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Nikki - The Diner Girl
It’s quiet, the calm before the storm of the afternoon rush.
“Nikki, can you put on a fresh pot?” My boss, Rochelle, doesn’t look at me as she walks past, wiping the counter on her way, before she steps into the back to check on the kitchen. She’s a multitasker specialist, always on the go.
Working at Delish Diner in the small town of Whispers wasn’t a dream of mine. But in the dead of night, when I needed to run, it was the only place that sounded familiar.
“Fresh coffee coming up.” My moves are habitual, even as my attention keeps flicking to the door. Having been here for months now, I know how to brew coffee, how to balance multiple dishes as I serve, how to wipe a counter so it’s spotless, all while doing it with a smile on my face. The skills of which I never collected from my childhood home. The one with nannies, chefs, and housekeepers.
“I’m here.” James pushes through the door, and my shoulders lower instantly.
“Hey, kiddo. I’ve got a cupcake with your name on it.” Being away from him all day has my anxiety skyrocketing. But he needs an education, and with me working the day shift so I can be with him at night, it leaves homeschooling out of the question.
“Chocolate?” He jumps up onto the stool at the end of the counter, his usual spot, away from the door, hidden by other patrons. His heavy bag hits the floor, full of books, as usual. As he grins at me, my heart expands. He smiles more now than he ever has, further cementing that we made the right choice in coming here.
“Nothing beats it.” I slide the small plate with the chocolatey goodness across the counter to him, along with a glass of milk, and both are gone within a minute. I always ask Rochelle to take the cost of the daily cupcake from my wage, but she never does. She looks after me better than I deserve. The two of us are so familiar with each other now, we move around this diner in unison, picking up each other’s orders, cleaning up each other’s tables.
“Hungry today, my boy?” Rochelle walks back out from the kitchen, a tray of warm baked goods in her hands like she knows exactly what we’re both thinking. The smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies is enough to have my own stomach twisting with a craving.
“I skipped lunch,” James tells her, and my head snaps to him, my frown instant.
“What do you mean, you skipped lunch?” Truth be told, his lunch isn’t much. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple from the small tree we have in our yard at the cottage, and if we’re lucky, maybe a small granola bar when I work a few extra hours or my tips allow it. But regardless, he needs to eat. He’s a growing boy.
He shrugs. “I wasn’t hungry.” He doesn’t meet my eyes, so I know he’s lying. It’s hard being the new kid. Trying to make friends without getting too close. But as he pulls his books from his bag to start his homework, I leave him be. He’s a good kid, and I don’t want to put too much pressure on him. As I grab a dishcloth and clean up his crumbs, I hear the familiar small screech of the back door opening, and my breath hitches, the air around me changing.
“Oh, I was wondering when he would turn up today,” Rochelle murmurs from beside me.
Sutton Silvers. Hollywood heartthrob and billionaire celebrity sneaks into the diner from the back door nearly every day as of recently. The only customer Rochelle allows to do so. His head is lowered, his baseball hat pulled down to cover most of his face, but you can’t miss his tall stature, commanding presence, or the way he looks in his fitted t-shirt and jeans. God, he looks good.
“Can you look after him today? I’ve got to get the chicken pies out of the oven.”
We’re under strict instructions from Rochelle not to tell anyone Sutton’s here. Not to broadcast it to friends or put it out on social media. None of that’s hard for me. I know what it takes to stay hidden, and my lips are sealed. He slides into the last booth at the back of the diner, the one that’s fast becoming his personal space.
“I’ll handle it.”
The front door chimes as I walk toward him, and I look over my shoulder, seeing a group of young men, probably in their early twenties and close to my age. They come to the diner a few times a month, from Williamstown, I’m told. They never tip, always leer at me, and leave a very bad taste in my mouth with every encounter.
“I’ll get them.” Rochelle is quick. A no-nonsense woman, she marches over to take their orders, and I grin, thankful she gives me the easier customer.
“Hey, Sutton. Your usual?” I don't bother writing it down, but I bring my notepad and pen with me anyway because I need something to do with my hands. They sweat every time I talk to him.
He looks up at me, his deep brown eyes connecting with mine, and doesn’t say anything for a moment.
“Coffee would be great.”
Nodding, I don’t ask questions. I already know how he likes it.
“Does Rochelle have any of those chicken pies?” he asks before I walk away.
After being hungry all day, now is the time my stomach rumbles.
His eyes shoot down to my stomach, then flick back to my face. Shit. I was hoping he wouldn’t hear that. Mouth opening to say something, he closes it quickly and takes a deep breath, like he’s holding in his words.
I clear my throat. “Just fresh out of the oven, actually.”
“I’ll take one of those too.” He glances past me at James, before his attention comes back to me. My hands grip tightly to my notepad, my protective instincts kicking in.
