I refill a few customers’ drinks and serve a couple meals. But the rush has already died down, so there isn’t enough going on to keep me occupied, and my gaze keeps drifting back to Brenden. He and May are having a hushed conversation, with Brenden looking more stressed by the minute. May keeps patting his hand sympathetically.

Finally, I see him throw his arms over one of her books, thunking his head down on top of them, and I can’t stop myself from going back over there.

“What’s with you?” I ask.

“We’re in crisis mode,” May answers for him.

“We’re not in crisis mode,” Brenden disagrees, his voice muffled because he’s talking to the table.

“You look like you’re in crisis mode,” I comment.

He lifts his head from his arms to give me a dirty look. “You’re not helping.”

I hold his eye contact, waiting him out. His blue eyes are missing their usual spark, and I experience a strong desire to do something to give it back to him. After a few moments, he starts to ramble about computer errors, broken ovens, and missing kitchen staff. His tone takes on a high-pitched, frantic quality the more he goes on, but I manage to follow along and determine that his most pressing problem, the one that’s left him in this state, is the fact that his kitchen is unexpectedly short-staffed right when they have a large group due to arrive at the inn.

I frown in both concern and minor suspicion. “Did you come in here to ask me to help you out?”

He tries to glare at me again, but he comes off more like a snarky puppy, failing to make it threatening. “I came in here to drink coffee and eat a burger.”

“And to ask for my help.”

We have another short staring contest until he groans loudly and says, “Fine. I was considering asking for your help. But you don’t have to! I know you have your own business to run.”

He gestures around us, but the diner’s almost empty by now, not quite illustrating his point. It gets packed for the typical mealtime hours though. Being one of only three sit-down restaurants in town will do that.

Shrugging, I tell him, “I can make it work.” Truthfully, I’m not sure how, but I hate seeing him upset. It’s rare, but it always gets to me. And my instinct is to help him whenever he needs anything, no matter how small or large the request is.

Our friendship began inside this diner, but it developed while hauling furniture for him in my truck bed, changing flat tires on his car, and blowing up thousands of balloons for May’s birthday parties. These aren’t services I’d be as quick to offer anyone else in town, but Brenden is... special.