Here Lies the Lives Left at the Altar (On Hold)

Chapter Three

Archer

The restaurant we're at isn't my first choice. Or my second.

It's a twenty-four hour retro style diner with the wait staff on rollerblades. The floors are littered in a checker pattern, skid marks from the waiters all over it. The tables are white and glossy surrounded by large red cushioned booth seats. The walls are a mustard yellow that sort of hurt your eyes. There's even a god damn jukebox in the corner of the diner, and for some reason, I'm not surprised when I see Rosie's large eyes locked on it with excitement. It's playing some upbeat, old song that I can't remember the name of.

Rosie momentarily battles with her wedding gown, punching at the poofiness in order to fit it into the tight booth. I watch silently as she gathers it up, pushes it beneath her body, and sits on top of it. She's perched up higher in her seat from the dress, and she flashes me a smile.

This girl smiles a lot.

"Hello!" a waitress greets us as she skates over, her energy threatening to burst through the seams of her retro uniform. It's a teal dress with puffy shoulder sleeves and large white buttons that go from top to bottom. There's a small white apron that held a notepad and a variety of pens and straws. "What can I get for you two?"

Rosie looks towards me and I nod, nonverbally telling her to go first. "Can I please have... chocolate chip pancakes and a vanilla milkshake?"

"Sure thing, and for you?" she continues, scribbling down the order.

"Uh," I begin, scanning the menu again, "the classic burger and a coffee. Thanks."

The waitress takes our menus and skates off towards the kitchen, placing the written down order on the counter.

"So, I know you're into stealing cars," Rosie starts with a mischievous look on her face, "but what else? Tell me about yourself."

I groan. "I wasn't stealing your car, I thought it was mine. We have the same car and you left the keys where I always put them."

"You know how ridiculous that sounds, right?" she asks with a gentle laugh.

"You don't seem mad about it," I point out.

"I'm not huge on driving, I didn't mind the lift," Rosie quips, shrugging innocently. "But really, tell me about yourself, car thief."

I let out a sound that's a mixture of a scoff and a chuckle. "You first."

"Well, I'm recently single," she confesses with a smirk and another laugh escapes my mouth before I can stop it. Her eyes light up when she heard the noise.

"I guess that's one word for it."

"I have a sister, she's like my best friend," Rosie goes on, eyes upwards as if remembering a carefully curated list. She then locks eyes with me again, head turned down slightly. Her next words are low, as if a scandalous secret, "Honestly, I don't really love my job."

I roll my eyes. "Let me guess, big job in the city that you just can't get away from."

A coy look crosses her face. "Actually, I'm a writer. A very successful one, in fact."

This girl continues to surprise me. She doesn't seem like the type of girl to run from the altar. And her demeanor doesn't scream "author", but now that I know, I can see it. I can picture her slumped over her computer, writing cheesy love stories with pristine characters that only ever have happy endings.

"Anything I'd know?" I ask, slightly intrigued.

"Unless you read the most boring love stories to ever be written," she says with a twinge of bitterness in her voice. "I don't even know why I do it still, to be honest. I can't remember the last time I was proud of something I wrote."