Gus’s eyes found their way to Rosie, and he smiled to himself. She hadn’t changed either. She still wore her standard pink uniform, protected by a white, ruffled apron, and protruding from the fake pocket above her breast was an equally fake hankie with a pink ribbon interwoven in its tatted edges. Stuck in the bun on the back of her head was a yellow-shafted Ticonderoga pencil, and he knew if she stepped out from behind the counter, she’d have on scuffed orthopedic shoes.

Gus’s smile broadened when Rosie returned with his pies. “Here you go, Gus,” she said, putting the two plates in front of him. “Enjoy.”

“I always do,” Gus said, picking up his fork. “Thanks.”

Gus dove into the apple first, and his enjoyment of the light, flakey crust and Granny Smiths melting in his mouth showed on his face. Over the years, he’d sampled every variety of pie Rosie offered, a selection that differed slightly depending on the season. Soon pecan and pumpkin would make an appearance, and as always, he’d order a few to take home for the holiday. It had become a tradition ever since his wife and children had tasted one of Rosie’s pies.

Gus’s expression darkened slightly, his mind drifting back to when he had first met Bennett. Yes, if it hadn’t been for Bennett Archer, Gus would never have known about Rosie’s Diner. Then again, if it hadn’t been for Bennett Archer, Gus and his family wouldn’t be alive.

***

Bennett flipped on the lights and glanced at the thermostat on the wall. Its digital readout confirmed that, as always, the seventy-degree temperature was being maintained. Taking off her coat, Bennett draped it over her arm and made her way down the main aisle, flanked by storage racks three levels high. Each section was enclosed in tinted glass, ensuring the contents wouldn’t be harmed by time, light, or dust.