Chapter 1

Nia

I arrive at Miller's Diner forty minutes before my shift begins—a personal record. The parking lot sits mostly empty, just a few cars scattered across faded white lines. Fallen leaves skitter across the asphalt in the morning breeze, nature's confetti in amber and crimson swooping in little cyclones.

Inhaling deeply, I fill my lungs with Lakeview's crisp autumn air. It smells like childhood—like memories of jumping into leaf piles and sipping hot chocolate with marshmallows that melted into sweet foam. The scent carries hints of woodsmoke from nearby chimneys and the earthy perfume of fallen leaves decomposing back into the soil.

I pause at the entrance, my hand on the chrome door handle. Through the glass, I can see Margie already setting up behind the counter, her silver-streaked hair tucked under a hairnet. Twenty-six years in this town, and six of them working in this diner—a place that's been more than just a job.

"You planning on coming in, or you just gonna stand there looking pretty all morning?" Margie calls when I finally push through the door, the familiar bell jingling above my head.

"Just soaking in the atmosphere." I grin, making my way behind the counter.

"Well, soak it in while restocking the napkin dispensers." She tosses me a stack of paper napkins, which I catch with practiced ease.

In the back room, my uniform hangs where I left it yesterday—pale blue polyester dress with a white apron. Not exactly high fashion, but it's been a constant in my life while everything else changed. I slip it over my head, the fabric settling against my skin like a second one.

As I button up, I mentally rehearse my pitch for Main Marketing. "I believe my experience in direct customer service has given me unique insights into consumer behavior that translate perfectly to developing marketing strategies..."

I practice in front of the small, spotted mirror, adjusting my posture, straightening my shoulders. The confident woman staring back at me looks ready for a corner office, not a diner shift. Six years of serving coffee and pie while completing online marketing courses at night. Six years of double shifts to pay for certification programs. All leading to tomorrow's interview.

"Your regulars are already asking for you," Margie says when I emerge. "Table six wants to know if you're really leaving them."

"Not until I get the job." I tie my apron with practiced fingers.

The morning unfolds like a well-worn book. I know all the pages by heart—Mr. Peterson and his dry wheat toast, no butter; Linda and her endless coffee refills as she works on her mystery novel; the truckers who stop by like clockwork at eight for the breakfast special.

"So tomorrow's the big day?" Linda asks, pushing her manuscript aside.

"Interview at nine." I refill her mug without being asked. "I'm nervous but ready."

"They'd be fools not to hire you." She squeezes my hand. "Though I'll miss our little chats about character development."

"I'm not moving away, just changing jobs," I remind her, though the pang in my chest suggests something bigger is shifting. These people have watched me grow up, supported my dreams, celebrated my small victories.

By mid-morning, the diner fills with the usual symphony—clinking silverware, sizzling griddle, laughter bubbling over steaming mugs. I move through it all with practiced steps, balancing plates along my arm, remembering who likes extra napkins and who needs their coffee topped off without asking.

The bell chimes, drawing my attention to the door where a couple enters—a young Black woman with box braids cascading down her back and an older white man in a tailored suit. They settle into booth nine, his hand resting protectively on the small of her back.

"Sydney and James," Margie mutters as she passes. "Newly married. She used to work for him before they got entangled. Imagine that!"

I approach their table, notepad ready. "Good morning! Welcome to Miller's."

Sydney beams up at me, her wedding ring catching the light. "Just coffee for now. We're still deciding."

"Take your time." I pour two mugs of coffee, noticing how James watches Sydney with undisguised adoration as she studies the menu. There's something beautiful about their obvious connection that transcends the differences of age and race—a reminder that love finds its own path.

"What would you recommend?" Sydney asks, looking up with bright eyes.

"The blueberry pancakes are worth breaking any diet for," I offer with a conspiratorial wink.

"Sold." She laughs, closing her menu decisively.

"Make that two," James adds, his gaze never leaving her face. "And thank you for not giving us the looks we usually get."

"For the pancakes? They really are that good."

Sydney shakes her head, smiling. "No, for treating us like any other couple."

"Love is love," I say simply, collecting their menus. "And trust me, in this town, there's plenty more interesting gossip than two people who are clearly crazy about each other."

