“Absolutely.”
“Come on, then.” I lead him to the back hallway and point at the industrial-sized mop and rolling bucket.
“Knock yourself out,” I say with a chuckle.
“I’m on it.” He whistles as he rolls the bucket toward the front door.
The next hour is busy, but around four in the morning things finally settle down. Most of the truckers have either left or gone to their trucks for a nap, and no one that’s left is ordering food.
One of my regulars heads for the front door pausing to call over his shoulder, “Goin’ to get some shuteye, Summer. If you need to take a nap or anything, you know which truck is mine. Feel free to join me.”
“Sure thing, Roscoe,” I smile sweetly, wiggling my phone at him. “Right after I call Martha and ask her if it’s okay.”
His ears turn red and he shrugs as the room fills with laughter. “Hey, ya can’t blame a guy for tryin’.”
“How many times a night do you hear a line like that?” Blue Eyes, who told me his name is Tate, asks quietly.
“At least a dozen,” I reply with a shrug. “I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t have to get used to being harassed,” he says.
Who is this guy?
“Were you raised by nuns?” I ask, cocking my head.
He laughs. “Nuns?”
“Well, yeah. You’re cute, helpful, and have manners. I can’t even remember the last time I met a guy with those traits.”
“No nuns,” he says. “Just parents who were very strict about manners.”
“Well, the next time you talk to them, tell them how much I appreciate them raising a nice man.”
He smiles, his eyes meeting mine. “I’m sure my mom will appreciate hearing it.”
Just then, there’s a crack of thunder loud enough to shake the whole building and a second later, the electricity goes out.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter.
“This night just keeps getting better and better,” Tate says, shaking his head.
“I think that’s my cue to get some sleep,” one of the truckers calls out. “Money’s on the counter, Summer.”
“Kitchen is officially closed.” Brent comes out of the kitchen with his hands on his hips.
“All right, everybody,” I yell. “I need you to settle up. Any credit cards I’ll have to run by hand, unless the lights come back up sometime soon.”
There’s a flurry of activity for the next fifteen minutes as I make change and write down credit card numbers. By five o’clock the place is empty except for me, Brent, Tate, and his friends. Angus, the one who was refilling coffee earlier, pulls two hundred dollar bills out of his wallet and hands them to me. “Don’t worry about the change,” he says.
“Oh, no! That’s too much,” I protest. “Especially since you guys were so helpful tonight.”
He waves a hand. “Nah… It’s my good deed for the day.”
“Is it okay if we hang out for a while, though?” Tate asks quietly. “We’ve been trying to get an Uber for over an hour and there’s nothing.”
“You’ll be lucky to get an Uber around here when there’s no storm. Forget about it in this kind of weather.” I shake my head. “And sure, you can hang out as long as you like.”
I look around the diner, taking in the dirty tables and disaster of a counter and let out a little sigh. Nothing I can do about that now, since the dishwasher won’t work without electricity. Luckily, I washed a load of silverware before the lights went out so at least I can roll it before the breakfast crew arrives.
