I lean my forearms on the pass and try to ease some weight off myfeet. My soles ache, and I wish I could afford to buy a new pair of sneakers with better support. Alas, that’s far down on the list of things my paycheck can go to. At least this time of day—the lull between lunch and dinner—I get a brief break from the hustle.
“Yeah. But the real question is, how long until Riann has him looking for an escape route?” I keep my voice low, and Billy mirrors my arms-on-the-pass position until our faces are close enough that I can smell his spearmint gum.
“Aww, she’s not that bad.”
“She’s not bad,” I agree. “But she’s a teenager. That age group is scary. I’d rather face down a biker gang than a fifteen-year-old on her period.”
Billy chuckles, the corners of his eyes creasing with humor.
I like when the two of us are on shift together, even with all of his mother’s matchmaking attempts. He’s fun to shoot the shit with when things are slow, and he’ll fry me up a hash brown halfway through my shift or whenever a customer is mean to me. Just because he knows they’re my favorite version of potatoes.
“I dunno, Beth. You might just be a wimp.”
“I’m not a wimp,” I gasp in mock offense, reaching out to poke his forehead. “You know what? Next time I get a table of teenagers, how about you give me a turn on the grill? You can come out here and deal with their snark. Because that shit is sharp. I walk away bloody.”
Billy leans farther through the pass, having nothing to do other than banter with me until the dinner crowd shows up.
“Oh yeah? You got scars from a prom queen?”
I straighten and press a mockingly dramatic hand against my chest. “More than you can count. All under this uniform, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.”
Billy grins. “I dunno. I might find out one of these days. You know, when I stop being so shy and tell you how I really feel.”
A throat clears behind me, and I whirl to find George on the other side of the counter. He somehow seems taller than he was a moment ago. And for some reason, his intense attention is on Billy.
Maybe he’s hungry.
“Hey.” I pull out my notepad. “Did you want to order food? Or get more coffee?”
George resettles his attention on me, and I ignore the way the nerves on the backs of my legs—strange place—buzz. Also, my feet suddenly stop hurting.
Maybe they’ve gone numb from overuse.
“Yes,” George says. “I’ll take more coffee. And Riann has questions for both of us.”
“For me? But I didn’t do anything.”
His brow furrows. “You stayed calm.”That’s debatable. “And you lived through it.”
Sure, that’s true. Maybe she wants the angle of the coolheaded professional against the panicked newbie. I glance over to Riann and find her wearing an eager smile.
I sigh.
“Fine.” If I’m going to humiliate myself, it might as well be for a member of my diner family. “But only until an actual customer shows up.”
George waits until I slip out from behind the counter, then walks with me back to the interview booth. He gestures for me to take a seat, but I wave him in first.
“In case I need to get up quickly,” I explain.
He grunts and settles back on the vinyl bench.
And because my feet are in revolt once more, I perch next to him.
“You’ve got questions for me?” I ask Riann, wondering why she waited for George’s interview to bring them up. She’s here most school days and chats with me all the time.
“Yes. Mr.Bunsen told me what happened when the plane went down from his perspective. Now I want yours. Please walk me through what you remember happening as well as what you were thinking.” She holds her pen poised, gaze sharp.
I grimace, throwing my mind back to that moment and wondering if I should let her know exactly how many swear words went through my brain.
