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Chapter Two

Friday, June 15, 2018

The sign containing the words Employees Only flashes before my eyes as I push the side entrance door of the High Street Diner open.

"Good morning, Kai!" is shouted over the noises of the kitchen several times after I step inside. I move around my fellow employees, greeting each of them in turn with a smile.

Going through the morning routine of working at the diner- taking orders, picking up plates, delivering food, clearing dirty dishes, and wiping down tables once customers have left- feels naturally to me. That is astonishing, particularly because I've only worked here for about three weeks.

I drop the dirty rag I was recently using to scrub a table and a sloshing bottle full of cleaning solution in the bin next to the large metal sink in the kitchen. I then move to deliver a couple plates that are waiting to be served on the ledge of the window placed between the cooking and eating areas of the diner.

I set two identical plates of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of an old man and his wife and deliver three plates piled high with pancakes to a very exhausted-looking woman sitting with three young children. After shooting the mother a sympathetic smile, I head to a table in the far corner of the cozy diner where a new customer just sat down.

I don't look up at the individual, even as I near their table, preoccupied with pulling the notepad that I scribble orders on out of the deep pocket of my apron.

"Welcome to the High Street Diner. What can I get—" I stop speaking abruptly when I finally glance up.

"No way," I say.

The boy who was previously staring at the menu in his hands looks up at me with blue eyes, confused. I smile.

"Daniel Seavey," I say, in a state of disbelief.

What are the chances that of all the places to go in Portland in the morning, he ends up here?

"Kai Merta," he says, an equivalent dose of my emotion evident in his voice. He leans back against the booth. "What are you doing here?"

I gesture at myself, apron and all, and laugh.

"I work here."

"Figured," he says, smiling.

"Kind of seems like you're following me."

"Following you? No," he retorts with a laugh. "I just enjoy starting off the day as soon as the sun rises while my mom and sister like to sleep in. Dad left before I did for work so I decided on an early breakfast and this place is near my house."

"Hmm," I hum, squinting my eyes at him. "Excuses for everything."

He laughs yet again.

"Plus, you probably work everywhere in this city, so I'm going to run into you anyway. I've already found you in the bookstore and here in this diner, so what's next? Volunteering at the animal shelter? Maybe the grocery store?"

I wave a hand at him, grinning, and he stops rambling, amused with his own humor.

"No," I say, "just two jobs. And the reasoning behind needing to do that in itself is a long story."

Daniel obviously doesn't know how to respond to what I just said, so he just sits and nods. I realize how sharp of a turn I just plunged our conversation into.

"You really must be an early bird," I say, changing the topic as quickly as I can, glancing at my watch. "It's only 7:40."

"Well, you've probably been up for a while too," he says.

"That's an understatement," I laugh. "I've been up since five."

"Five?" he repeats.

"Yeah, I love to run, so that's what I do before work in the mornings."

"Wow," he says, admiration apparent in his eyes. "You even do it by choice."

I laugh a little.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, of course, are you just here visiting? Either that or you've been hiding in your house for a couple years because I haven't seen you at all."

The areas around his eyes crinkle in amusement as he smiles.

"No, I don't mind you asking and, yes, I'm just visiting. I'm home from L.A. for a little over one week to see my family."

"L.A.," I say, quite surprised. "Why did you move there in the first place? Again, don't answer me if I'm prying into your personal business."

The last part comes out in a rush; I'm always nervous that I'll make a bad first impression with someone I'm not entirely close to.

Daniel laughs and that stupid blush threatens to flare behind my cheeks yet again.

"What?" I say timidly, with a gentle laugh.

"Oh, nothing bad. You're just so polite, it's sweet. Seriously, you don't have to keep worrying about how we're talking. We're good. Ask me anything you want," he says.

That eases my anxiety and I immediately feel more comfortable. I nod and he continues.

"I moved to California to be a part of a band with my four best friends."

"Wow," I say stupidly, surprised again. "Like, a singing thing?"

"Yes. We each dabble in playing different instruments but we love singing together. That's our passion."

"That's really amazing," I say, at a loss for words.

Is this boy sitting in front of me... famous? Am I talking to a celebrity?

It doesn't even matter. Be yourself. Don't act differently around him just because of who he may be.

I gather myself and regain my composure.

"I'd really love to continue talking to you, but I'm not exactly supposed to loiter at a customer's table," I say with a laugh.

He nods, understanding.

"So, Mr. Seavey," I begin with a regal tone and grin, "welcome to the High Street Diner. What can I get for you this morning?"