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The only comfort on this cold, miserable, rainy night was the steaming cup of coffee the waiter set down in front of me.
I hadn't even ordered it yet. I waited to see if he'd bring over the slice of pie I was thinking about and then laughed at myself. Reality didn't work like that.
"Care to share what's got a chuckle out of you on such a bleak night?" the waiter asked.
Tall and slim, his dark hair looked like it had lost a fight with a hedge clipper. Not that I cared. Not with that particular twinkle in his hazel eyes.
The rain hit the diner's windowpanes like a depressed dairy hand crying over spoiled milk. Steady and dreary. It fit my mood.
What was I doing here, in this 24-hour diner at this time of night? Trying to make a life-changing decision? Hardly. That would have made my life interesting.
"What brings you here?" Hazel eyes asked.
"I must be here for the coffee. Assuming it doesn't taste like burnt mud." I tried to smile, but I don't think I succeeded.
I decided to stick with honesty. There was just something about Hazel eyes that made me want to drop the bullshit. "Been on the road since Albuquerque. I got tired of driving in the rain, and I saw your Open sign."
"I think you'll find my coffee's a lot better than mud." He tapped his name badge. "Call me John."
"Your badge says, Beth."
"Yeah. Well, it was her night to work, but she's got a sick kid at home. I told her I'd fill in. You go ahead and drink up. There's plenty more where that came from."
I didn't expect much. I've drunk a lot of pisspoor coffee in my day. Working the night shift will do that to you. You really do get used to the taste of burnt grounds and watered-down sludge.
My first sip was a pleasant surprise. I didn't realize I'd nearly finished it until I heard the whisper of sneakers on the tile floor. I looked up to see John with the coffee pot in his hand, ready to refill my cup.
Even now, I don't know what made me say it. I'm not fond of people, and I hate chitchat. Maybe it was the rain. Hey, it's as good an explanation as any.
"I wouldn’t mind some company. If you needed to get off your feet for a while." I could feel the back of my neck heat. Like I said, I'm not good with people. Even to my own ears, that sounded like a cheap pick-up line.
"Well, I might, but you haven't told me your name."
"Rodney. Dr. Rodney McKay."
To my surprise, John grabbed another cup and two pieces of apple pie. Sliding into the seat across from me, he pushed one of the pieces of pie over to me. "I haven't taken my break yet, and you look like you could use it."
We talked. An actual civil conversation. You might not know it to look at me, but I don't have many of those.
The rain began letting up, and I needed to get back on the road. I had no plans to be back this way again, and I'm embarrassed to say, realizing that left a heavy feeling in my chest.
I got up to leave and left a twenty on the table. John frowned. "You kept me from being bored tonight. Consider the pie and coffee on the house."
John tried to make me take the money back, and for a minute there, I thought we were going to have a tug of war over Andrew Jackson. His fingers were on one end of the bill, and mine on the other. I'd only have to slide my hand forward a couple of inches to touch him. Was I that brave? Turned out, I was.
Time froze at nine minutes past midnight.