1: Cassie

“Cassie Mitchell, I better not find you moping back there. Your shift hasn’t even started.” A familiar voice echoes through the kitchen of Dave’s Diner. 

With a groan, I lift my head from my hands. When I entered the diner, I made my way to the break room to clock in, avoiding everyone on my way through the restaurant.

I glare over to my left and see my best friend and roommate Lucy staring at me. She’s standing with her left hand on her hip, the other holding her notepad and pen. For being at work a few hours before me, she’s rather chipper. The opposite of how I’m feeling right now. 

Working at a 24-7 diner was never part of my plan. The plan was simple: move to Los Angeles, join an acting group, be wary of distractions, and secure a lead role. But here I am five years later, having only checked off the first two items on my list. The last task I feel like doing right now is pretending to smile at customers and taking their orders. After a day of rehearsing lines, I'd rather be at home, in my pajamas, watching a movie, and devouring a pint of ice cream. 

I shake my head and sigh. I’ve been at the diner for five minutes and I’m already wishing I could clock out. “Just exhausted. I spent, like, the last five hours rehearsing dialogue, and I still feel like a robot trying to run these damn romance lines.” 

I grab my apron from the hook, wrap it around my waist, and secure it with a bow. 

“My offer still stands! I’d gladly stand in as your man.”

I peer at Lucy and shake my head again. If I had a dollar for every time she offered to rehearse lines with me, I could hire someone with acting skills to monologue with. I wouldn’t have to rely on myself, her, or anyone from my acting class. I needed someone in the industry that knew the best way to deliver a scene. 

Too bad I swore off all industry guys. Frustrated by the repeated instances of betrayal and being objectified, I finally reached the breaking point and decided it wasn’t worth the distraction. I won’t subject myself to the ongoing accusations of receiving roles solely based on my personal connections with people involved in the film. I’ve been chasing this dream for too long to let others continue to ruin it.

“Thanks Luce, but you’re not my type.” I chuckle. “I know I’ll be fine. I just need a little more time.” And honestly, a bit of confidence.

“That’s the attitude! Now come on, if we don’t get out there, Dave’s going to be yelling for us. Tonight’s extra busy.”

Lucy turns away from me, walking through the kitchen toward the front. I groan, rolling my head in a circle before following her.

“Why is it so busy tonight?” I ask as we reach the bar. ​​I survey the dining room and realize there is a customer in nearly every seat. The diner is small, filled with a mix of booths and 4-top tables, enough to fit 100 people on a good night. Movie posters line the walls, paying homage to the history of the area. It’s 9 p.m. on a Sunday night in early June, typically a slower shift. My preferred type of shift. It shouldn’t be a full house. It takes everything in me to not roll my eyes and groan again at the sight of all the people.

“New movie!” Dave says as he appears to my right with a tray full of appetizers and drinks. “It films next week. Didn’t you get my memo?”

Dave doesn’t wait for me to respond before he shimmies past me and makes his way from behind the bar into the dining room. Of course I didn’t read his memo. No one reads email anymore when our inboxes are full of daily ads from fast-fashion retailers. I only use my inbox to filter audition requests, of which lately I’ve had zero.

I should have known a new movie was starting up. Every few months a new one begins filming, bringing more customers into the diner like clockwork. Dave’s Diner is located across the street from January Studios, which often means longer and additional shifts to accommodate the sudden influx of patrons.

“Yeah, Cassie, didn’t you get his memo?” Lucy mocks.

I glance at her, my eyebrows scrunched. “Shut up. You didn’t notice either.”

With a smirk, Lucy shrugs and walks into the dining room, heading to her tables. She seamlessly transitions into refilling drinks and asking if anyone needs anything. I laugh at how quickly she can switch to her server voice, which is at least two pitches higher than her normal voice, as she moves from table to table.

“Cassie! I sat a couple for you in your section!” Madison, the host of the month, yells to me from halfway across the room. I respond with a slight nod and a thumbs up.

Same shift, different day. I glance at the couple before walking to greet them. They’re both looking at their phones, sitting on opposite sides of the booth, and not saying a word to one another. Typical. 

After working many, many nights, I’ve perfected my routine. Smile at the customer. Take their order. If I don’t write it down, I will absolutely forget it. I fill my brain to the brim with monologues, leaving no space for anything else. It is beyond my capacity to remember whether someone wanted onions on their burger. Place the order. Refill drinks. Smile more, I need the tip money after all. Bring the check. Repeat.

