paper rings (l.h.)

47

Seven days later

I stood at the front door to the diner, the red brick and green-and-white striped awning was bright in the summer sun. The tables outside were already filled with farmers and their loved ones, their tables covered in pancakes and coffee, bacon and grits — this was my second stop of the day. The first, hand in my two weeks at the bookstore.

I had finally dragged myself out of bed long enough to shower, comb my hair, and try to use my makeup to hide the remnants of me missing Luke, wishing he was around. He called me like he said he would — every lunch break, every breakfast and dinner. If I closed my eyes, he was beside me. It was only when I woke up shivering and alone did I realize he was half a continent away.

The door handle was cold against my pink-painted fingernails, my hand gripping it and pulling it open to hear a bell jingle against the wood. The door, like the rest of the building, was old. Original. Just like the bookstore, and every other building in this town. The floor seemed to creak under each step I took, the scent of bacon and pancakes and onions and peppers hit my nose, made my stomach growl. "Table for one?" I heard a voice ask, sweet and southern. I turned to find her behind me, a black, flour-covered apron tied around her waist.

"No," I clear my throat, pulling a folder out of the tote bag I slung down my shoulder. I retrieved my (incredibly empty) résumé, and prayed she didn't mind the lack of restaurant experience. "I looking for a job, and was hoping you'd have a position available?"

She looks me up and down as she scans the piece of paper. Pulling a pair of glasses from her apron pocket, she reads my name out loud. Only now did I get a chance to see her green eyes, blonde hair pulled back into a pony tail. The diner was alive, forks scraping against plates, and spoons against coffee cups. I looked down at my feet as she examined my résumé. "We aren't hiring full time. Just part time. Thirty hours a week."

I shift on my feet. "I could do that."

She nods, glancing back down at the sheet of paper in her hands. "Where are you from, sweetie?"

"I'm from Kansas City," I say proudly, as if I don't feel like I've lived my entire life in this town already. I am more at home here than I ever was in Missouri.

"And what are you doing here?" She scoffs, once again trying to read me as I play with the necklace I received a few days back. No one here would know I was just swarmed with paps with my boyfriend at the airport, or that I attended the Grammy's with him. Luke was right, this was the perfect town to hide in.

"Tired of the city," I shrug, not wanting to give her the full explanation. Who had the time, truly? "Wanted some quiet."

"You found it," she nods, grabbing a stack of menus and shoving my résumé into her apron pocket. "I'll give this to Ernie whenever I see him again."

"Thank you," I nod, before jogging back towards the bike I had laid against the side of the building, my basket full of eggs and vegetables I still had to swap out at the market. Crisp, Autumn breezes floated through the air as the Summertime was coming to an end. My denim blue jeans that sat high on my waist, and my white shirt was just airy enough to keep me from sweating.

My exposed shoulders burned anyway despite the lack of heat, my freckles increasing by the minutes as I baked under the hot July sun. The town square had plenty of old trees, some much older than the town itself. I hid in the shade as much as I could, swapping out the items I had with me for okra, blueberries, raspberries, and of course the first apples of the season.

I tried not to look towards the bookstore, at my departure that was long awaited but much needed. I didn't recognize the figure staring out the window, waiting for patrons to visit. Sooner or later they'll realize that such patrons don't exist: just hot rockstars that were dumped just down the street after rehab.