Page 8 of The Captain

There was a day that I would have loved to be stuck in this exact situation, but that was long past now.

Racing ahead of me, Lincoln opened the door to the diner, and we walked in, him following close behind me.

Marie smiled at me from behind the old-school bar top, pink stools lined the edge of it, set on a black-and-white checked floor. The walls were adorned in every picture and piece of memorabilia that could have been found from the ’20s all the way up until the ’70s, some of my parents’ favorite decades. People were scattered around the restaurant, and I could hear Bobby in the back singing along while he cooked, but it was quiet enough to get some work done, especially in the back where we would kind of be hidden.

I’d never brought anyone here, based on principle alone, I didn’t want anyone to know that this was my fallback.

Of course, I would have rather not had the fallback at all, because what if I never finished my novel and then I became a waitress in a diner for the rest of my life?

Which, of course, that line of thought made me always feel like shit because I could never bring myself to tell my mom the same thing.

Thankfully, that night, she wasn’t in. That may have been strategic on my part.

“Wow, this place is awesome. Kind of off the beaten path,” Lincoln said, nodding his head to the Elvis tune that was playing off the jukebox.

“Yeah, that’s what I love about it.” I nodded my head toward the back booths, and Marie waved me off. She knew exactly where I was going and would come and take Lincoln’s order. She already knew mine.

Mick and Vic knew my mom owned a diner but never asked where, and I never told them. It was twenty minutes outside of campus, just far enough away to be…well, far.

Considering Rose Hill Campus had everything we needed to survive, I didn’t think it was imperative that everyone knew my mom owned a diner or that we should ever eat here.

Lincoln was the first person since high school that I’d brought here. I tried not to think too hard about what that meant.

We found our booth and each took a side, our bags plopped beside each of us. Lincoln took a menu from where it rested in the holder at the table and read it. I pulled out some workbooks, a notebook, and my favorite pen.

“Hello, welcome to Retro Bites. What can I get you guys?” Marie’s calming presence had always been a haven for me, which was why I felt comfortable introducing her to Lincoln.

“Marie, this is Lincoln. Lincoln, this is Marie.” I made the introductions, and Lincoln surprised me by standing, holding out his hand, and smiling as he politely introduced himself. The gesture shocked me long enough that it took me a second to finish my sentence. “I’m tutoring him for a class.”

He nodded and smiled again, tucking back into the booth.

“Well, that’s fun.” Marie gave me a look, and I shook my head. She knew who Lincoln Ellis was. Was she putting two and two together? “What can I get you to drink, Lincoln?”

“Just water, please,” he said gratefully. “What do you recommend to eat here?”

She gave him a rundown of the menu, rattling off favorites that are common returning customer orders, and smiled when he ordered a double bacon cheeseburger and a salad.

Marie wandered off without taking my order, and Lincoln raised an eyebrow. “Are you not eating?”

I waved my hand. “Marie knows what I like. I haven’t had to order here in a while.”

Try years, but there’s no reason for him to know that.

“Huh, that’s cool. Must be decent enough if you come back that often.”

I nodded my head nonchalantly and encouraged him to open up his books. Now that we were here, that tension that had been stuck to his shoulders seemed to have worn off. I was glad to see that, because working with Lincoln was going to be challenging enough without having to deal with the drama he was doling out at the library.

Marie came back, setting down our drinks. Hot tea and water for me. I took a moment to doctor the tea the way I wanted, letting Lincoln explain what he was struggling with.

“Sounds like you understand the material, what’s the issue?”

He rubbed his eyebrow and leaned an elbow against the table. “The writing portion is killing me.”

I frowned. “Writing, huh?”

He shrugged his large shoulders. “I’m good at talking out loud in front of crowds. The public speaking portion that they have us do doesn’t bother me, but it’s getting the right things to say that’s been my issue. I can’t seem to sit down long enough to find the right words to put together.”

“What’s the topic?”

---