SHE: A Collection of One Shots [H.S.]

001. Tom's Diner

Chapter song:

Tom's Diner (Cover) by AnnenMayKantereit, Giant Rooks

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Essex, Connecticut

May 4, 1993

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"Evenin', Al. The usual?" Harry asks his regular customer as he sits down at the bar.

The diner is quiet, which isn't unusual for a Tuesday right before closing time, with no customers aside from Al in the whole place.

"Just a coffee tonight, I've got a long drive ahead of me," the stout man responds, lifting his brown hat that's soaking from the rain to place it on the bar in front of him. "It's comin' down out there."

Harry reaches under the counter to take one of the cream-colored mugs resting on the drying mat, and turns around to fill the cup from the pot of coffee sitting on the warmer. "Sure is," he agrees, placing the glass pot back in its spot and setting the mug in front of Al. "Where are you off to?"

"Delaware," he sniffs, adding a touch of creamer to the steaming coffee in front of him. He takes a long sip from the mug before smoothing out the thick mustache above his top lip. "Droppin' off a big shipment."

Harry hums, nodding his head in response. "Bit of a late start," he chuckles, looking up at the old Kit Cat clock hanging on the yellowed wall. It's nearly ten o'clock at night, about thirty minutes or so until the diner closes.

The older man shakes his head, keeping his hands firmly around the mug. "I don't mind it," he shrugs. "Gives me somethin' to do."

Harry stays quiet, and leans down to grab the wet rag out of the disinfectant bucket by his feet. He begins wiping the counter in an attempt to look busy. He finished all of his closing tasks hours ago, and with it being so slow, the only thing he can do is look busy.

Tom's Diner is rarely ever fast-paced, even on weekends. Most of the time it's just Harry working; he cooks, he cleans, and he serves five days a week. He doesn't mind the work, but it seems as if working is all he does; he hardly has time for anything else. The only social interaction he finds during the week is talking with Al whenever he stops by.

"Could I get a refill, my boy?" Al asks kindly, sliding his empty mug across the counter.

Harry obliges with a smile, pouring what's left of the pot of coffee into the cup. After handing it back to the man, he walks into the kitchen to set the empty pot in the sink to wash later.

When he steps out from behind the red, swinging door, Al ushers him over with a wave. "Sorry to bug ya, you're out of creamer," he informs Harry, handing him the empty carafe.

"Sorry about that Al, let me get you some more," he apologizes, taking the metal container to get him a fresh one.

Just as he turns to walk to the fridge, the small bell above the front door rings throughout the nearly-empty restaurant, causing him to turn his head towards the sound. Harry's eyes widen when he sees the woman in the tight black dress walk in, his heart skipping a beat.

Veronica.

She usually comes in with a man Harry presumes is her boyfriend, but tonight she's all alone, and looking as if she's dressed for a night out. Her long, blonde hair is damp from the rain, with only a few curls still holding, and she's wearing tall, red heels that define her legs. He can't help but notice the way her dress accentuates her hourglass figure, the tight material falling just above her knees.