This routine keeps me from needing to overindulge our customers in conversation and maintains the barrier between us. It wasn’t always this way. At first, I figured working across the street from a studio would mean more opportunities for connections, right? Wrong. Nothing, zip, nada in all my night shifts. Just staff workers and tourists hoping to spot a celebrity.

I pat the front of my apron to make sure my notepad and pen are inside and head toward the table. Noticing my approach, the woman puts her phone down and meets my gaze with a smile. I immediately have two thoughts about her. My first thought is that her favorite color has to be purple. She has purple glasses on to match her purple shirt, and her hair is a light shade of pastel purple. My other thought is that I feel bad for her because this seems like a date, yet her partner on the other side of the booth remains face down, nose in his phone. His tousled, dark brown hair falls to conceal his forehead.

I take out my notepad and pen and flip to the first empty page. “Hi, my name is Cassie. I’ll be your server this evening. Are you ready to order or do you need a few minutes? Our specials tonight are on the back of the menu.”

“I’ll just take a water for now, thanks.” The girl softly smiles. She turns to face her partner, waiting for him to tell me what his preference of beverage is. After a few moments, I guess she kicks his foot under the table because he grumbles.

At last, he locks his phone and places it in his lap. Still not looking up, he peruses the menu, trying to find the specials I just mentioned. He flips it back and forth, once, twice, three times. I don’t have patience for this. I lean over the table and point to where the specials are listed. He does the same, finally finding what he’s looking for. Our fingers touch, and an electric jolt shoots up my arm, causing me to jerk away.

The man of mystery looks up at me, catching my gaze. I’m lost in his deep brown eyes, having a temporary moment of déjà vu. His lips curl up in a smirk, sending more jolts of something down my body. I have felt attracted to customers before, but this feels different.

Our staring contest breaks when the woman with him, his date, clears her throat.

“Right. Um.” A soft shade of red rises on his cheeks as he glances back at his menu. “I’ll just take water, too.” His head lifts and his eyes meet mine once again. If he doesn’t stop looking at me like that, I’ll become a puddle from all of this tension.

“Great.” I scribble two waters in my notepad to give my mind something to do instead of continuing to gawk over this woman’s man. She’s clearly irritated, and I need to get my shit together. I try to remember that part in my plan about no distractions. This is a distraction, and an off-limits one. “I’ll give you two a few minutes to read over the menu, and I’ll be right back with those waters.” Clicking my pen shut, I shove that and my notepad back into my apron and turn on my heel to head back toward the bar.

I reach the bar and slide to the right, turning to face the computer. Clicking a few buttons, I open a tab and note the two waters. Out of the corner of my eye, Lucy is sleuthing her way around the corner.

“Yes?” I ask as she approaches before I slide to the other side of the bar to grab two cups to fill with water.

“Cassie, do you realize who you’re serving right now?” Lucy whisper-yells in my left ear. I glance at her while she’s smiling at a few patrons before grabbing two cups to occupy her hands.

“You know I don’t,” I whisper-yell back. “Just tell me so I can bring these waters to them.”

A sigh escapes her lips. “Seriously?”

Based on her tone, it must be someone obvious. Unlike her, I don’t remember the name of every person in this area that may come in. When I first moved, I memorized agents' and directors’ faces, hoping to have them stop in for a cup of coffee and offer me an audition. I assumed someone would care enough to ask me about my dreams and find they could help me reach them. It took me a bit of time before I woke up and realized that if I wanted something, I would have to work my ass off to get it myself.

“We just watched his latest movie? The firefighter one?” Lucy is looking at me with raised eyebrows. She scoffs. “Emmett Davis?”

Emmett Davis. That explains the sense of familiarity when our eyes met, the reason I had an immediate pull toward him.

I pick up the two glasses of water and turn to Lucy, who is still standing there pretending to fill hers.

“Well, you see, celebrities come in here frequently, Luce. It’s nothing new,” I say as I push past her.

She follows me. “I know, I just wanted to—”

“Add some stress to my night?” I cut her off, turning my head to frown at her. “I need to go before they assume I’ve forgotten about them.”

“No, I just think it’s rare that actors are here, so it seems like fate they sat him in your section.”

