“Surprise me.”
When he sat down, I put a glass of water in front of Tory and said, “This isn’t the surprise.” Then I went down the line, chatting with my customers as I refilled their water glasses.
When I reached the far end of the counter, I whipped up a strawberry milkshake, poured it into a tall glass, and garnished it with whipped cream and a fresh strawberry. I presented it to Tory with a flourish and said, “I hope you like this. I truly believe we have the best shakes in town.”
He tasted it and told me, “That’s truly delicious,” which made me happy.
Over the next few hours, I kept bringing him things to try that I was particularly proud of, including a basket of golden French fries, another of our panko-breaded onion rings, my extremely popular macaroni and cheese, and cups of each ofthe three soups of the day. Dessert was my made-from-scratch strawberry shortcake.
In between, I kept moving around the dining room, chatting with customers, working the cash register, refilling drinks, and helping out wherever I was needed. I also introduced Tory to my employees and some of my regulars, who instantly treated him like family.
Every time I glanced at him, he was watching me with the sweetest expression on his face. It felt wonderful to have him here, in this place that meant so much to me.
At eight all my employees, except for the cook working the late shift, clocked out and took off. I poured myself a cup of coffee and refilled Tory’s mug as he said, “You’re still open for another two hours, right?”
“Yup.”
“But most of your staff went home. What if a busload of customers suddenly pulls up?”
I shrugged and said, “Then I’ll handle it. But chances are, that won’t happen.”
He smiled at me. “I can see why you love this place. It’s almost perfect.”
“Almost?”
“It needs a jukebox.”
“I know! I’d hoped to get one when I did the remodel, but I want something vintage as opposed to a reproduction, and they’re really expensive. If we start to turn more of a profit, it’s at the top of my wish list.”
“That would be really cool.”
I took a sip of coffee before asking, “Can I bring you anything else to eat? You haven’t even seen the menu yet, because I wanted you to try some of my favorite dishes.”
“I’m very full, and everything was delicious. Thank you.”
He pulled a money clip from his pocket, and I asked, “What are you doing? You’re my guest, and if you think I’m going to let you pay for anything, you’re nuts.”
He placed a pair of hundred-dollar bills on the counter and grinned at me. “This is a tip for my extremely hot waiter.”
I sighed and pocketed the money. “I’m only taking this because I know it’s impossible to talk you out of anything, but I’m going to use it to buy you a nice dinner this weekend. Have you decided what we’re doing?”
Since he enjoyed planning elaborate dates for us, I left it in his hands and let him surprise me. But I also tried to do things for him in return—as much as I possibly could, despite the difference in our financial situations.
“Not yet, but I have a couple of ideas.”
A few minutes later, the last of the diners paid their bills and left. After I bussed the tables, I told Tory, “If you want, I can give you the grand tour now.”
“I’d love that.”
When I showed him the kitchen, he went straight to the back corner and murmured, “Oh, wow.” Over two decades ago, I’d painted the words “Kit’s Corner” on the wall, along with a childish-looking landscape of hills, trees, flowers, and a blue sky. Beneath it was a small wooden table, which was covered in layers of ink, paint, glue, and stickers.
“Kit and I lived with my mother the first few years of his life, but she died when he was seven. I couldn’t afford childcare, and there was no one else to watch him after she passed. So Frank, the diner’s last owner, let Kit come here and hang out every day after school. My son literally grew up here.” I thought about it and said, “I guess we both did.”
“I don’t think I fully understood what this place meant to you until I saw this.” He traced the blocky lettering on the wall. “Itmakes more sense now—the long hours, your total dedication to this place. It’s home.”
“It is. That’s why I had to buy it when Frank told me he was retiring. It was a real stretch financially, even though he sold it to me far below market value. But there was no way I could let it shut down.”
He turned to me and said, “I was surprised when I pulled up out front and saw the sign. I never knew it was called Sal’s Place, which was startling since that’s what almost everyone calls me. What’s the story behind that name?”
