I stared up at the Barney's Diner sign, feeling defeated before I'd even begun my shift.

Barney's was the oldest diner in the whole of Pinewood, opened in 1945 by Roy's grandfather, Barney, though the decor had changed considerably since then. At this time of night, the red neon sign was the only thing to be seen for miles, a beacon for those who were only ever just passing through.

Nobody wanted to stay too long in a town like Pinewood; it was a place of empty promises and broken dreams. A town you passed through and never looked back on.

Reluctantly, I pushed open the double doors and crossed the diner, giving Roy a tight smile as I passed him out back.

"Stacy's called in sick again," he said irritably, reaching into his pocket before throwing me a set of keys. I caught them with one hand, knowing what this meant before Roy even had the chance to say it. "You're locking up."

"Roy," I said calmly, though inside I could feel my agitation growing. "You know I can't stay late. I have school tomorrow."

Roy looked up from his phone then, his eyes narrowing considerably. "You're a waitress, Meg. That means you're required to work shifts, not work whenever Meg feels like it."

I clenched my jaw, gripping the set of keys in the palm of my hand. No matter how much I wanted to jam them down Roy's throat, I simply smiled and slipped on my apron, as if staying late was no problem at all.

One more year, Meg. One more year and then you're out of here for good.

With one waitress down and Roy deciding to cut out early, it was the hardest shift I'd had in a long time, only made worse when a gang of bikers decided to make Barney's diner their next pit stop.

There were twelve of them in total, eight men and four women, all dressed head to toe in leather and covered in silver chains that glistened under the diner's sconce lamps. It was always a major hassle to serve large groups, and Lacy and I hovered out back when we saw them walk in, arguing about who was going to waitress their table.

"You're more equipped to deal with bullshit," Lacy said, tucking a wad of blonde hair behind her ear as she peered through the door at the bikers.

I pressed my own eyes to the window of the door, watching as the bikers settled down into the booths. Lacy was right, my bullshit tolerance meter was exceptionally high, and I'd perfected the art of biting my tongue and keeping a smile on my face, but tonight? Tonight the meter was down to forty-five, and Roy was the man to blame.

"You've been here longer," I pointed out, stepping away from the door and giving her a look. "You've got more experience."

It wasn't so much that I was scared of serving the bikers, I just didn't have the patience tonight to deal with such a large, unruly group of diners, and I feared if somebody got on my nerves that I'd do something to get myself fired.

"You're prettier than me," Lacy replied, tearing her eyes away from the window and focusing them on me. "They're more inclined to be nicer to you."

"Now we're just clutching at straws," I said drily, reaching into my apron before pulling out my pen. "You owe me."

Her bright, wide smile was the last thing I saw before I sauntered across the diner, my heart steadily pounding away in my chest.

"Welcome to Barney's," I said when I got to them, my eyes quickly skimming the group. They'd spread themselves over two back to back booths and were all looking up at me as if I'd just flown down from another planet.

One of the older men, with a long white beard wearing blacked out glasses, nudged the younger one beside him before nodding in my direction. The younger one grinned knowingly in response before raising a perfectly arched eyebrow.

I gritted my teeth. Lacy owed me big time. "What can I get you guys?"  I asked with a pleasant smile.

"What are you offering, darlin'?" the younger one asked in a southern drawl, his question directed not at me, but at my ample cleavage in my Barney's diner blouse.

"We offer everything that's on the menu in front of you," I said politely, fixing my green eyes on his. He couldn't have been much older than me, but he had the eyes of a man far older than his years. "I assume you can read?"

The bearded man next to him let out a loud guffaw, his mouth spread so wide I could see just how many teeth he was missing. A lot. "She's sassy, Richie." He grinned to the younger one, raising his sunglasses before fixing his icy gaze on mine. I tried to stop myself from recoiling as my eyes honed in on his left one, the one so mangled and cloudy that it looked as though someone had tried to cut it out. "You'd make a fine Ritori, lass."

I had no idea what a Ritori was, but I was certain I didn't want to be one, and as the women of the table shot daggers at me through their garish makeup and the men leered appreciatively, my meter shot down to a firm thirty percent.

Lacy walked past then, carrying two circular trays of food for another table. She gave me a sympathetic look when our eyes met, a look I could only glare at in response. Behind me, the door of the diner swung open and I clenched my jaw, half turning to see how many diners were going to be adding to an already stressful shift.

Something in my stomach sank when I saw it was just one, because even though it made my job easier, it was a diner I didn't particularly want to see.

Nate.

+++

What's everyone else's B.S meter like? I think mine's broken 😂

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