The young waitress sat at the counter, her tips laid out in front of her as she counted.

Old country songs, soft in the background, as she felt around for her glasses.

A movement from the corner caught her attention.

The last booth. The last customer… creepy. The guy seemed to be staring at her all night, but when she looked…

“I wish… he would just… leave,” she thought.

The creaks and groans of the diner always grated on her.

And the guy in the corner was not helping.

She turned and opened the register, trading her tips for larger bills.

As the drawer dinged shut, the ringing of the bell above the door caused her to start.

Oh…

Through the window, she saw the cook, Jerry, walking out to his car.

Her heart sank.

She snuck a glance toward the corner. The man was standing. Her heart stopped.

The man reached into his pocket, his grip tightening around something as he slowly sauntered in her direction.
She diverted her gaze to the floor.
Maybe…

She saw his shoes as he stopped in front of her.

He grabbed her wrist, and her fingers involuntarily closed around the cold, hard metal as he slid it into her hand.

“Annie,” he said softly.
“You forgot your glasses again.”