Page 130 of Puck Me Back to Life

None of those theories survive when he pulls into the parking lot of what might be the ugliest restaurant I've ever seen.

“Really?” I ask as I stare through the windshield. The sign flickers despite it being broad daylight. Half the neon letters are burned out. The building itself looks like it survived several decades entirely through spite.

Ash shuts off the truck.

“What?”

“This place looks condemned.”

“It has the best breakfast in the city.”

“It looks like the health inspector cries every time he drives past.”

Ash grins. “You're being judgmental.”

“I'm being observant.”

“It's fantastic.”

“The windows are different colors.”

“They build character.”

“I think they build lawsuits.”

Ash laughs as he climbs out of the truck. I stay seated for another second, studying the restaurant like it might collapse before we reach the front door.

“You coming?”

“I haven't decided.”

“You don't have a choice.”

“I thought this wasn't a kidnapping.”

“It evolved.”

I sigh dramatically before climbing out after him.

The little bell above the door jingles as we step inside. The place somehow manages to look even worse on the inside. The booths have been patched with mismatched strips of vinyl. The checkerboard floor has long since faded into several different shades of gray. An ancient jukebox sits in the corner beside a claw machine that almost certainly hasn't worked since the early two-thousands.

It smells incredible.

Bacon.

Butter.

Fresh coffee.

Maple syrup.

Every surface carries the comforting scent of breakfast that's been cooked here every morning for the last fifty years.

A waitress appears almost immediately. She's probably around our age, with dark hair pulled into a ponytail and a bright smile that somehow makes the entire diner feel warmer.

“Table for two?”

Ash nods.