Here Comes a Regular

The bacon is still hissing on the plate, he smiles at her through the mix of smoke from his ash tray and steam from the coffee. His regular waitress sets down the plate as she smiles back. He coughs rather loudly as she walks away to get her attention. She grins to herself; she'd been waiting for this. She hides her grin and turns back to face him. He asks what time she gets off work.

Later that night she dusts off the last table and turns off all the lights. A shadow moves across the wall in front of her. She jumps and turns around. She lets out a sigh of relief; it's him. She holds up a finger to tell him to hold on and she darts to the back. She shuts off the last of the lights and walks back to the door, keys in hand. She unlocks the door and slinks past him, deliberately brushing against his coat as she locks the door and coyly backs away from him as they walk off into the night.

The owners are puzzled by her absence the next day. She hasn't taken so much as a sick day before. They call, but no answer. They shrug it off for the time being; she's probably under the weather. The next day she isn't there. Another waitress swings by her apartment, but it's empty. They put a "help wanted sign" on the window. It takes a few weeks but eventually they take it back down.

He takes his usual table. A waitress from a different shift has it now. He cocks his head at her, making sure she notices, but says nothing except to order his food and coffee. When it arrives he asks about his regular waitress. She tells him she left, and gives her dimestore novel theory about her running off with some wealthy socialite from the city. It takes everything he has to keep himself from laughing.