GOOD GIRL

The tinier the town, the duller the people. Few people come through this way, so it obviously causes a stir when new faces come through the only Mom and Pop diner in town. I've lived here my whole life, know everyone and their drama, and am tired of the same old routine. No matter how much I change my hair, my wardrobe, or my attitude, I'll always be Tinley Moore. I shift my weight onto my left leg as I wrap the napkins over the silverware. Of course, we're slow. I chew the inside of my cheek as Elvis barrels through the speakers. Ginny must've gotten here early. She usually isn't here until noon, making it in before that means that she went to bed sober last night. Ginny stomps through the kitchen door and out onto the floor, smiling ear to ear as she comes charging for me. I don't know whether to put my hands up to brace for impact or start running. As unpredictable as she is, she's twice as strong. I've seen this four foot tall woman knock the lights out of an almost six foot trucker for giving me attitude after not getting his beer because he was cut off. She stops dead in her tracks and reaches up, grabbing my chin. She snaps my neck towards the door and I see it- or him. Tall, muscular, long brown hair encasing his shoulders, with a beard following suit, and tattoos plastered on his tanned forearms. Ginny is giggling heavily as she whips me back to her gaze. Her voice is like a teacher's adaptation of a witch during story time. "He's a country boy from Tennessee. See what you can do, missy!" She cackles as she frees my chin and stomps back to the kitchen, wrapping her apron string around the back and then to the front before putting it into a bow. It's a gift, she can make conversation with anyone and get any information she wants out of you before you realize you're even talking to her. The little chime of the bell above the front door sends a jolt down my spine and suddenly I'm nervous. I slam my head to the right to see him standing at the edge of my counter. I muster up the courage to speak within a millisecond, putting on my customer service voice and an obnoxiously painful smile. "One?" I ask before internally facepalming myself repeatedly. Am I sick? What's wrong with me? He nods and a strand of dark brown hair jumps the rest of its way over his shoulder. I take a moment to realize he isn't smiling either. Wow, that's new. I've never had someone not smile at me when they come inside here. I grab a newly wrapped set of silverware and a menu from the top shelf underneath the register counter. I lead him to a booth and set his items down. I pull out a little notebook and pen. He squirms into the seat and I realize I should've asked him which seat he'd prefer. He squeakily adjusts against the loud fabric as it catches every muscle moving in his body. I wait patiently before ultimately asking, "What would you like to drink?" He looks at me as if I'm stupid before flatly answering, "Coffee, black." I internally wince at his answer before smiling like a schoolgirl trying to get her teacher's attention. I retreat to the bar and wonder around it to grab the coffee and put it into a solid navy blue mug. I spin on my heels and take him the coffee. I set it down, and he looks from the menu, then up to me. His voice is deep in that gorgeous southern twang. "Thanks, Tinley." I freeze as my eyes turn into dinner plates. He takes notice and points to the name tag pinned to my white polo. 'Tinley M.' Relief runs through me as I exhale deeply unknowing that it's now turned into an awkward chuckle before gripping onto my heart to slow its pace. He turns his deep green eyes back to his menu with a soft smile cracking at the corners of his lips. "Let me know when you're ready." I say softly before retreating to my little area behind the register.