Chapter Eleven

The night shift at the diner moved like a slow tide—steady, low-lit, and a little quieter than the chaos of the morning rush. The warm glow of overhead bulbs reflected off the chrome trim and vinyl seats, casting everything in a soft, amber haze. Outside, the city buzzed gently under a navy sky, headlights drifting like fireflies past the windows.

Inside, the jukebox hummed a soft tune—some mellow oldie that Victoria claimed made everything taste better.

Celeste didn’t flinch at the bell above the door anymore.

She wove between tables with practiced calm, her apron slightly wrinkled from a long day but her eyes a little more present than they had been. The ache still lived in her chest, quiet and heavy like old rainclouds, but something in her was slowly learning how to breathe again.

Not healed.

Not whole.

But no longer hollow.

Victoria leaned against the counter, flipping through a worn notebook she used to jot down new pancake combinations and weird customer quotes. “You’ve got a glow tonight,” she said, raising an eyebrow at Celeste as she passed by with a fresh tray of drinks.

“I’ve got a heat rash,” Celeste replied dryly, smirking.

“That too,” Victoria said, wagging her spoon. “But mostly that post-breakdown glow. You know, the ‘I cried my soul out and now I look fantastic’ vibe.”

Celeste shook her head, laughing under her breath. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Absolutely. It’s part of my charm.”

They moved in easy rhythm, tag-teaming the late-night regulars and cracking quiet jokes with the truckers and students who came in for midnight eggs and endless coffee refills.

Celeste refilled a mug at table five and slid a warm slice of pie in front of a college kid too tired to speak. Across the room, an older woman hummed as she stirred her tea, tapping her foot to the jukebox tune.

“You girls keep this place alive,” she said softly, smiling toward the counter.

Victoria beamed. “You hear that? We’re the heart of the city now.”

Celeste gave a small laugh, her smile staying for just a second longer than usual.

And for the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel like a shadow walking through borrowed light. She didn’t feel like a runaway.

She felt… steady.

Not ready for love. Not ready for promises or goodbyes or someone else’s hands in hers. But maybe—maybe—she was ready to start living again, even if just in this little world of chipped mugs and burnt toast.

**

The clock ticked past 2:00 a.m., and the diner was finally quiet.

The regulars had trickled out one by one, leaving behind crumpled napkins and tired “thank you’s. The city outside was hushed now, the kind of stillness that only belonged to the hours no one claimed. Just streetlamps casting pale gold circles and the occasional whisper of tires gliding over wet pavement.

Victoria stretched behind the counter, arms overhead with a groan. “Three hours to go,” she said, voice muffled by a yawn. “We’ve earned a sit-down before the breakfast mob rolls in.”

Celeste slid into the booth across from her usual seat, pulling her legs up beneath her. The booth was still warm from the couple who’d sat there earlier, but now it was theirs. Just two girls and the clink of a coffee pot settling onto the burner.

Victoria poured them both mugs—Celeste’s decaf, hers not. “What do we want to talk about? The mysteries of the universe? The meaning of syrup ratios?”

Celeste smiled into the rim of her mug. “Do you ever miss silence? Like, real silence?”

Victoria leaned back, watching the way the steam curled between them. “Sometimes. But not tonight.”

A comfortable pause stretched between them. The jukebox had gone quiet. The only sound now was the hum of the fridge, the faint buzz of a neon sign outside the window.

“I like this part,” Celeste said after a while.

Victoria blinked. “The almost-three-a.m. part?”

“This part where… nothing’s expected of us. Where it feels like the world forgot about us for a bit.”

Victoria nodded slowly, her smile softer this time. “Yeah. I get that.”

They sat that way for a while—half-drained mugs in hand, watching the slow rhythm of the city sleeping outside the windows. There was no rush, no pretending. No demands for smiles or questions they weren’t ready to answer.

Eventually, Victoria pulled out her notebook again and started doodling—half-hearted sketches of pancake stacks and cartoon eggs with grumpy faces. Celeste leaned on her elbow, watching without comment, the haze of exhaustion making everything feel just a little warmer, a little closer.

“You should get some rest before the morning crew shows up,” Victoria said eventually, her tone gentle.

Celeste shook her head, slow and sleepy. “I don’t want to miss this.”

And Victoria didn’t say anything else. She just kept drawing, and Celeste kept sipping, and the world stayed quiet around them.

**

The fluorescent lights of the diner buzzed a little softer in the early morning hours. The sky outside was just beginning to lighten, washed in pale gray and hints of lavender. The streets were mostly empty, save for the distant hum of a city starting to stir.

Victoria stifled a yawn as she clocked out, her ponytail frizzed from a long night of coffee refills and breakfast orders at inappropriate hours.

Celeste stood beside her, slipping off her apron with a soft smile that, for once, wasn’t forced. Her eyes were still a little tired, but they held more light than they used to.

“Remind me,” Victoria muttered, stretching her arms over her head, “why do people order pancakes at four in the morning? Who wakes up and thinks, ‘You know what I need? Syrup and regret.’”

Celeste chuckled, tugging her hoodie over her head. “The same kind of people who flirt with their waitresses while their girlfriends are in the bathroom.”

“Oh God, table nine,” Victoria groaned. “I swear, if he called me ‘sweetheart’ one more time, I was going to pour coffee in his lap.”

Celeste laughed harder. “And that’s how you lose a tip.”

Before Victoria could respond, her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She checked the screen and let out a groan.

“Speak of the overbearing,” she said, answering the call. “Yes, dearest brother?”

Celeste raised an eyebrow with a smirk, already anticipating the chaos.

Victoria listened for a moment, then winced. “Okay, okay. First of all—rude. Second of all, it was one dinner.”

A pause.

“Yes, yes, at your fancy account-only palace of a restaurant. But in my defense, the wine was your fault. And the dessert? Also your fault. You trained me to appreciate good food.”

Another pause. Victoria turned to Celeste and mouthed, He’s yelling about the bill. Celeste tried not to snort.

“No, I didn’t order the lobster. Celeste didn’t either. We are humble diners. We got pasta.” Victoria paused. “Okay, I got truffle pasta. And dessert. And two drinks. But still.”

Celeste laughed quietly, covering her mouth with her hand as Victoria dramatically rolled her eyes.

“I’m your only sister,” she said sweetly into the phone. “Your baby sister. Your joy. Your—okay, okay, I’m hanging up now before you start listing interest rates.”

She clicked the phone off with a flourish and slipped it back into her pocket. “He’s so dramatic. You’d think I drained his entire bank account.”

Celeste was still giggling. “You really do the little sister thing well.”

“I’ve had years of practice. It’s an art form.”

They stepped outside, the cool dawn air brushing against their cheeks, quiet settling in again as the city began to wake up.

Celeste tucked her hands into her sleeves. “Let’s do this again.”

Victoria nudged her gently with her shoulder. “Anytime.”