Their happiness follows me back to the counter, a warm reminder of the unexpected connections formed within these walls. As I place their order, I glance around the diner—at the familiar faces, the worn booths, the decades of memories soaked into every surface.

Delivering two plates of pancakes, I'm rewarded with Sydney's delighted gasp. The fluffy stacks glisten with melting butter, blueberry syrup cascading down the sides like purple waterfalls.

"These look incredible," she exclaims, already reaching for her fork.

"Enjoy. I'll check back in a bit."

As I turn away, their intimate hand-squeeze across the table catches my eye. There's something captivating about witnessing the early stages of marriage—that honeymoon period when everything still feels shiny and new. I wonder how it must feel to be Sydney right now—starting a fresh chapter with someone who looks at her like she hung the moon.

Would I ever find that?

I absently wipe down the counter, letting my mind wander to what life might look like after tomorrow's interview. A job at Main Marketing would mean no more polyester uniform. No more aching feet at the end of ten-hour shifts. No more smelling like bacon and coffee grounds when I crawl into bed at night.

But it would mean something else, too—a chance to build the kind of life where maybe, just maybe, love might find room to grow.

"Earth to Nia!" Margie waves a hand in front of my face. "Table four's been trying to flag you down for two minutes."

"Sorry!" I snap back to attention, grabbing the coffee pot. "Just mentally rehearsing for tomorrow."

"Well, rehearse while pouring refills," she says, but there's fondness beneath her gruffness.

I make my rounds, topping off mugs, collecting empty plates, chatting with regulars. All the while, Sydney and James remain in my peripheral vision—feeding each other bites, laughing softly, existing in their own little bubble of happiness.

What would it be like to have that? To share morning coffee with someone who knows exactly how many sugars I take? To have inside jokes and secret smiles across crowded rooms?

For six years, dating has taken a backseat to everything else—work, school, building my resume, preparing for the career I actually want. The few dates I've managed have fizzled quickly, casualties of my packed schedule and single-minded focus.

"You're staring again," Margie murmurs as she passes behind me.

"Just thinking. If I get this job... maybe I'll finally have time for, you know—"

"A life?" She chuckles. "About time. You're young, smart, gorgeous. Don't spend all your best years serving pancakes and studying marketing trends."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks for the advice, Mom Number Two."

In the kitchen, I overhear Hank and Desiree discussing my potential departure while plating orders.

"Bet you ten bucks she gets it," Hank says, expertly flipping a burger. "Girl's got more smarts than half this town combined."

"They'd be lucky to have her," Desiree agrees, arranging fries in perfect formation. "Though selfishly, I don't know what we'll do without her morning shift energy."

A warm feeling spreads through my chest. These people—this makeshift family of coworkers—they believe in me. They've watched me study during breaks, listened to me practice pitches, covered shifts when I needed time for online exams.

"Main Marketing won't know what hit them," Hank continues. "Our girl's gonna be running that place in a year."

Our girl. The casual affection in his words makes my throat tighten.

But as the day progresses, doubt creeps in like the afternoon shadow stretching across the checkered floor. What if I'm not ready? What if six years of waiting tables hasn't actually prepared me for the corporate world? What if I walk in tomorrow and they see right through me—just a small-town waitress playing dress-up?

I deliver a club sandwich to Mr. Harriman, who's been coming in every Tuesday for as long as I can remember.

"Big day tomorrow, I hear," he says, unfolding his napkin with deliberate precision.

"News travels fast."

"Small town." He shrugs. "You nervous?"

I hesitate, weighing whether to admit the truth or maintain the confident facade everyone expects. "Terrified, actually."

"Good." He nods approvingly. "Means you care. Means it matters."

"What if I'm not ready?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

"Ready?" He scoffs. "Nobody's ever ready for the big jumps, Nia. You just take the leap and build your wings on the way down."

His words settle into me, a counterweight to the anxiety. Maybe readiness isn't about feeling perfectly prepared. Maybe it's about being willing to step into the unknown, trusting yourself to figure it out as you go.

I glance over at Sydney and James, now sharing a slice of apple pie. They didn't get together following some perfect plan. They took a risk—crossed lines, defied expectations, chose happiness over convention.

Maybe that's what tomorrow is really about. Not just changing jobs, but changing how I see my life's possibilities.