I heard a noise and looked up as the reason I’d come in emerged from the back of the diner. My friend Vanessa Flowers stepped out, carrying a pitcher of water. She strode quickly toward the woman with the book but stopped in her tracks when she saw me.

“What are you doing here?” she asked from across the room, making both the woman and the man sitting beside me look up. “Couldn’t sleep?”

I shook my head, strangely embarrassed, and took another sip of the tea.

Vanessa filled the woman’s glass and then walked over and perched on the stool beside me, setting the pitcher down between us. “Did you try David’s cheesecake and wine trick?”

“No,” I said with a laugh. “We don’t just keep cheesecake in the fridge, first of all—”

“Why not?” she asked.

“—and second,” I said, ignoring her, “it’s not really a trick, is it? It’s just getting drunk and eating dessert before falling asleep.”

“Best trick I’ve ever heard of,” she said.

I’d met Vanessa three years ago when Keith and I first moved into our house. I’d started going to the diner on a regular basis, and we’d clicked instantly. She’d talked to me about her crazy ex, Terry; her hilarious family; and her borderline obsession with celebrities. I talked to her about Keith and the drama of our small circle of friends, who Vanessa called the “la-di-d’artists.” At thirty-six, Vanessa was only a year younger than me, but people often thought she was in her mid- to late twenties, with her smooth, youthful skin and short, curly brown hair. But it was more than just her looks. She was a fireball of personality, bold, funny, and refreshingly honest, qualities that had helped me get through some of the roughest moments after Keith’s accident.

“How was your night driving sixteen-year-olds to house parties?” she asked.

I smiled. “Fine. Uneventful. Which means it was a great night, actually.”

“What time is your shift today?” she asked.

“I’ll be back in at noon.”

“And after that?”

I frowned. She already knew the answer to that—I was going to do what I did every day after I left the diner—which could only mean she had other plans for me. “I’ll probably drive for a few hours…” I said slowly.

As I expected, she shook her head. “No,” she said. “You need to take the night off.”

I sighed. “I’m fine—” I started, ready to launch into a lie about how I’d gotten a little sleep when I went home and that I’d try to nap again before my shift.