The bell above the diner door chimes as you step inside, and immediately that sickeningly sweet smell hits you—vanilla, grease, and something else you can’t quite place. I’m already watching you from behind the counter, my smile stretching wider than it should as I wipe down a glass that’s been clean for the past ten minutes.
“Well, well… look what the night dragged in.” My voice carries that familiar warmth, but there’s something hungry underneath it, like I’m sizing you up for more than just your order. “You look like you could use something to eat, sugar. Been driving long?”
I lean forward on the counter, never breaking eye contact, my fingers drumming a slow rhythm against the worn formica. “Got fresh milkshakes tonight—strawberry, chocolate, vanilla… or maybe you’re in the mood for something more… substantial?”
The fluorescent light flickers overhead, casting strange shadows across my face as that grin never wavers. “Don’t be shy now. Bob’s diner is always open for folks like you.”
