My thirteen-year-old is perfectly capable of staying at home alone for an evening. She’s apparently also capable of meddling in my life for reasons I can’t figure out. But I understand that Elise wants to spend as much time with her as possible.

Fuck, she wants to spend Mother’s Day with her.

“Sounds good, thank you,” I say dutifully. “But yes, I should get back to work.”

I’ll have to find somewhere else to go waste a couple hours Friday evening. I can’t ask Travis to go on a date with me. He’ll think I’ve lost my mind.

I get back to work, but there’s not much going on today, so I’m not really needed. And my mind is spinning in all different directions—about me and Travis, about Elise and Grant, about Mother’s Day, about everything. Whenever I try to concentrate on a task, I can’t, so I might as well get out of here.

I don’t intend to end up at the diner, yet somehow after parking my car in an open spot on the side of the road, I realize I’m staring up at the Reed’s sign. My stomach growls, like a Pavlovian response. Guess grabbing some food wouldn’t hurt.

The place is pretty full when I walk inside. The counter is empty though, so I slide onto a stool, not wanting to take up the only free table. Travis is behind the counter, his back to me, loading his arms up with plates from the passthrough window. As he turns with them, he sees me and smiles.

Giving him an awkward little wave, I say, “Hey.”

“Hey, I didn’t expect to see you. I thought you were working.”

“I’m playing hooky for a bit.” I motion to the plates. “Go deliver your food.”

“Right,” he says, swiftly moving around the counter and over to a table of four by the window. His balancing act is impressive. After he passes out all the plates, he heads back over here, grabs an empty pitcher, and starts filling it with iced tea from the large metal urn. “Sorry,” he says, glancing at me over his shoulder as the tea pours. “I’ll get you a coffee in a minute.”

“I’m not in a rush,” I tell him. “Don’t worry about me.”

He gives me a grateful smile before heading back to that table to refill people’s glasses. Then, dangling the empty pitcher off one finger, he does a quick sweep of the room, clearing plates from other tables and grabbing a credit card as soon as someone slaps it down on top of their check.

It only takes a few minutes before things settle down and he returns to me. Still, when he pours my coffee and asks what I want to eat, I just order a basket of fries, not wanting to be too much trouble.