eyes are clear. He's sober and clean. His fingernails are too, which means, well, he's not a user, and maybe to some people all that wouldn't matter, but I'm not some people. Those things? They matter to me.
I swallow, hating how I feel seen in this town, and I press my hands in my apron, reaching for a notepad, hating that I took this job. Abilene was right though, it is a good extra few shifts a week, and I can't complain about money and then not take a job when it's offered.
I swallow, tapping the pen on the counter. "Do you know what you'd like?" I ask, licking my lips, looking away, wondering if I should go top off the coffee for the two men in the corner. I haven't learned any of the names of the men who come in here yet, any of the regulars. It's my third shift at the diner. I swallow, my feet are tired. I’m always tired.
He clears his throat. "Any specials?"
I look down at the notepad. "There's pot roast and potatoes, but it's a little dry." I smile. "What do you think?"
"How about a burger and fries?"
"Sure. Anything else?"
"Coffee."
I nod. "Coming right up."
"Thanks, Paisley."
I give him a side smile. "What's your name?" I say, reaching for the coffee pot, flipping over a white ceramic mug, pouring him a glass.
"Holt, Holt Stone."
"Yeah, you live here?"
He nods. "Born and raised."
"Really? I've never seen you before."
"No? Well, I was gone for a few years."
"How long's a few?" I ask him. He takes a drink of his coffee: black; I like that about a man. He doesn't need any cream or sugar to sweeten things up. How I drink mine too.
"I was gone ten years. Eleven?"
"You say it like it's a question."
He shrugs. "I'm 29 now. I left the moment I turned 18. I couldn't wait to get out of this place."
"Yet you're back home," I say, lifting my eyebrows, wistful.
"Yeah, life changes. Things happen, right?"
I nod, so slowly it's painful. "Yeah, life happens all right." I turn on my heels and hold up a finger. "I'm going to get this to the cook, I bet you're hungry after a long day at work?"
He nods. "How'd you know?"
I smile. "Ah, you're still in your work clothes."
"Sorry about that, ma'am."
"Don't ma'am me. I'm 21 years old."
He laughs. "Fair enough."
I give his burger order to the cook, and then I refill the coffee at the corner booth. Then I swing by the table in the center of the diner and collect the tip that a customer left, thankful it’s a sizeable one, and clear the dirty dishes they left behind. It's only 6:20 in the evening, but there’s a long lull after the dinner rush. I'm off at 7:00 and I'm staring down a long Friday night with nothing exciting on the agenda.
Abilene swings in the front doors of the diner. "Hey, chica," she says, knocking my hip.
"Hey," I say. "What are you doing here?"
She shrugs. "I don't know. I was bored." She sidles up to the cash register before pouring herself a Diet Coke, looking around the diner. "Damn, this place is dead."
"Yeah," I say. "Just a few customers."
"Order’s up, Ms. Paisley."
I smile, reaching for the hamburger and fries, and then deliver them to Holt. "Here you go, sir."
"If I can't ma'am you, you can't sir me," he says.
I smile. "Ketchup?"
He nods. "Yes, please." I hand him a bottle and watch as he digs in. My mouth waters and I realize I'm a little hungry too. Abilene watches me stare.
"Hey, so when do you get off?" she asks.
"7:00," I say.
"Carrie Jo is going to be here in ten.”
“It's just one person who closes?" I ask, still trying to learn the ins and outs of Annie’s.
"It gets pretty quiet. Annie will probably show up too. Those two ladies end up playing cards most of the night, serving apple pie to whoever shows up, drinking coffee with moonshine till they decide to go home."
I laugh. "That's funny. I've never worked at a place like this."
"Yeah, well, Annie's is special."
I can tell Holt is eavesdropping on our conversation. "If you guys don't have anything going on, you could always come out to the Tipsy Cow," he says.