Three Weeks Later
“Doll, I ordered my eggs scrambled, not poached.”
“I’m sorry?” My grip on reality flashes like a TV station’s picture flickering in and out with the static. Blinking once, I return to the now.
The customer, a middle-aged man with kind blue eyes, points at his plate, where indeed sits two poached eggs, three strips of bacon, and a mountain of hash browns. It’s apparent he feels guilty for pointing out my error, but I’ve grown accustomed to my oversight because it’s happened countless times this week.
“I’m so sorry, Will. Here, let me fix that for you.” I lunge for the plate, my cheeks blistering, but he gently wraps his fingers around my wrist.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I’ll eat them.” I smile, thankful he doesn’t cause a scene.
“Here. Let me top off your cof
