The next day started the same as any other.

There was no sign of the creepy sedan, and I began to wonder if I ever really saw it. Who would want to follow me, anyway?

It was a little past four in the afternoon. The diner had been dead all day, and there was nothing for me to do. I think I had needlessly wiped down the tables and straightened menus a dozen times. Part of me felt bad about not telling Janice goodbye, but she would instantly know something was going on.

Her attempts to help me always involved a card for a therapist that worked at the clinic. No one understood this wasn’t about some traumatic incident - I was just tired of fighting the waves of loneliness.

People might call me crazy or weak-minded; it didn’t matter. No one would ever understand what was going on inside me. What I found tiring was the fact no one noticed me drowning. They were all oblivious.

When the bell of reality chimed, I expected Mr. Bell to walk in; he was a regular who came in every day at the same time. Instead, a man in a suit strolled in. He looked like he was there for something far more important than what was on the menu. His eyes immediately locked onto me.

I opened my mouth to greet him, quickly snapping it back shut, my tongue and stomach simultaneously twisting into knots. Walking right up to the bar, he sat down on one of the red swivel chairs and smiled.

“Are you going to speak or are you going to stand there and stare all day?”

“Sorry.” Giving him an embarrassed smile, I peered up at him, trying to figure out why he seemed so familiar, desperately hoping my face wasn’t bright red. When his gaze dropped to the elastic bands that covered my failed suicide attempt, I hid my hands behind the counter.

“Do you need a menu?” I asked, bringing his attention back to my face.

“No, I just want coffee. Dark roast, two hazelnut creamers, one sugar.” He took off his suit jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair, and pulled a cell phone from his pocket.

While he was immersed in his screen, tapping away, I readied his coffee, watching him from beneath lowered lashes. Sophisticated was the first word that came to mind as I took him in again. Not a crevice or crease could be seen anywhere on his navy suit.

His hair was the color of onyx, styled in a classically tapered fade, and he had the slightest hint of stubble on his face.

But it was the color of his eyes that kept catching my attention. They reminded me of the forest green tips on tall pines, with a faded denim blue circling the iris. He was enticingly handsome; by far the best looking man I had ever seen in town.

He reeked of old money and cocksure power. I was intrigued. Who was he, and why was he there? Though he looked familiar, I couldn’t place how I would know him. I felt like I’d met him before, which made no sense, because there was no way I would have forgotten that.

After I had placed his hot coffee in front of him, heavy silence ensued between us. The only sounds in the diner were Janice in the back, shifting boxes as she did inventory, and Jose stacking dishes.

I stood there, feeling awkward and unsure of what to do with myself. Just as I decided to busy myself on the other side of the bar, he began speaking to me again.

“I’m Mason, in case you were wondering.” He rested his elbows on the bar, leisurely sipping his drink.

Mason suits him.

I turned the name over in my head, committing it to memory.

“I’m Katie.” I gave him a small smile, gradually relaxing.

“I know.” When he smiled again, his dimples revealed themselves in his cheeks. The man looked like he belonged in magazines; how could he possibly know who I was?

“Your father told me all about you.”

“My father?” I repeated back, furrowing my brows. If he knew my father, then his familiarity made a bit more sense. Maybe I had seen him before.

“Yes, Allen, your father. Based on what he’s told me, your aspiration in life wasn’t working at a hole-in-the-wall vintage diner.” He shrugged.

Well, Mason was clearly bold and straightforward. The mention of my father’s name, coupled with the fact that he’d spoken about me to a stranger, set my teeth on edge.

“Oh, so because a man I haven’t seen or spoken to in four years mentioned me, you suddenly know all about me?” I checked, shaking my head when he smirked at me like that’s exactly what he meant.  

Fortunately, Mr. Bell arrived and gave me something else to do. I was never interested in any of the customers, and talking to them was an absolute no go. Mason had been inside for all of fifteen minutes, and I was ready to have a drawn out debate with him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bell,” I greeted him warmly. He was the only customer I ever looked forward to seeing.

He shuffled inside, donning a blue Hawaiian themed button up, cargo shorts, and a golfer hat to cover his white hair. I always thought he was the cutest little old man.

He’d never been rude to me or treated me as an outsider - like most of the town did

“Katie.” He tilted his cap, taking a seat on the left side of the bar, “Mr. Andreou?” He did a double take when he finally spotted Mason, damn near falling off his stool.

I froze in the midst of grabbing a coffee mug. All the homeschooling and shunning in the world couldn’t stop someone from recognizing that surname.

The Andreous practically owned Redwood and the two surrounding towns. It was their family’s money that funded most of the business start-ups. I didn’t understand why one of them would feel the need to venture into Malty’s. Maybe I was profiling him, but the diner was far beneath them.

Forcing myself to continue what I was doing and act naturally, my mind ran rampant with questions I’d never ask because I wasn’t sure I wanted them to be answered.