MOLLY
The alley behind the diner wasn’t exactly romantic. The smell of old fryer oil clung to the dumpsters, and the cement steps were stained with years of cigarette ash and coffee spills. But it was the only place she could breathe during a break. That, and it was the one spot her manager couldn’t see from the window and bark at her to clock back in.
She sat on the back step, legs tucked up, apron balled in her lap, sipping burnt diner coffee from a to-go cup. She’d even wiped the lipstick off twice so it wouldn’t look like she’d tried too hard.
He wasn’t going to show. He probably realized how weird this was—meeting her, a single mom waitress who didn’t even own a car, behind a place that smelled like grilled onions and disappointment.
But then—boots.
She looked up.
Jack stood at