“Not this again,” I mutter under my breath, rolling my eyes in her direction. Where Lucy believes in fate and that everything happens for a reason, I think the opposite.

Ignoring her reply, knowing she will corner me later anyway, I use my butt to push through the half-door that separates the bar and dining room. Turning in a 180, I stumble into someone. I curse, remembering I’m carrying glasses of water and fearing the worst. My fears are unfounded, though. Instead, two extremely capable hands grab the glasses as the tray slides in between us onto the floor.

“Oh my god, I’m so sor—” My head shifts to find Emmett standing in front of me. He’s wearing a small smile, as if he’s oblivious to my clumsy self. Turning to bend over, I reach between us to pick up the tray. When I stand up and glance back at Emmett’s face, I find him staring at my ass.

His eyes meet mine, his cheeks tinted with red, knowing he was just caught checking me out. I bite the inside of my cheek, unsure what to say. This man is on a date, or something that resembles a date, and he’s blatantly giving me more attention than the person he came here with.

“We can’t have you getting wet while you’re working, now can we?” Emmett winks at me, catching me off guard and suddenly causing me to forget the English language. He places both waters on my tray and walks away without saying another word. Pretending like he didn’t just say an overly flirtatious line to someone he’s never met. 

My routine is all fucked up. I don’t even have time to reflect on what just happened. I need to get their orders, place them, and give them the check. Emmett has become a blip in my system. Instead of yelling and throwing the tray, I smile the fakest grin to distract myself from letting thoughts about “you know who” invade my brain.

Following Emmett to the booth, I place the glasses in front of him and his date. I try my best to avoid eye contact, but I feel the weight of Emmett’s stare. When my gaze finds his, a small smile appears on his face. Quickly, I look away, not wanting to blush. What is happening to me? Why am I feeling butterflies from our minor interactions?

I reach into my apron, grabbing my notepad and pen. I flip back to the page with their drink order. “Are you ready to order food, or do you need a few more minutes?” 

Luckily, they’re ready. I quickly scribble their food order and tell them it will be out in a few minutes. After I place the order at the bar, I check on my other tables. My feet are tired and I still have three hours left in my shift. I am not used to being this busy, but luckily most of my tables have their food, so I just need to refill drinks and make sure everyone has what they need.

I reach the bar for what feels like the 100th time this evening and am alerted that Emmett’s food is ready. I pick it up and take not even one step toward their table to deliver it when my watch buzzes with a call. I glance behind me, to my right, to my left, trying to find someone to ask to take my tray. I spot Lucy at the register checking her phone discreetly. Perfect. I hand her my tray, thank her profusely, and push through the door to the kitchen, walking toward the break room. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and press accept on the call from an unknown number. I could have let it go to voicemail, but if someone is calling me about an audition, I don’t want to miss it.

“Hello?” I say into my phone, taking a seat in the chair in front of the computer. I swivel to face away from the kitchen and toward the wall and cross my right leg over my left. This is probably my only chance to relax all evening, so I take advantage and sink even lower into the chair.

“Hi, Cassie Mitchell! This is Carla Green, from January Studios. Is now a good time?”

“Um, yes, now is good,” I respond. Closing my eyes for a moment, I try to remember why January Studios would call me. Did I submit a tape for a movie? Or did they somehow find me?

“Wonderful. We received your application for the production assistant job, and I have to be honest, we need someone to start tomorrow and we don’t have time to do interviews. I hoped that with your background in entertainment and your current experience in serving and dealing with lots of people, you’d be the perfect person for the job,” Carla says.

Oh, fuck. I open my eyes and shift my body forward in the chair, my elbows finding their place on my knees, and my left hand instinctively moves to support my head. They don't want me for my acting. They want me to work there. It’s all coming back to me now. Late night, movie marathon, sleepy, too many snacks, coming across a random job opening.

“Tomorrow?” Sitting back up in the chair, I massage my temple with my thumb and pointer finger, moving them in slow circles. Extra time is not something I have, but I’ve always wanted to work at a big-name studio. Even when I was a teenager and just acting for fun, I dreamed of working at one. When I found out Lucy lived down the street from January Studios, it felt like fate. Fate and I might not mix, but I know Lucy would tell me otherwise and that I should take this call as a sign. This is the first time in five years that they have had a job I was qualified for and would work with my schedule. It could lead to something more than working at this diner.

