In a way, his family sort of does. New girl, he calls out loud enough for the whole diner. You're new. I am, Josie says, walking over. What can I get you?
Depends. Grant says, looking her up and down slowly. You any good at your job? Josie's face doesn't change. I'll find out along with you.
A couple friends laugh. Grant doesn't, not right away. He's used to people being flustered by him. This is new coffee, he finally says for black. Coming right up.
She brings the coffee carefully, one cup at a time, careful not to spill a drop. As she sets the last cup down, his arm shifts sudden, almost lazy, the cup tips. Hot coffee spreads across the table onto his jeans. He jumps up fast, yelling before the cup even stops spinning. What is wrong with you?
You just poured that on me. The whole diner goes quiet. Forks stop midair. Me freezes near the register. Josie is already grabbing napkins.
Already wiping the table. Calm is still water. I'm sorry. Let me get you fresh napkins. I'll have Rosie comp your order.
That's not the point. Grant snaps. You spilled a whole cup on me. Do you even know how to hold a tray? His friends are laughing now.
Phones half raised. Josie keeps wiping the table. Keeps her voice level. I understand you're upset. I'll fix it.
Fix it. Grant repeats, mocking her tone. Cute. You going to cry about it, too? Josie looks up at him.
Just for a second. Her eyes aren't angry. They're almost calm. Calm in a way that doesn't match the moment at all. No, she says simply.
I'm not going to cry. Something in the way she says it makes Grant pause just slightly. Before he covers it with a laugh. Rosie hurries over, apron in hand, reaching for her own rag. Grant, I'm so sorry.
Let me get you a fresh cup on the house, of course. Yeah, well, maybe hire someone who can carry a tray. Grant mutters loud enough for the whole room to hear. Rosie's jaw tightens, but her voice stays sweet. Practiced.