F I V E

It wasn’t until a bit more than a week later that she noticed him watching her. The Monday started like every other day she was working; cleaning up a bit, getting her trays of desserts baking, and serving the old couple that was always awake the earliest, and usually her first customers of the day.

But then, as the clock ticked and the sun started moving from the center of the sky to back down again, Jones made his entrance into the diner, as almost every day. He nodded at her in greeting, Emmie smiling back, and then took a seat in his regular booth; one a bit away from the public eye, but still clearly seeable from her position behind the counter.

She served him, almost digging up the courage to ask for his name—the real one, not the family name—but then failing when his eyes moved to his regular cup of coffee, away from her. Emmie told him to call her if anything more was needed, and he nodded, as usual, letting her return to her job.

The diner wasn’t bus