by Lacy Hart
I had my back turned to the front door as I refilled some napkin holders when I heard the door open and close. There stood a man with short brown hair and a nicely-trimmed beard in a sweatshirt and jeans, looking around at the place. I didn’t recognize him as a regular, and figured it may just be someone passing by that wanted to see what we had to offer.
I put on my smile and walked over to greet him at the front by the register.
“Good…” I took a quick look at my watch, “ well, morning, I guess,” I said with a laugh. The man just looked at me without cracking a smile.
So much for your sense of humor, Sarah, I thought to myself.
“Just yourself?” I asked him as I picked up one of our menus.
“Yes,” he replied, still looking around at the place. “Is it okay if I sit at the counter?” he asked me quietly.
“Sure, no problem,” I told him and led him over to the counter, placing the menu down in front of the seat right in the middle of it. He tried to make himself a little more comfortable, unzipping his sweatshirt slightly so you could see an olive green t-shirt on underneath. He sat straight and tall, and he looked like he was acutely aware of everything that was going on around him. The way he watched my movements almost made me feel a little uncomfortable, like he was studying me and trying to anticipate my moves.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked him as he slowly picked up the menu and ran his gaze over it.
“I’ll have a cup of coffee, please,” he offered, looking the menu over.
I placed one of our white ceramic mugs in front of him and poured him a cup.
“It should be good, I just made the pot,” I said, trying to engage him in conversation. “Milk and sugar?”
“No, just black, thanks,” he replied.
“I’ll give you a minute to look over the menu,” I said, taking the creamer and placing it back in the refrigerator behind me. I could see him studying the menu again, his piercing brown eyes working rapidly overly the pages like he was quickly processing everything on the page. He turned his face up from the pages and closed the menu.
“What do you recommend for someone at this time of the morning, Sarah?” he said to me as he caught the nametag on my blouse. It caught me by surprise since most guests never used my name even though my nametag was clearly in view.
“Well, it depends on how hungry you are,” I said to him. “Usually at 2 AM, we see college kids looking for burgers and snacks, or a late night driver that needs a cup of coffee and maybe a piece of pie. You don’t look like you fall into either of those categories so the choice might be tougher.”
“What category do you think I fall into?” he said to me, now looking on with some greater interest in me.
I looked him up and down, pursing my lips as I studied him.
“You’re clearly a local,” I said to him confidently, “which is unusual because we get pretty few locals in here at this time of day.”
“How do you know I’m local?”
“The way you’re dressed, for one. Locals know it’s cooler around here at night this time of year, and you probably walked here based on the jeans, sneakers, and sweatshirt. Also, the way you were looking around leads me to believe you have been here before but not in a while and you’re wondering how much the place has changed since the last time you stepped in here.”
“You’re pretty perceptive,” he said to me, impressed by my observations.
“Working this late at night often enough you start to learn how to read people pretty well,” I said, smiling lightly while I unconsciously wiped the counter near him with a dishrag I grabbed. A quick look at his hands revealed that they looked strong and hardworking, and there were no signs of any rings.
“So, back to what you would order,” I said to him. “I would recommend if you’re up to it, the BLT with some home fries. Since it’s not quite breakfast but way past dinner, it gives you a little of both without being too filling. Justin makes a good BLT and some mean home fries.”
I saw my guest crack a bit of a smile and chuckle lightly.
“Something funny?” I asked him, standing in front of him.
“BLT has always been one of my favorites, and I probably haven’t had one in ten years. I think that would be perfect.” He held the menu back up for me to take and I reached for it, our fingertips lightly touching as he held the menu for a moment. I gazed back at him and saw him still smiling lightly, and I smiled back at him.
“Great,” I answered softly, shaking my head and snapping to as I pulled the menu back from him.
“What kind of bread would you like?”
“You mean you don’t know that?” he said with a hint of sarcasm.
“Oh, I do,” I said confidently, “I just wanted to see if you would say something different.”
“Go with your gut then, Sarah,” he told me.
I turned to the computer and put the order in for a BLT on white, lightly toasted, and home fries. I then noticed a young couple walk in the front door, more college kids up late. I walked over to them and led them to one of the booths towards the back where Francesca was working. She was just on her way back towards the couple she was already serving in the corner with a piece of carrot cake when she stopped me.
“There’s a couple at table 11,” I said to her, walking back towards the counter. Francesca stopped me for a second.
“Who’s the guy at the counter?” she asked me, peering over at him. He was lightly drumming his fingers on the countertop while he scanned his phone.
“I don’t know, I’ve never seen him before,” I said to her. “He’s a local.”
“I looked at him while I was getting the cake,” Francesca said to me. “He’s hot. Rugged good looks, not like the soft college boys around here. I shot him a smile when I was over there, he barely flinched.”
