The diner smelled like nostalgia -bacon grease, burnt coffee, and just a hint of something sweet like cinnamon. She led me inside, her pace slower this time, more thoughtful.

“Here, let me help you sit,” she said when we reached a booth.

I waved her off with a small smile. “I’m not that much of an invalid,” I said lightly. “Don’t worry, I can seat myself.”

The words hung awkwardly for a moment, but I smiled to take the sting out of them. I slid into the booth, my hand brushing against the cool pleather of the seat.

The scent of fake maple syrup hit me hard, mixing with the saccharine smell of overly sweet fruit spreads. My fingers brushed the edge of the metal condiments holder on the table, sticky from who-knows-how-many pancake syrup bottles. Curious, I touched my fingers to my tongue.

Boom. Nailed it. Syrup.

Across from me, I heard her sit down. The shuffle of fabric and the faint clink of her bag hitting the seat told me she was fidgeting. She hadn’t spoken since we walked in, and the tension was beginning to feel like another person at the table.

“You’re fidgeting,” I said casually, leaning back against the seat. “What’s up?”

She let out a soft laugh, the sound short and uncertain. “Sorry. I just… I guess I’m still processing everything.”

“Take your time,” I said, giving her an out. “This isn’t exactly a normal Tuesday for me either.”

She laughed again, this time a little more freely. “That’s an understatement.” Though she practically vibrated with tension.

“Hey, it’s alright,” I said gently, leaning forward slightly. “Let’s just order something, and we can talk, yeah?”

She nodded, but I could tell from the tightness of her posture on the noisy seat cushion that she was still uneasy. Her fingers drummed a nervous rhythm on the table, an erratic tapping against the surface. I knew better than to dive into anything heavy before food arrived. No one makes good decisions on an empty stomach.

I held up a hand and motioned toward a passing waitress, catching her just before she vanished behind the counter.

“Yeah, hon?” she asked, her tone flat, with the unmistakable weariness of someone halfway through a grueling shift. “Can I get you some coffee to start?”

“Thank you…” I paused, tilting my head toward her as though trying to read her name tag. Of course, I couldn’t see it, but I hoped she’d fill in the blank.

“Doris, hon,” she said, her voice softening slightly.

“Doris! What a lovely name,” I said with a smile. “I’ll take a cup of coffee, black, with ice, and a glass of pineapple juice if you’ve got it.”

I turned expectantly toward Jinx, who hesitated just long enough for me to lower my sunglasses and wiggle my eyebrows. The move was dramatic, ridiculous, and effective. She broke into a small, reluctant smile.

“Umm, could I have an Earl Grey tea and a large orange juice? And… I think we’re ready to order, actually.”

Doris straightened, pen poised over her pad. “Go ahead, dear.”

Jinx rattled off her order with the precision of someone who already knew what they wanted: a double stack of the famous blueberry French toast she’d mentioned, a side of eggs over easy, sausage, and hash browns.

When Doris disappeared toward the kitchen, Jinx turned her full attention back to me, confusion practically radiating off her. Her brows knitted together, and her lips pressed into a tight line.

Stolen story; please report.

“What was that?” she asked, the words spilling out before she could filter them. “I thought you couldn’t see?”

“Oh, I can’t.”

“Then how did you…” She gestured vaguely toward where Doris had been standing. Her hands moved as if she was trying to mime some abstract explanation.

I leaned back and smiled. “Pretty easy. I could smell her perfume and hear her heart beating. I just pointed my attention in her direction and faked it. She’s been working all day and probably didn’t even notice.”

Her mouth opened slightly, then closed again as she processed that. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I guess that makes sense… sort of. But what do you mean you could hear her heart beating?”

I shrugged, trying to downplay it. “Enhanced senses. Part of the whole... thing we’re going to talk about. But first, let’s eat.”

