Getting into an argument with my produce supplier earlier over not bringing me enough heads of lettuce is probably what kickstarted my bad mood. I didn’t realize until after I hung up on him that I’m the one who messed up placing the order. Then I felt like an ass, but I’m lousy at apologizing. I’ve known Connor Shaw since we were kids though, so I’ll have to suck it up. Take him out for a beer or something.

When I come out from the back, I spot May Sanderson, with her unmistakable purple hair and giant backpack over her shoulders, grabbing a table. At least she has the common sense and decency to choose a clean one, which is more than I can say for some of the adults around here.

Seeing her lifts my mood. She’s a cool kid—not something I say often. But mostly, the change in mood is because I assume her dad will be joining her.

Brenden moved to town with May the same year I moved back, but it took a while before I got to know him. I was busy figuring out how to run the diner, and he was busy getting his life set up here while taking care of a two-year-old all by himself. He can’t cook to save his life though. So since the diner’s prices are fairly cheap, we found ourselves interacting day after day, and over time, we became close.

We’re not making each other BFF bracelets or anything. But my tendency to keep to myself was no match for his persistent friendliness, and he eventually wore me down. He probably knows me a hell of a lot better than most people by now.

And okay, fine. I’ll never admit it to him because he would taunt me endlessly, but he’s pretty much the bright spot in my days. Even when he’s on my case about me refusing to participate in some town nonsense. Or when he calls me Grumptopus. Or when he begs me to serve him more coffee than it should be legal to consume.

I always enjoy his company.

May smiles when I approach her table. I swear she has her dad’s smile, even though they’re not biologically related. I ask if she needs two menus, despite the fact that she and Brenden likely know the menu better than I do.

“Yeah, Dad will be here in a minute,” she says.

I turn to grab them for her, not letting her see how happy I am with that answer. “Orange soda?” I call out from behind the counter.

“Yes, please!”