“Really?” I said to her. “He’s been pretty chatty with me.”
“Flirt him up Sarah,” Francesca said as she whisked her way over to deliver the carrot cake.
Flirting was never my strong suit no matter where I was, who I was with, or what age I was at. It’s just something that never clicked well with me, and I wasn’t really that interested in drawing the attention of too many of the guys around here anyway. I preferred to just be myself, go about my life, and whatever happens, happens.
I walked back over to the counter and saw half of the cup of coffee in front of my guest was gone. I picked up the pot and brought it back over to where he was sitting.
“Freshen it up for you?” I asked, pulling him away from his attention from his phone. He looked up at me, and then glanced down at his mug.
“Please,” he said.
I was just about to start up a conversation with him again when I heard the bell ding in the kitchen.
“That’s probably your sandwich,” I told him and went off into the kitchen. I saw his plate sitting there on the staging station and turned it towards me to get a good look at it. It looked good, which seemed like it would matter to this guest, so I grabbed the plate, yelled out a “Thanks, Justin!” and bumped the swinging ‘Out’ door open with my rump.
I walked over and placed the plate down in front of him, displaying the BLT with its fresh tomato, crispy lettuce, and perfectly-cooked bacon and bread that had the golden touch to give it just the right crunch.
“Here you go,” I said to him. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”
He looked down at the plate and then looked up at me and gave that wry smile again.
“White toast,” he said softly. “You were spot on.” He looked up at me, and I could feel myself feeling a little flush from his gaze. I watched him pick up a piece of the sandwich and take a bite of one of the corners. The familiar crunch could be heard loudly in my quiet section of the diner, and he placed the sandwich down on his plate and picked up his napkin to wipe the dribble of the juicy tomato he had bitten into.
“You were right, Sarah,” he said to me. “It’s a very good BLT.”
“I’m glad you like it,” answered. “Our owner gets the bacon from one of the local farmers, so it’s among the best you will get around here.”
He turned back towards his sandwich and took another bite, and then a forkful of the crispy home fried potatoes with peppers and onions. I left him to his meal, feeling proud of myself that I got everything perfect for him, and Francesca came over and asked for a couple of refills of iced tea. I picked up the pitcher and walked over to her to fill the glasses.
“How’s it going?” she said to me quietly, staring at the man at the counter.
“He’s just eating his sandwich, Fran.”
“Because you haven’t given him any reason to look at anything else,” Francesca said to me with a scowl. “You’re all buttoned up like one of the Catholic school teachers I had back in Brooklyn.” She started reaching for the buttons on my blouse.
“Forget it, Fran,” I said, swatting her fingers away from me. “Go serve your iced tea, and it looks like the lovers in your booth are finally leaving.”
Francesca turned to deliver her iced teas, and I went over to the register to ring up the couple that had been sitting there for hours. I took the check from the young man with just a hint of a beard on his chin and asked him how everything was, to which he just mumbled “fine” and he put his arm around the girl with him who looked like she was half-asleep at this point. He paid their check of ten dollars with a crumpled bill, and they quietly left.
I walked back over to the counter and saw my customer had polished off his sandwich, leaving just a hint of stray lettuce on the plate and a couple of overcooked bits of onion from the home fries.
“I guess you liked it,” I said to him as I took his empty plate. “Can I get you anything else? There’s not much in the dessert case right now, but I think there is some carrot cake and cheesecake. The fresh pies aren’t quite done yet.”
“No, thank you,” he said to me. “I already had more than I should have at three in the morning. I should get going.”
“Sure,” I answered, clearing his plate away and going over to the computer to print out his check. I circled the amount due on the printout, wrote my name on the top and a ’thanks!’ and passed it over to him. He took a quick look at it and went to grab his wallet.
“I can ring you up at the register,” I told him, pointing over towards the front door. I walked ahead of him over to the register as he slid the check over to me and handed me a twenty dollar bill for his eight dollar check. I gave him his change, and he walked back over to the counter, presumably to leave me a tip. He then came back over to the register and looked at me.
“Thanks for stopping in,” I said to him with a smile. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“Thanks, Sarah,” he said to me, looking me in the eyes and smiling. “You have a great day too.”
“ I will,” I answered. “I only have a few more hours until 6 AM and then my day is done.”
“Nice,” he told me. I saw him reach over and pluck one of the wrapped peppermint candies from the bowl on the counter, unwrap it, and pop it into his mouth. He crumpled the wrapper loudly, sending a chill up my spine, and he laughed lightly when he saw me flinch at the sound.
“Sorry about that,” he said to me, holding up the rolled piece of plastic. I held out my hand to take it from him.
“It’s okay,” I said to him. “I’ve always hated that sound, ever since I was little. I can take it for you.”
