Chapter 26: The Diner Trap

Rusty’s Diner went dead around two in the afternoon, the kind of quiet where you could hear the fryer humming from across the room. I’d already wiped down every booth twice and restocked every napkin dispenser within reach.

Denise was in the back doing inventory, and Rusty had left an hour ago for a supplier meeting, which meant it was just me, three empty booths, and a coffee pot that had gone cold twice because nobody was around to drink it.

I was leaning against the counter, counting down the last three hours of my double shift, when my phone buzzed against the register.

Drew: Hope Briar isn’t crushing you under a mountain of formulas. Miss having a kitchen partner already.

I smiled before I could stop myself.

Nora: Briar’s trying its best. So is Rusty’s. Hour six of a double and I still have feeling in my legs, so I’m calling it a win.

Drew: Six hours in and you’re still typing full sentences? Impressive stamina, Bennett.

I was mid-reply when the swinging kitchen door slammed open, and Denise hurried out with her jacket already half-on. She looked kinda pale and her eyes were wide with panic.

"Nora, I’m so sorry," she gasped, her hands shaking as she pulled her bag over her shoulder. "Daycare just called. My little girl has a hundred-and-three fever and they’re talking about taking her to urgent care. I have to go."

"Oh my god, Denise, go!" I said instantly, pushing my phone into my pocket. "Don’t even worry about it."

"Rusty’s not back until tomorrow morning, and if the diner closes early on a Thursday, he’s going to lose his mind," Denise bit her lip, looking torn and terrified. "The closing shift is supposed to run until nine-thirty..."

"I’ve got it," I assured her firmly, placing a steadying hand on her arm. "I’ll stay and close up by myself. Go take care of your daughter."

Denise looked like she wanted to cry with relief. She squeezed my hand, yelled a quick thank you, and hurried out the front door.

I let out a long breath, pulling out my phone again.

My original plan had been to finish my shift at five, head back to the apartment to freshen up and grab my textbooks. Then meet Knox for our rescheduled tutoring session at seven.

Now, that was completely out the window.

I pulled up Knox’s text thread and typed a quick, harried message.

Nora: Sheridan, my coworker had a family emergency and had to leave. I’m stuck running the diner and closing up alone until 9:30 PM. I can’t make it tonight. We’ll have to do tomorrow.

I hit send and waited for a minute. But the screen stayed dark; no typing bubbles, no reply.

I sighed and shoved the phone back into my apron pocket. Knox was probably back at the SinBin, furious that his schedule had been disrupted yet again or assuming I was making excuses.

But this was out of my control.

The dinner rush hit at five-thirty, and for the next four hours, I didn’t have time to think about Knox, Drew, or my aching feet. I was running off my feet completely alone... grilling burgers, pouring sodas, ringing up checks, and clearing tables in a continuous, exhausting blur.

By half past nine, the dinner crowd had finally cleared out, leaving the diner silent once more.

I was wrapping up and preparing to close, wiping down the sticky counter near the register, when the bell over the door jangled hard enough to rattle the front window.

Four guys walked in, making noise before they even passed the hostess stand. They were all wearing matching navy jackets with Kingston University Hockey stitched across the chest.

One of them had his cap on backward and wore a grin that suggested he’d never been told "no" in his life. He had the kind of swagger that seemed to take up more space than his actual shoulders did.

"Table for four, gorgeous," he said, sliding into the corner booth without waiting for me to seat them.

His friends piled in after him, boots scraping the floor, one already flipping through the dessert menu like it owed him money.

I grabbed a stack of waters and my notepad and walked over, keeping my voice flat and professional. "Welcome to Rusty’s. Can I start you off with drinks?"

Backward Cap tilted his head, studying my face for a beat too long before his grin split wide open.

"No way," he said. "No way. You’re her. The puck girl." He turned to his buddies, practically bouncing in his seat. "Guys, this is Sheridan’s tutor and so-called girlfriend. From the video."

"Nora, right?" the guy with the dessert menu said, not even looking up. "Bro, this is the girl from the bonfire pic."

I set the waters down without spilling a drop, which took more effort than it should have. "Ready to order, or should I come back?"

"Hang on, hang on," Backward Cap said, leaning back like we were old friends catching up. "So how’s that going? The tutoring." He said the word with air quotes I could practically hear. "Do you charge Knox by the hour for compliance work, or is it more of a flat rate?"

His friends erupted into laughter. One of them slammed his hand onto the table, causing the napkin holder to rattle.

I kept my pen pressed to my notepad. "Coffee refills are four dollars, and free if you’re polite about asking. Which one are you going with?"

"She’s got jokes," the quiet one said, sounding almost impressed.

"I bet she’s got more than jokes," Backward Cap said, and his eyes dragged down slowly in a way that made my skin crawl. "Sitting on his lap like that in the picture. Grading his curves, or is he grading yours?"

The line landed like a slap. I’d read that exact headline on the gossip page a week ago, and hearing it thrown back at me by a stranger three towns over made something cold settle low in my stomach.

"That’s not a drink order," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I’ll come back when you’re ready."

I turned toward the kitchen.

"Chase, man, drop it," one of the other guys muttered, sounding suddenly less amused than he had thirty seconds ago.

A hand shot out and clamped around my wrist.

"I didn’t say you could walk away yet," Chase said, his grip tightening enough that I felt my pulse jump under his fingers. Beer and cheap cologne rolled off him in a wave. "I asked you a question, sweetheart."

My eyes darted around the empty diner; first to the kitchen door forty feet away, then to the cold coffee pot on the burner behind me.

My free hand twitched toward it on instinct so I could land something on his face. But Chase had my other wrist locked too tight for me to reach anything.

"Let go of me," I said calmly, even as my heart slammed against my ribs.

"Or what?"

The bell over the door didn’t jangle this time. It just banged open, hard enough to swing back on itself.

Chase’s friends were the first to notice. The guy with the menu went pale and straightened up, while the quiet one just muttered something that sounded a lot like, "Oh, hell no."

A shadow fell across the booth. A hand, bigger than Chase’s and scarred from three seasons on the ice, clamped down on his wrist with such force that his entire arm went rigid, and his fingers instantly released my skin.

"Take your hands off her," Knox said, "before I break your fingers."