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The more I got to know Oliver, the more I realized we would never be more than friends. Not after I figured out he crushed on his best friend, Levi. At first, I had been devastated. Bummed I missed out on a good guy. Then, it dawned on me how lucky I was.
Oliver—Ollie—is one of my best friends. An unbreakable bond better than any romantic relationship. Well, better than any I’d had to date.
I pocket my phone and fetch my purse from beneath the counter. “On to RJ’s I go.”
“One day, you’ll do your rounds when I have the day off. Let me be your assistant.”
“Since when do I need an assistant?”
“Since you can’t eat all the food yourself.” He tilts his head and makes a face. “I’m more than happy to resolve the issue,” he offers, patting his stomach.
Rolling my eyes, I walk past him, enter the kitchen, and head for the back door. “I’ll see what I can do,” I holler as I step outside. I don’t miss his “Yes!” before the door closes.
My drive from Poke the Yolk to RJ’s Diner & Dive passes in two songs. I park in the back and shoulder my purse before locking the car.
I smell Ray Jr.’s famous chili and cornbread-battered onion rings before setting foot inside. My mouth waters instantly. Of the five stops I make today, RJ’s is my favorite. Hands down. I have eaten everything on the menu and still can’t choose a favorite. All are my favorite.
I stow my purse in the office and stroll through the kitchen, stopping near the flattop. “Hey, RJ.”
Gentle, umber-brown eyes crinkle at the corners before looking my way. “Hey, darlin’. Photo day already?”
“Yup.” I eye the fried egg he slides on a plated cheeseburger with all the fixings. “Thought I’d take a handful of staff and restaurant pics before getting to the good stuff.”
“You got it, darlin’. Tell Sandi when you want the first order.”
The day before I do my rounds, I email the CKI establishments with a list of what foods I want to photograph. This keeps me from repeating images. ’Cause if I chose when I arrived, I’d pick the same food each go around.
“Will do. Thanks, RJ.”
Before exiting the kitchen, I snap photos of RJ while he cooks and his son, Ray III, chopping at the prep station. In the dining room, I scan the interior for the perfect restaurant shots. I capture a few before getting some of the waitstaff. On my way to an open table near the windows, I tell Sandi I am set whenever the kitchen has food ready.
While I wait, I open the sent email to read over the list for RJ’s. Once I get my shots in, the food goes to the back for staff to eat. All except one. The blueberry pie milkshake and chili cheese fries are mine today.
After reading over the list, I survey the booths and tables. The social media posts don’t include patrons unless there is a big celebration (and we get their permission) or the image is cropped to remove faces. The food and employees remain the focus, but that doesn’t stop me from searching for great shots.
I freeze when my eyes hit the back corner near the bathrooms. A great shot isn’t what grabs my attention across the dining room. Nope, it’s the blonde. Sitting with Lawrence. A woman known by the majority of the residents. Kelli Bitchface Langston.
Sandi deposits a bowl of chili with shredded cheddar and a tower of cornbread-battered onion rings on the table. “You alright, Sky?”
I take a deep breath to center myself, force a smile, and meet her eyes. “Yeah, I’m good. Just saw something unsavory.”
“Don’t you fret. You’ll have that milkshake and fries in no time.”
My smile turns genuine. “Thanks, Sandi. I’ll be ready for the next one in a few.”
“Take your time.” She winks and walks off to check on a customer.
Sliding out of the booth, I position the food and snap a photo. I do this a few times, changing angles and layout. While I wait for the next dish to arrive, I open my text history with Lawrence, then look up to see Bitchface lay her hand on his. He doesn’t seem keen but doesn’t shirk away either. I grit my teeth and type a message.
Skylar: You hook up with people in diners too?
I hit send, then stare across the restaurant.
I may be young, I may be shy, but I am not naive. And I am damn sure not somebody’s sidepiece. Not now. Not ever.
His phone chimes and he all but tears his hand away from her. It takes to the count of four before his eyes dart across the room and land on me. Panic widens his eyes as he scoots out of the booth, excuses himself, and walks my way. Kelli’s jaw drops as she follows him with her eyes. When they land on me, her lip curls.
A couple years back, Kelli added me to her shit list. She had come into the main office of CKI, wanting to reserve Calhoun’s Bistro for an evening. I denied her. Told her we don’t close off the entire restaurant for parties, but offered the private room in the back. Needless to say, she was pissed and demanded to speak with my boss, Roger Kemp. Unfortunately for her, Mr. Kemp allowed me to make business decisions. I took down her information and said I’d forward the complaint to him. When I did, Mr. Kemp said to email her with the same answer, with his signature at the bottom. Since then, there has been an underlying anger between us. Thankfully, I don’t see her in town much.
