"Last call, y'all," Charlie called from the kitchen.
I watched as the last few customers started gathering their things. Chairs scraped lightly against the floor, the bell above the door chimed as people stepped out into the night, and the diner slowly emptied. A few regulars lingered behind, accustomed to the closing routine of the place.
I carried a stack of dishes toward the back, letting the sound of running water and clinking plates fill my head for a minute. It was easier back there, where I didn't have to think about where he was or whether he was still watching me. But even then, I knew.
When I came back out, tying my apron loose at my waist, I didn't look right away. I grabbed a rag, wiped down the counter, adjusted the napkin holders—anything to speed up the time.
Charlie stepped in at the end of the shift, already grabbing the keys. "I'll lock up tonight. You go ahead."
I didn't argue. "Thank you," I said, pulling off my apron.
"Yeah, yeah. Don't make it a habit."
I smiled faintly and stepped out from behind the counter. And this time, his presence was unavoidable.
He was standing now, not rushing, not leaving yet, just waiting like he had all the time in the world. I grabbed my bag from the counter, slinging it over my shoulder, and made my way toward the door. The closer I got to him, my steps slowed without my meaning and everything around us seemed to quiet in a way I couldn't explain.
"This your normal shift?" he asked, his voice even, like we'd been talking longer than we had.
"Yeah," I said, adjusting my grip on my bag. "Evenings."
He gave a small nod, like that confirmed something for him. His gaze moved over me again, his eyes suddenly halting on my legs. I followed his line of sight without thinking, realizing he wasn't looking at the boot this time. A fresh scrape just below the hem of my skirt revealed itself when I had adjusted my footing. I quickly smoothed my skirt back into place, clearing my throat.
"That happen from the tumble too?" He asked, eyes back on my face now.
"Yeah," I said awkwardly. I felt a bit uncomfortable under his scrutiny, like a child being looked after by their mom.
His eyes seemed to darken for a moment, and he looked away, linking his fingers in his belt loops before turning back to me.
"You're gonna be good getting home on that?" he asked, nodding at the huge clunker on my foot.
I shifted slightly. "I'll be fine. I take the bus now."
He nodded, "Good."
A small crease formed between my brows. "Why do you care?"
He didn't answer right away. He just looked at me for a second, like he was weighing how much to say.
"People notice patterns," he said finally. "Easier than you think."
My stomach tightened at that, because there was something about the way he said it that didn't feel general. "I figured that out," I said quietly.
The silence that followed didn't feel awkward, just full, like there was more sitting there than either of us was saying. I adjusted my footing again, careful with the boot.
"You should take it easy," he added.
"I don't really have that option," I muttered, looking away.
"Be careful getting home," he said, looking over me once more. It didn't feel lustful, but like he was checking me over. For a second, it felt like he might say more, like something was sitting right behind his lips, but he held it back.
"I will."
I turned toward the door and placed my hand on it to push it open, but his was already there, pressed just above mine. The door gave under his palm before I could put any weight behind it, and my hand hovered against the surface, close enough that I could feel the movement-- close enough that when I adjusted, my fingers brushed his wrist.
It was barely anything, the lightest contact, but it stopped me all the same. I held my breath, suddenly aware of how close he was. He hadn't stepped back, his hand still against the door, his body near enough that the air between us felt different, warmer, like it had changed without either of us meaning for it to. My eyes met his as I turned toward him in surprise. His breath stalled, and it was quick, but I noticed it. His gaze dropped briefly to where my fingers had touched him, and then lifted again. For a second, neither of us moved. I didn't pull my hand away or step forward. I was filled with the overwhelming urge to move closer to him, and my cheeks began to warm under his gaze.
"You should get going," he said finally, his voice a bit softer now.
I blinked, snapping out of the daze I was in. "Right, thank you."
I exhaled quietly, feet moving toward the now open door. He stepped aside then, giving me space, but not before his hand lingered a second longer against the door. I couldn't help the tiny squeeze my heart gave as I moved my hand away from his, hand dropping to my side.
"Wait," he said.
I slowed, and my heart started pounding.
"I'll walk you to the stop."
I quickly faced my body toward him and blinked, caught off guard at the statement. "You don't have to."
"I know."
I hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."
We stepped out into the night together, the cooler air settling against my skin as we moved down the sidewalk. Streetlights cast a soft glow along the pavement, stretching our shadows out in long lines ahead of us, while the distant hum of cars filled the quiet without breaking it. My steps were slower with the boot, uneven enough that I had to pay attention to each one, but he didn't comment on it. Didn't look down. He just stayed beside me, matching my pace without effort, close enough that I was aware of him without trying.
I adjusted my step again, the edge of the boot catching wrong against the pavement before I could correct it, and my balance tipped. For a split second, there was nothing under me, that sharp, weightless drop hitting before I could react.
"Whoa—"
His left arm closed around my waist, immediately steadying me before I could fall. I hadn't seen him move. I only felt him. His muscles were firm against my back as my breath caught, uneven and out of place. Everything else seemed to fade around it, the quiet stretching as my focus narrowed to that single point of contact.
For the second time tonight, neither of us moved.
I stared at his right hand on my arm, my thoughts a step behind, trying to catch up to why it felt like more than it should've, why the warmth lingered instead of fading. Slowly, I looked up.
His eyes were already on me, and when his eyes met mine, his grip tightened for half a second before easing again. Like he felt it too. My chest pulled tight as the corner of his mouth lifted.
"Careful," he said, his voice low again, playful. "Can't have you taking another tumble."
I let out a small chuckle, shaking my head lightly as I eased back. "I think I've had enough of those for a while."
He hummed softly and let his arm fall away. I couldn't help wishing it stayed around me.
We kept walking, but it didn't feel the same. I was aware of everything now: the quiet rhythm of our steps, the cool air brushing against my skin, the way the space between us felt smaller than it should have. Every now and then my arm brushed lightly against his, and each time it happened, I noticed it more than I should have, but he didn't move away, didn't acknowledge the small touches. And neither did I.
When we reached the stop, I shifted my weight, glancing down the road. "It should be here soon."
He nodded.
He waited with me for the bus, and I snuck a few complete glances at him. He really was handsome, one of the most attractive men I have ever seen. I couldn't believe he was standing here with me by choice. He was most likely just being a gentleman, I told myself. His charm was just a part of his nature and not exclusive to me.
The bus pulled up a minute later, and the doors opened with a soft hiss.
I faced him and smiled genuinely, "Thank you."
"Get home safe," he said, that same sexy lilt of a smile lingering on his lips.
I nodded once, "Good night," I said softly before stepping on.
"Have a good night, Queenie." I turned around at the sound of my name. He smiled and tipped his hat toward me. My cheeks warmed instantly, and I quickly swiped my bus card as the doors closed behind me. I took a seat near the front, my hand resting lightly against the window as the bus pulled away. I didn't mean to look back, but I did.
He was still there. Standing exactly where I left him.
That tight feeling in my chest squeezed once more, heavier this time, and I turned forward, but the feeling lingered.