CHAPTER 4: WRONG SIDE OF THE COUNTER

He didn't see her at first.

That was worse somehow. Danny Miller stood in the doorway of Rosie's Diner in a gray henley and jeans that fit like they'd been bought this decade, scanning the room for an empty booth. Normal. Casual. Like he belonged here.

He didn't belong here. This was her place. Her grease-stained, minimum-wage, tip-dependent territory where she smiled at men who called her sweetheart and pretended coffee refills were a privilege.

Jasmine kicked her under the table.

"That's him?"

"Shut up."

"Elena. That's him."

"I said shut up."

Too late. His eyes found her. That same look from last night, the one she couldn't name, flickered across his face. Surprise first. Then something softer.

He walked over.

Elena became suddenly, painfully aware of every wrong thing about herself. The coffee stain on her apron from table three. The ponytail she'd thrown up at five AM without looking in a mirror. The sensible shoes that made her feet look like they belonged to someone's grandmother.

She was not the girl from the spotlight right now. She was just a waitress in a diner that smelled like bacon and broken dreams.

"Elena."

"Danny."

Jasmine's head swiveled between them like she was watching tennis.

"I didn't know you worked here." He said it simple. No performance. His hands were in his pockets again, that patient stance she remembered from the hallway.

"Yep. One of three jobs. Lucky me."

She heard the edge in her own voice. Hated it. Hated that seeing him here, in this fluorescent nightmare where she was nobody special, made her defensive instead of glad.

"I live two blocks over." He gestured vaguely toward the window. "Just moved in last month. Been looking for a decent lunch spot."

Jasmine snorted. "You won't find it here. The BLT tastes like regret."

"Jas."

"What? I'm helping."

Danny almost smiled. That same fighting-it expression from last night. "I'll risk it."

He slid into the booth across from Jasmine like he'd been invited. He had not been invited. Elena stood there with her coffee pot and her stained apron and absolutely no idea what to do with her hands.

"Sit down," Jasmine said. "You're making me nervous."

"I'm working."

"Rosie left an hour ago and Marco's high in the kitchen. Sit down."

Elena sat. She didn't know why. The vinyl squeaked under her and she wanted to disappear into it.

"So." Jasmine leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin in her hands. Full interrogation mode. "Danny. You're the sound guy."

"I'm a sound guy. Not sure I've earned the 'the' yet."

"You touched her levels without asking."

"I did."

"That's a bold move for day one."

"It was necessary."

Something flickered in Jasmine's eyes. Interest, maybe. Or the beginning of respect. Elena couldn't tell. Jasmine was hard to read when she was sizing someone up.

"What's your deal, Danny? You show up at The Hollow out of nowhere, you fix Elena's sound like you've been engineering for years, you dress like that." She waved at his henley. "That shirt costs more than my rent."

Elena looked at the shirt. Looked closer. It did look expensive. Soft in a way cheap cotton never managed. She'd noticed the watch last night. Now the shirt. Small things that didn't add up to a guy who worked at a dive bar for what Tommy probably paid.

Danny's expression didn't change. "I like nice shirts."

"On a sound engineer salary?"

"Jas." Elena's voice came out sharper than she meant. "Stop."

"I'm just asking."

"You're interrogating."

"Same thing."

Danny leaned back. Relaxed. If Jasmine's questions bothered him, he didn't show it. "I saved up. Before this. Had a different job that paid well. Quit because I hated it. Kept the shirts."

It was a good answer. Smooth. Plausible.

Elena didn't believe it.

She didn't know why. Something in the way he said it. Too practiced. Like he'd explained this before and gotten good at the explanation.

"What job?" The question left her mouth before she could stop it.

His eyes met hers. For just a second, something passed through them. A flicker. A hesitation. Then it was gone.

"Finance. Family business. Wasn't for me."

Family business. Finance. The watch. The shirt. The calm that came from never having to worry about things like rent or groceries or whether the math would work.

Elena's stomach turned. She knew that calm. She'd seen it on every rich customer who walked into this diner and looked at her like she was furniture. Like her job existed solely to serve them and her life outside these walls didn't matter.

But Danny had looked at her last night like her voice mattered. Like she mattered.

Which version was real?

"Elena." His voice pulled her back. Softer now. "I really didn't know you worked here. I'm not following you. I just wanted lunch."

She believed that part. She didn't know why, but she did.

"The BLT really is terrible," she said. "Get the grilled cheese. Marco can't mess that up."

Danny smiled. Full this time. No fighting it.

And something in Elena's chest cracked open just a little. Just enough to be dangerous.

Jasmine watched the whole thing. Said nothing. But when Elena glanced at her, she saw it.

The look that said: You're in trouble, girl.

Yeah. She knew.