《 WATTY'S SHORTLIST 2021 》━ ❝WELCOME TO HART'S BAY.❞ where opposites attract. featuring » » » an ex-varsity swimmer and a hockey player. a once-wealthy server and a surfer on exchange. a daytime cashier and her nighttime counterpart. | presenting...
a/n: part two, woohoo! thank you for tuning back in! be sure to vote and comment! ♥
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Past the small suburban neighbourhood, a middle-aged couple is preparing to leave the diner on Route 40. They check everything twice like they're closing up for the day.
But their son, as always, is still at the counter.
≈
Cole is sitting next to the cash register, perched on the edge of a stool. His t-shirt is wrinkled and a five o'clock shadow dusts his chin. He's having trouble keeping his eyes open after yet another uneventful night shift, coffee and twenty-minute naps unable to hold him up like they used to.
The only thing that keeps him awake is the tune running through his mind: Don't Hold Me by Dean Lewis, the latest addition to his ever-growing playlist.
♫ Have you ever wished you could rewind? Pick up all the pieces of the life you left behind.♫
His wrist moves—he's trying to work out the strumming pattern. It's the kind of song he wishes he could write, but he'd settle for being able to play it.
If he ever had the chance to try, that is.
"You'll stay here," His dad is telling him, snapping him back into the present. "Keep it open until we come back?"
It isn't so much as a question as it is an order. Cole continues to stare out the window and, sure enough, his dad moves on to checking the dials on the stovetops without waiting for a response.
He answers nevertheless, "What if I said, no?"
"What?" His dad turns to him with a crease in his brow.
"What if I said I'm not staying?"
"Is this a hypothetical?"
Cole shrugs. "Sure."
"I would tell you, you need to."
Boyd's mouth opens as if he has something more to add. Then closes as if he's said too much already.
His answer is exactly what Cole expected. Exactly why he used to come back to the diner straight after school: to take orders, wash the dishes, restock the pantry, and do whatever it was that his parents needed that day.
But he's never asked for a reason. Not out loud, at least. And he supposes he's never thought to ask for one, even on a rainy afternoon when the diner is near-empty and silent and he's staring out the windows and thinking of Alendale again—and the relentless insistence of an annoying daytime cashier that he shouldn't have to stay and work.
"It would make more sense to close—" starts Cole.
He's trying to reason but his dad is already shaking his head, unwilling to listen. "But you're here."
