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“Are you going to see to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome?” Tatum is like a bulldog. I can’t give her half answers or evade her. She’ll just follow me around until I tell her what she wants to know.
Sal peers under the warmer, his brown eyes scanning the diner until they land on my section and that little booth. “Ah.” He snorts. “I’ll get him,” he says, his slight accent thickening just a hair. He won’t tell anyone what the accent is, but with a name like Sal, it’s easy to guess—Italian.
“It’s fine.” Holding a tray loaded with enough carbs and grease to take out an elephant, I assure them, “I’ll get him his coffee and see what else he wants before I leave.”
Nerves tickle my insides. I haven’t told Milo that we won yet. Fear kept my mouth shut for a solid week. The only thing I told my baby brother was that today was our day. Finally.
“Charlotte,” Sal calls, and it’s withthatvoice—one I know all too well. It’s threaded with disappointment in someone else and hope that I’m going to say yes to whatever he is about to ask me. “I need you to take a shift for Harlow tomorrow night.”
Tatum, the traitor, sidesteps out of the way and over to her section, where she smiles at one of her tables and strikes up a conversation that’s equal parts fake and flirtatious.
Ignoring Sal’s protests, I make my way to my last table, a group of men in their late thirties and early forties. I know their ages only because I carded them once when Sal insisted on serving beer—a rare occurrence. “Gentlemen.” I greet them with a practiced smile, stepping closer to their table.
“Gorgeous.” The flirtatious man with a graying hairline perks up as I place his burger down. “You’re trying to kill me with that smile. Has anyone ever told you that you could be Belle come to life?”
“One bacon cheeseburger with a side of cardiac arrest,” I retort dryly as I slide the burger in front of him, brushing off his familiar comment which he delivers like clockwork every week, and every week, I pretend not to hear it.
“Smells delicious.” He spins the plate, inhaling his meal’s aroma.
Turning my attention to the quiet one with a baby face, I place a Belgian waffle with strawberries and fries in front of him. That’s waffle guy, and he’s consistently predictable. He offers me the same soft smile each time, and as always, I know he’ll return after his friends leave, sneaking in an extra tip for me.
“Thank you, Charlotte,” he says politely.
“And last but not least, one turkey dinner with extra cranberry,” I announce, placing the plate before the tallest member of the trio. With dark hair and black-rimmed glasses, he could pass for a scholar, and his resting bitch face is merely a façade. Beneath that tough exterior, he’s warm and friendly, even if he won’t admit it.
“Charlotte,” he acknowledges with a nod, taking a sip of his soda.
I wink playfully at them and toss extra salt packets onto the table, along with their bill.
“Oh, you beautiful angel, leaving us already?” cardiac arrest guy teases, grabbing a butter knife and pretending to stab his chest dramatically. He slumps onto waffle guy’s shoulder as if fainting before peeling himself off the worn vinyl seat. “Perfect as usual,” he says, though we both understand he’s not merely referring to the food’s quality.
Even bitter guy can’t help but groan at his friend’s antics. “Give it up, man,” he grumbles between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes, eating with a certain lack of refinement. “She’s not going to fall for your charms.”
“Listen to your friend, he’s not wrong. Besides, I think Deanna would have my head,” I quip, referring to his wife, who’s likely accustomed to his behavior. Even if he were single, I wouldn’t be interested in pursuing a relationship. It’s simply not on my radar. I can’t afford to prioritize anything other than Milo right now. With social services scrutinizing my every move, he remains my sole focus. I give their table a knock, signaling my departure.
“If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask Sal or Tatum. I’m heading out early today.” A genuine smile spreads across my face, the first one I’ve felt all day, and the trio can’t help but notice.
I glance at my watch, aware that I have a mere ten minutes to make it home, round up Milo, and hit the road. Sundays at the museum are always bustling, and there’s a lot on the docket for us to discuss today.
I can do this.
I promised.
“Ah, you won, didn’t you?” the playful man asks. What’s his name again? Jeff? Brad? No, I can’t quite recall. “Charlotte,” he says, placing his burger down and turning toward me. “You’ve earned this.” His hand disappears into his pocket, and then he lays a hundred-dollar bill on top of the bill, winking at me. “I had a feeling you’d come out on top.”
My lips part, and I’m momentarily at a loss for words. These three familiar faces in my weekend routine suddenly become more distinct, their names begging to be remembered. I feel an urgent need to acknowledge them, to express the depth of my gratitude for what this unexpected bounty represents. “I…I don’t know what to say.”
Tips are our lifeline, the key to our little joys. They fuel our museum adventures, spontaneous food truck escapades, and even those misguided endeavors like dragging Milo to a monster truck rally, an outing he ended up disliking. These experiences build the foundation of memories for him.
At times, it feels like I’m overcompensating for all we’ve lost. Still, life moves forward, and this unanticipated windfall will grant us an entire day together—an invaluable treasure in the midst of our challenging journey.
I’ll never be able to fully express my gratitude.
“Please, take it.” The man pushes the bill toward me. “And don’t worry about the check, this is just for you.”
Waffle guy interjects, “Hold on a sec.” He grins. “I can’t let Jason here take all the credit.” His hand dives into his pocket, and he tosses another hundred onto the pile. “Congratulations, Charlotte. Milo’s right where he belongs—with you.”
Tears blur my vision as I meet waffle guy’s gaze. His blond hair brushes against his forehead, partially concealing his expression, but the intensity of his vivid blue eyes speaks volumes. It’s not just him, because shared empathy radiates from all three of them.
