Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“That would be really cool.”
I took a sip of coffee before asking, “Can I bring you anything else to eat? You haven’t even seen the menu yet, because I wanted you to try some of my favorite dishes.”
“I’m very full, and everything was delicious. Thank you.”
He pulled a money clip from his pocket, and I asked, “What are you doing? You’re my guest, and if you think I’m going to let you pay for anything, you’re nuts.”
He placed a pair of hundred-dollar bills on the counter and grinned at me. “This is a tip for my extremely hot waiter.”
I sighed and pocketed the money. “I’m only taking this because I know it’s impossible to talk you out of anything, but I’m going to use it to buy you a nice dinner this weekend. Have you decided what we’re doing?”
Since he enjoyed planning elaborate dates for us, I left it in his hands and let him surprise me. But I also tried to do things for him in return—as much as I possibly could, despite the difference in our financial situations.
“Not yet, but I have a couple of ideas.”
A few minutes later, the last of the diners paid their bills and left. After I bussed the tables, I told Tory, “If you want, I can give you the grand tour now.”
“I’d love that.”
When I showed him the kitchen, he went straight to the back corner and murmured, “Oh, wow.” Over two decades ago, I’d painted the words “Kit’s Corner” on the wall, along with a childish-looking landscape of hills, trees, flowers, and a blue sky. Beneath it was a small wooden table, which was covered in layers of ink, paint, glue, and stickers.
“Kit and I lived with my mother the first few years of his life, but she died when he was seven. I couldn’t afford childcare, and there was no one else to watch him after she passed. So Frank, the diner’s last owner, let Kit come here and hang out every day after school. My son literally grew up here.” I thought about it and said, “I guess we both did.”
“I don’t think I fully understood what this place meant to you until I saw this.” He traced the blocky lettering on the wall. “It makes more sense now—the long hours, your total dedication to this place. It’s home.”
“It is. That’s why I had to buy it when Frank told me he was retiring. It was a real stretch financially, even though he sold it to me far below market value. But there was no way I could let it shut down.”
He turned to me and said, “I was surprised when I pulled up out front and saw the sign. I never knew it was called Sal’s Place, which was startling since that’s what almost everyone calls me. What’s the story behind that name?”
“The diner was built by a Ukrainian immigrant named Sally Melnyk, who named it after herself. She and her family ran it for over fifty years. Frank didn’t have the heart to change the name when he bought it from her grandson after she passed. I didn’t either, when I bought it. It’s funny though, it never occurred to me that you’d see a connection to your name, because to me, you’re not Sal. You’re my Tory.”
He grinned and said, “That I am.” Then he pointed at a doorway and asked, “Is that your office?”
“Yes, and it’s the last stop on the tour, unless you’ve always wanted to see the inside of a walk-in refrigerator.”
“I’ll pass on that one, thanks.”
We went into my office, and he looked around curiously as he said, “I’ve seen bits and pieces on our video calls, but it’s nice to get the full picture.” He circled around behind the desk, sat in my chair, and looked at my framed photos. Most of them were of my son and me, but the newest was of Tory and me dressed in red jumpsuits, posing in front of one of the cars at the driving school. He picked up the photo and murmured, “I love that you have this on display.”
“It’s a great memory.”
“For me, too.”
“We should go back out front. My cook keeps an eye on the dining room through the pass-through when I’m not out there, but it’s almost time for him to go home.”
“And at what point are you planning to eat dinner?”
As usual, it hadn’t even occurred to me to eat something. But to make him happy, I said, “Right now.” I went into the kitchen and served myself a cup of corn chowder.
Tory hung out in a booth until closing time, sipping coffee and visiting with me, in between all the random tasks I had to do each night. We didn’t get any more customers, and at ten p.m., I flipped the sign to closed, cut half the lights, and locked the front door. He got up and helped me close the blinds on all the windows. Then he swept me up, sat me on the edge of a table, and said, “Alone at last.”