Darius walked into Ray's Place just as the lunch rush was dying down. The bell above the door jingled, sharp and familiar, cutting through the low murmur of conversation and the sizzle of the grill. The diner smelled like it always had—grease, coffee, hot biscuits, and the faint tang of bleach from the morning mop. Red vinyl booths lined one wall, chrome stools at the counter gleamed under fluorescent lights that buzzed faintly overhead. A few regulars sat scattered: old Mr. Jenkins nursing black coffee, two mechanics from the auto shop wiping their hands on paper napkins.
Mom was behind the counter, pouring refills, her apron tied tight. She looked up when the bell rang, and her face lit with that quick, tired smile she saved for him.
"Baby," she called over the clatter of dishes. "Sit wherever. I'll be right there."
He nodded, slid onto a stool near the end of the counter—away from the door, back to the wall, old habit. The vinyl was warm from the sun streaming through the big front windows.
That's when he saw her.
Vespera Lune moved behind the counter like she owned the place, even though she'd only been working here a couple years. Raven-black curls bounced with every step, pinned half-up so a few strands fell loose around her face. She wore the standard uniform: white short-sleeve blouse tucked into black jeans, red apron tied at the waist, the strings emphasizing the curve of her hips. Black ankle boots clicked softly on the linoleum as she carried two plates of burgers and fries to a booth. When she turned, her amber eyes caught his—sharp, mischievous, like she'd been waiting for him to show up.
She set the plates down, flashed the customers a quick wink, then sauntered back toward the counter.
"Well, well," she drawled, voice low and teasing, laced with that playful edge she'd always had. "Darius Kane in the flesh. Thought you'd forgotten about us small-town folks."
He leaned one elbow on the counter, casual. "Been busy."
"Busy getting shot at, from what I hear." She stopped in front of him, hands on her hips, apron strings pulling tight across her chest. "You look like hell, soldier."
"Thanks."
She laughed—quick, bright, the sound cutting through the diner noise. "I'm kidding. You look… good. Tired, but good."
He didn't smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "You still here?"
"Still slinging coffee and bad advice. Pays the bills." She grabbed a menu even though he didn't need it, slid it across the counter anyway. "What'll it be? Mom's special's chicken-fried steak today. Extra gravy."
"Burger. Medium. Fries. Coffee. Black."
She scribbled on her pad without looking down. "Coming right up." She turned toward the kitchen, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder. "You sticking around this time, or just passing through?"
"For now."
She nodded once, like that was answer enough, and disappeared through the swinging door to the grill.
Mom came over a minute later, wiping her hands on a towel. "Vespera taking care of you?"
"Yeah, Ma."
"She's been asking about you. Quiet-like. Didn't want to bother you the first day back."
Darius didn't answer. Just watched the door Vespera had gone through.
The burger came out fast—juicy, char-grilled, bun toasted just right. Fries crisp, still steaming. Coffee in a thick white mug, black as tar. Vespera set the plate in front of him, then leaned her elbows on the counter, close enough that he could smell her perfume—something warm, vanilla with a hint of spice.
"You gonna eat or just stare at it?" she asked.
He picked up the burger. Took a bite. It was good—greasy, salty, perfect.
She watched him chew for a second, then spoke quieter, like the words were just for him. "I thought about you, you know. While you were gone. Wondered if you were okay."
He swallowed. "I was okay."
"Liar."
He met her eyes. Amber, steady, seeing too much. "I'm here now."
"Yeah." She straightened, smoothed her apron. "You are."
A customer called for a refill. She pushed off the counter, grabbed the coffee pot, but before she walked away she leaned in one more time.
"Stay a while, Darius. Town's boring without you stirring things up."
She winked—quick, teasing—then moved down the counter, hips swaying just enough to notice.
Darius took another bite of his burger.
Mom slid onto the stool next to him a few minutes later, on her break. She stole a fry from his plate.
"She likes you," Mom said, low.
"I know."
"You gonna do something about it?"
He shrugged. "Not sure yet."
Mom patted his arm. "Take your time, baby. But don't take too much. Life moves fast when you're not looking."
He nodded.
Mom went back to work. Vespera came by twice more—once to refill his coffee, once just to lean on the counter and ask if everything tasted okay. Each time her eyes lingered a second longer than necessary.
When he finished, he left cash on the counter—more than enough, including a generous tip. Vespera picked it up, counted it quick, then looked at him.
"You didn't have to tip that much."
"Yeah, I did."
She smiled—real this time, no tease. "Come back soon, soldier."
He stood. "Maybe."
She watched him go to the door.
The bell jingled as he stepped out into the cooling afternoon.
The street smelled like cooling asphalt and distant barbecue smoke. Cicadas still sang in the trees.
Darius walked home slow, hands in his pockets, the taste of burger and coffee still on his tongue.
And somewhere under the quiet, he felt the first faint stir of something that wasn't pain.
Not yet hope.
But close.