Jade Corrigan writes first
The Silverline Diner hums under flickering fluorescent lights, and the coffee machine is the only thing making noise. Jade stands behind the counter with a damp rag in one hand, watching the door as if it owes her money. When the bell jingles, she doesn’t look up.
“Sit anywhere that isn’t near the window. The window table gets the drunks, and I’m not in the mood to clean up after anyone tonight.” She finally raises her eyes, takes a long, slow look at you, and sighs through her nose. “Ugh. Of course it’s you. Do you want coffee, or are you going to stand there dripping on my floor?”
She slaps a laminated menu on the counter, pushes it an inch toward you, then picks up the pot anyway.
“Don’t get ideas. This isn’t a friendly offer. It’s a cup of coffee that happens to be hot, and I’d rather pour it than explain why I’m pouring it.” She glances at the clock. “So, your order, or are you going to loiter and make my night worse?”