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Working at a near desolate mom & pop diner was actually really nice. Sure you didn’t get a lot of tips, but the wage was the same as anywhere else, and all the regulars are friendly and conversational, even if the diner is empty for most of the middle of the day. The best part about this job for a broke college student, is undoubtedly the high employee discount on already cheap food.
He’d dropped you off at work in his nine year old civic and driven to campus, since he had morning classes from nine to noon.
“I feel like, eggs are better cooked in butter.” Bobby says this between bites of hash brown. His voice wasn’t lowered, but you wouldn’t fault him on it since nobody was in there yet.
“There’s something about it, butter just, it’s better to cook stuff than oil is, Y’know?”
You only hum in response, listening more to the R.E.M playing on the radio than to him. His coffee was getting low, but you didn’t want to brew another pot when it would get cold by the time anyone else ordered.
“Where’s the hot sauce?” He asks as he turns his fork to the scrambled eggs on his plate.
Wordlessly, you reach under the counter and grab a bottle of sriracha, setting it on the counter by the salt and pepper shakers adjacent to his plate.
“This is excellent service, really, waitress won’t even make me a second cup of coffee.” He teases, bothering you while you set out napkins and condiment bottles at the lunch counter.
“You’ve had a cup I’m sure you’ll live.”
“Do you still have that cheesecake in the freezer?” He ooh’s, hand stilling.
You nod. “It’s seriously frozen though. I’ll find you a pastry from yesterday.”
“Pawning off stale shit to me? The light of your life?” He leans forward on his elbows, giving you an amused look. You only snort through your nose and swing the doors open wordlessly. Jeffery, the owner and cook of the diner, glances over at you when you enter, but resumes preseasoning ground beef without a word.
“You need me to pick you up at noon?”
“Baby?” He calls again, in a pathetic voice that gives the impression that he unsure if you heard him the first time.
“Unless you wanna get lunch first,” Your voice comes out a tad softer than you intend. A small wave of embarrassment washes over you because of it.
While looking through the literal cardboard box at the bottom of the closed rolling rack. You opt for a bagel, which can more easily be toasted and refreshed. You give it a spritz in water after cutting it in half, heading back out of the kitchen. The doors creak loudly, and Bobby glances up at you from his food, still eating.
“Unless you wanna get lunch first.” You repeat, sticking the dampened bagel halves into the toaster. The lever cracks down slowly, making a soft dinging, before it starts ticking softly.
“I heard you,” he takes a sip of his milky coffee, likely the last, given how far he tilts his head back.
“But yeah, I’ll prolly be hungry.”
“Sounds good.” You grab the plastic creamer cups that sat empty on the counter beside his plate, and regret not having done so carefully. The remaining creamer drips on your hand, it's cold, and you drop the plastic containers with their tops into the trash can, rinsing your hand off in the tap.
Wiping your hand on your apron, you round the counter to climb onto the stool beside him, swiveling towards him and folding up your arms to cushion your head on the fake marble.
It was cold. It would be welcome if it were hot inside like it was out, but the diner was cold too. You curl up so your skin can retain heat. You feel a wave of dread wash over you at the thought of Bobby leaving, and you sitting around behind the counter until regulars start to filter in. He was clearly the preferred company. You usually spent from nine to noon serving coffee to sweatslicked men who think your silence is contentment with being ogled or pestered.
”Do you have to go?” He only hums softly in response to the quiet question, mouth full. You aren’t really asking, but you are quietly complaining about being left alone.
He props his cheek up on his fist, swallowing hard as he turns his head to look at you. “You gonna be lonely?” His mocking is soft, and wholly habitual. He wants a pout, a dramatic groan or an exasperated keen of his name.
You’re too tired to give him what he wants. “You’d think I’d be sick of you by now” You murmur this, but too much fondness is audible in the lilt at the end of your sentence, so he smirks softly.
A captivating smile, bright and loud in an otherwise quiet diner. It was quiet but not silent. The air conditioner hummed evenly, Madonna played on the radio, and Jeremy shuffled around behind the pass. He was beautiful.
You couldn’t take your eyes off him. Off the sharp contour of his jaw, or his bright baby blues. He was beautiful. Even in the dry heat and when he smelled like sweat and his hair was sticking up in every direction.
“Want anything else?” His pretty face makes you feel giddy, and you feel a creeping tightness under your ribs, since he hasn’t said anything, like he might be growing bored with you.
“I can’t eat another bite,” Bobby shakes his head, as he gathers up bits of scrambled egg onto the edge of his fork and finishes off the crumbs on his plate.
You smile fondly at him, so much so that your vision blurs at the edges. “Not another bite, you say,”