Four Months Later
"Table twelve, Ayls."
"Yup," I say, grabbing the trey over the counter. "Did you do something to your hair, Marge? You look dashing today."
She points a finger at me, her signature scowl ever present. "Put a sock on it, kiss-ass. Now, your usual's waiting for you."
I give a kiss in the air her way and get a move on, a smile plastered on my face. Marge reminded me of someone I used to know who managed a diner as well. But she was a part of another life, a life I merely dreamed about.
"Sorry for the wait, hon. Old Marge is a grumpy old brute again this morning," I say to the lady with light blonde hair who always took a seat at my table. It's been probably a week now since she started coming here. Same time, same table. Never a day she was absent nor late.
And most da
