“Kissing reads as believable,” I said, writing without looking.
“Very.”
I looked up. His face held caution and something worse.
“This is a terrible idea,” I said.
“I agree.”
We still did not move.
“We are only doing this to save the diner,” I said. “That is it.”
He nodded. “Just a favor. So everyone keeps working.”
“Exactly.”
I snapped my notebook shut.
“Anyway,” I said. Loud. Cheerful. A master of grace. “I have a couple of ideas. Marketing ideas. For the diner.”
Jason blinked. “Of course you do.”
“Marketing,” I said. “You know. The thing you hired me for.”
He smiled like I had just reminded him of his own name. “Right. That thing.”
“Just some thoughts,” I said. “For this place. Real ones. If you want to hear them.”
“I do,” he said. “How about tomorrow night, same time?”
“That works,” I said. “I might bring mood boards.”
“Of course you will.”
“Maybe two,” I said. “Or five. I spiral.”
He laughed. The sound felt safe again.
“Tomorrow,” he said.
“Tomorrow,” I echoed.
JASON
The next night, the back office of the Lighthouse Diner smelled like printer ink, old receipts, and burnt coffee. The combination felt wrong and right at the same time.
Emily stepped inside with her laptop under one arm and her notebook under the other. She had already rolled up her sleeves like she planned to wrestle the room into submission.
I cleared space on the desk, pushing aside a stack of invoices and a napkin with Levi’s grocery list written in blue pen. The desk wobbled under my hand but stayed upright. It matched the rest of the diner. Beat up. Crooked. Still standing.
“Okay,” Emily said, setting everything down. “Let’s talk brand.”
I leaned against the filing cabinet and crossed my arms. “I feel like I should apologize.”
She waved it off. “Do not. That mess is part of the charm. Now let’s talk marketing.”
Her fingers moved across the keyboard. Each tap straightened her spine. She talked while she worked, ideas landing clean and fast. I watched her brow pull together when she focused, the way her voice sharpened when she cared.
