Jasmine
The Tuesday lunch rush at Peggy’s Diner had a rhythm to it now, one I’d learned the way I learned everything—by doing it wrong enough times to finally get it right.
Table four wanted their coffee refilled without being asked.
The elderly couple by the window always argued over the bill before one of them secretly paid it anyway.
The construction crew from the site down the road came in loud, laughed louder, and left the biggest tips if you got their food out before they had a chance to complain.
I balanced four plates on one arm the way Chris had taught me my first week and set them down at the corner booth without spilling a drop of gravy.
“You’re getting good at that,” Peggy said from behind the counter, watching me with pride.
“I had a great teacher.” I wiped my hands on
