Lost (in Your Emerald Eyes)

F I V E

It wasn't until a bit more than a week later that she noticed him watching her. The Monday started like every other day she was working; cleaning up a bit, getting her trays of desserts baking, and serving the old couple that was always awake the earliest, and usually her first customers of the day.

But then, as the clock ticked and the sun started moving from the center of the sky to back down again, Jones made his entrance into the diner, as almost every day. He nodded at her in greeting, Betty smiling back, and then took a seat in his regular booth; one a bit away from the public eye, but still clearly seeable from her position behind the counter.

She served him, almost digging up the courage to ask for his name—the real one, not the family name—but then failing when his eyes moved to his regular cup of coffee, away from her. Betty told him to call her if anything more was needed, and he nodded, as usual, letting her return to her job.

The diner wasn't busy on Mondays though, especially at this hour when people had just eaten their lunch and only ordering coffee and pie, so Betty didn't have much to do. She wiped the counters, watched how Pop went home from his long shift, knowing he'd be returning in a few hours and was just about to go into the kitchen to make a fresh pie, only to realize not all of it had been eaten just yet.

She simply didn't have anything to do (besides pushing down the urge to eat a slice of it, of course). So, her mind once again wandered to the beanie-wearing Serpent in a lonely booth that seemed to love being alone and observing people.

He had a character to him that she hadn't frequently met before... He was a bit moody sometimes, usually not saying much, and only smiled around the pink-haired girl that either had to be his girlfriend or best friend. Maybe both.

Betty was intrigued by him. He didn't act like a total jerk as her parents had tried to warn her for her whole childhood. She had seen him smoking outside of the diner, next to his motorcycle, but he never did inside like some of these douches from the Southside. She knew it wasn't probably allowed, considering he had to be somewhere around her age, maybe one or two years older.

And then, sighing to herself, leaving the skin around her fingernail alone and dropping her hand to the counter, Betty looked up to his direction. She shivered, meeting his greenish-gray eyes staring back at her from the booth, his feet kicked up on the table.

She frowned at the last fact, raising her head a bit more to look him straight into the face. And even though separated by the distance, she spoke, "You shouldn't put your feet on the table."

A smirk appeared on his face; the one that always made her think through the existence of the human race. How could he look so handsome with just a twitch of the left side of his lip? "What are you gonna do about it, princess?"

She huffed at the nickname, rolling her eyes at him. "First, don't call me that. And second, take your feet off the table."

Jughead quirked his eyebrows in her direction, amused by the word exchange between them. "Or what?"

"Or..."

He nodded, arching his eyebrows all the way up now, eyes amused. "Or...?"

Betty scoffed, shaking her head a bit. "You want something more to eat?"

Jughead acknowledged his victory while his head was boiling with the fact that she hadn't been rude to him. She didn't seem to know how to be mean. He was intrigued by that. "Uh, a fresh cup of coffee would be nice."

The blonde nodded immediately and jumped off of her stool, straightening the skirt and the apron before moving to the machine, abruptly stopping once she was there. She poked her head out from behind it, finding him still looking towards her direction, and shivered a bit. "Um, do you like hand-made coffee better?"