As if on cue, Doris returned, her shoes squeaking slightly on the linoleum, balancing a tray with practiced ease. She set our drinks on the table -my iced coffee and pineapple juice, her tea and orange juice- then smiled down at me. “Your order’s in,” she said. “Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes. Anything else I can get you?”

I reached for her hand gently, clasping it between both of mine. “Just this,” I said, giving her a warm squeeze. “Thanks for taking such good care of us.”

Her demeanor shifted, her tired features lighting up in a way that made me feel like I’d just given her the tip of a lifetime. “Well, aren’t you sweet?” she said with a grin before heading off.

“Now,” I said, turning back to Charlie. “Where were we? Oh yeah. First things second. My name’s Declan. What’s yours?”

I extended my hand across the table, keeping it well above the drinks.

She blinked, startled by the sudden formality, then smiled softly. “Charlie,” she said, slipping her hand into mine. “But my friends call me Jinx.”

Her hand was small and soft, her grip light but steady. It wasn’t the hand of someone who worked with machines or hard tools. It felt like the hand of an artist, someone used to delicate precision.

“Jinx, huh?” I said, holding onto her hand just a beat longer before letting go. “Fitting under the circumstances. Nice to meet you, Jinx. You don’t mind if I call you friend, do you?”

She laughed -a snort that she tried to stifle with her hand, which only made it more endearing. Reminding me of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. “Of course not, Declan.”

“Good,” I said with a smile.

She picked up one of the cream packets from the condiment caddy and began to fidget with it, turning it over and over between her fingers. The silence stretched, but I didn’t feel the need to fill it. Instead, I let the quiet hang there, waiting.

“So…” I said finally, letting the single word linger like an unfinished thought.

Jinx looked up, her fidgeting pausing for a brief moment. She shifted in her seat, and I could almost hear the gears turning in her head. Charlie leaned forward. I could hear the slight creak of the table under her weight. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“So… what happened to you? I mean… after the club,” she asked in a rush, the words tumbling over each other. “How are you here? How did you find me? I thought you were-”

“Whoa, slow down,” I interrupted, holding up a hand. “I was kind of hoping you could help me out there. I don’t know exactly what happened. All I know is, I saw a girl in trouble and decided to play the brave knight. Got my ass handed to me for my trouble.”

I reached up, absently touching the scar that peeked out from the edge of my sunglasses. The memory of that night flashed in my mind -chaotic, bloody, and far too vivid.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. How much could I tell her without sending her running for the hills? “It’s a long story,” I said finally. “Let’s just say things got messy.”

Her silence encouraged me to continue, so I did, giving her a carefully edited version of events -enough to satisfy her curiosity without diving into the full horror show. When I was done, she sat back, letting out a slow breath.

“That’s… a lot,” she said finally.

“Tell me about it,” I said, trying to inject some levity. “And that’s the PG version.”

Jinx’s expression softened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. You didn’t even know me.”

“Yeah, well,” I said, shrugging. “You looked like you could use the help. And honestly, I’m not great at sitting on the sidelines.”

She smiled faintly, her eyes dropping back to the cream packet in her hand. “Still. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” I said. And somehow, I meant it.

Our food arrived then, the plates filling the air with the comforting scent of butter, syrup, and sizzling breakfast meats. Doris set everything down with a flourish, and for a few minutes, we ate in comfortable silence.

“So,” I said between bites of delicious French toast. Seriously, the French toast was as good as she promised -sweet, sticky, and loaded with blueberries that burst like little explosions of flavor. “What about you? How’ve you been holding up?”

Jinx hesitated, her fork pausing halfway to her mouth. “I’ve been… okay, I guess,” she said. “That night was… a lot. But I’ve been trying to move forward, you know? One step at a time.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” I said, nodding. “Anything you need to talk about?”

She hesitated again, then shook her head. “Not right now,” she said quietly. “But… maybe later.”

“Fair enough,” I said, giving her an easy smile. “No rush.”

For the first time, her fidgeting paused. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and the tension in her voice eased. Maybe, just maybe, we were starting to make progress.