He passed the wrapper over to my palm, and I felt his fingers slide slowly out of my hand over mine, causing me to feel a chill again.
“Bye, Sarah,” he said to me.
“Bye,” I said, almost feeling a bit mesmerized as I watched him walk out the door. My eyes followed him down the steps. He paused at the bottom to zip his sweatshirt up some more as I watched him walk off to the right and out into the night.
It was an odd feeling and connection I had made with this mystery guest. I walked over to the counter and saw that he had left me a ten dollar tip for his meal. I stood there holding the ten as Francesca walked over to me.
“He left you a ten for a BLT?” she said to me incredulously. “The carrot cake eaters in the corner for three hours left me a buck! Are you sure you didn’t flirt with him at all?”
“Nope,” I said to Francesca as I grabbed the ten. “I was just nice to him.”
“Nice never works for me,” Francesca said as she turned and walked back into the kitchen, responding to the bell that just rang.
It usually doesn’t work well for me, either I thought to myself, wondering more and more just who this was and why we clicked.
5
Caleb
My trip to the diner was not what I had expected. I figured I would go in, have a small something to eat or drink, kill some time, and then walk right home without it being a big deal. Instead, my experience was very different.
Sarah, the waitress who waited on me, grasped my interest from the moment I entered the Moonlight. It was more than just the way she looked, both strong and confident in her ability, but also the friendly, inviting smile that made even a guy like me feel comfortable around her. She had a presence about her that I found hard to explain, one that was intriguing and that I wanted to see more of so I could learn more about her.
She unusually connected with me, and I think she felt the same connection. It was more than just her being able to read me so she knew I would like a BLT. A waitress that is good at her job can likely figure things like that out and take an educated guess regarding what a customer might like. I got the impression that there was more to her, that we thought about and approached things in the same way. Even though I didn’t know her at all, other than those brief interactions, she sparked an interest inside me that had not been there in a long time.
It was nearly 3:30 when I arrived back at my apartment, and even though I didn’t feel very tired, I knew it was best to try to get some sleep. I kicked off my sneakers, took off my jeans and climbed into bed, hoping for a few hours of rest. Naturally, it didn’t work out that way. I tossed and turned and while I did sleep for fits and spurts here and there, every time I fell asleep and started to dream, the dreams quickly turned into nightmares and forced me awake again. Images from days and nights during my tours in Afghanistan and North Africa kept filling my head, mixing with scenes and images of Ella along the way to bring all my nightmares together.
By the time 6 AM had rolled around, I was sitting up in bed, shirt off because it was soaked in sweat, and I knew it was best if I got out of bed and did something else. I pulled on a pair of gray running shorts, grabbed one of my compression shirts that had some reflective material in it, got my sneakers and went out the door. Running right now seemed like the best thing for me.
I used to run miles and miles when I was in training and even when I was stationed at different points around the world. If we weren’t involved in a mission, I was out running somewhere. Running always helped me keep my thoughts focused, helped me keep my breathing in rhythm, and gave me the stamina I needed for those days when we were hiking through areas for hours on end. Ever since I had returned home, the drive to get out there and run just hadn’t been there.
As soon as my feet hit the pavement, instinct took over, and my body got right back to where it knew it should have been. I made sure to pace myself properly since it had been six weeks since my last run and figured I would start out with a short one today and see how things went. I cruised up and over the streets in the area, trying to stick to what sidewalks there were to stay out of the street and away from the early morning drivers heading to work.
I headed up Connor Drive, which would take me out to Oak Street, and then I could run along the main strip for a mile or so before turning back towards home. Once I hit the corner of Connor and Oak, I made the right turn and saw the Moonlight Diner just up ahead of me two blocks over. I remembered what Sarah had said, that her shift ended at about 6. I glanced down at my watch and saw it w
as 6:15 and wondered if she would be nearby as I went past the diner.
I had no idea if she drove or walked to work, how close she lived, or even if she left already, but something drove me on to see if she would be around. I picked up my pace, going a bit faster than I normally would, so I could get near the diner and see how things were. As I got in front of the establishment, I took a quick peek up the stairs. I could see that more people were going in and out and more cars in the parking lot now, but I saw no immediate signs of her.
She’s probably long gone home, I thought to myself and kept moving down the street, resuming my run.
I crossed another two blocks on Oak Street, dodging a few people coming out of the local coffee shop with their morning coffee, and I was just coming up on the corner near Adkins Road when I saw someone walking ahead of me. She was wearing a light gray sweater and black pants and seemed to have the same brown hair pulled back into a ponytail like Sarah had when I saw her. I moved a little quicker to catch up as she turned to walk down Adkins and was soon alongside her. A side glance at her revealed the familiar face, speckled with a pattern of freckles that were hard to forget. Sarah looked over at me without recognition at first and then did a double-take of surprise and gasped.