“Yes, tomorrow morning at nine. Can you be here?”

“I can, yes.” I shift in the chair, crossing and uncrossing my legs. The weight of my schedule lays heavy in the pit of my stomach.

“Great. I’ll send you an email with some details! See you tomorrow!”

After exchanging our goodbyes, we end the call with a final click. The urgency to return to my tables leaves little room for deep reflection on the matter.

When I reach the front, I notice Emmett hasn’t left.

Lucy’s voice comes from my left as she enters an order into the register. “I checked your tables for you.”

I lean my back against the counter.

“Thanks, Luce.”

“Mhm. Who called?” Lucy turns and mirrors my position on the opposing counter.

“Remember that time we came home late from work last week and felt it was a great idea to watch a movie until 2 a.m.?”

Lucy nods, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile.

“Well, you’re looking at the newest production assistant at January Studios.” With a shrug, I lift off of the counter, walking toward the half-door in the bar.

Lucy follows me, laughing at my impulsive self. “Goodness Cass, only you.”

She’s not wrong. I’ve made countless impulsive decisions. They don’t always involve a new job. Sometimes they’re ordering something we see on TV infomercials, giving into the ads, other times it’s deciding to apply to foster a cat before remembering I’m allergic. And yes, these decisions happened after midnight when we were both too tired to think straight. I had a hard time remembering that actions led to consequences. That’s what happened with the production assistant job. I thought it’d be fun to work there. Maybe I’d get to see a few films being made, maybe meet some people, make some more friends, who knows? I submitted the application and went immediately to sleep and didn’t think about it again until tonight.

I glance around the dining room, prepared to go check on Emmett and his date, but he’s sitting by himself. I stride over to him, notepad in hand, giving myself something to fidget with when I feel uncomfortable. He doesn’t make me uncomfortable, it’s the situation. The thoughts in my head telling me he’s just smiling to be nice or the sudden feeling of how tight my shirt is in all the wrong places.

“How is everything?” I ask as I approach, choosing to stand next to the empty side of the booth. It’s the farthest I can be away from him without looking strange.

Emmett glances up at me from his phone. As he smiles, a warm flutter washes over my chest. I remind myself he is off-limits because of his girlfriend, or date, or partner, or whomever was taking space in this booth a bit ago.

“You’re back.” He drops his mouth open and nervously chuckles. “I mean, the other server was great. Everything is great. The food is great.”

Awkwardly laughing back, I say, “Great.”

I stare at him for a moment too long and search his face to remember why I came over to his table. My body feels like a furnace. His eyes dance over me, and our gazes eventually meet, but not before I catch him biting his lip. Biting back something he wanted to say, perhaps?

As if the universe senses I need help, the sound of Lucy calling my name travels across the dining room, breaking the trance.

In a swift motion, I break our eye contact and look toward the bar, where Lucy’s raised eyebrows meet my gaze. My eyes move to my notepad, where I had previously scribbled Emmett’s order. Right. The last step of the routine, the check. Without shifting my focus, I ask the question. “Are you ready for the check?”

“Actually, would you like to join me?” His question prompts me to look up, and I find him gesturing toward the empty seat in front of him. The same seat his date had been sitting in.

I glance back and forth between him and the empty bench next to me. A million questions race through my mind. The main two: was he not on a date and is he actually flirting with me?

“Oh, Marcy left.” That’s all he says, as if I’m supposed to know who Marcy is and why she was at the diner with him. Nope, not going to ask. It’s too early to take a break. I have too many tables to tend to. I can’t succumb to the tempting chemistry between us tonight.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, feeling a mix of flattery and frustration. “I’m working right now, so I can’t.” I steal a quick look at the bar and then back at him, hoping he’ll understand.

“Oh, right,” he laughs. His eyes briefly flicker to his plate. “Well, I’ll take the check then, Cassie. Thank you.”

Biting back a smile, I sense a blush creeping up my cheeks, radiating heat. I quickly nod and pivot to walk to the bar.

Lucy corners me at the register as I’m closing out the tab.

“What was that about? You looked like you were going to pass out,” Lucy says.

I give her my best side-eye and murmur, “It was nothing.”

I continue to close Emmett’s tab. When I raise my eyes to the dining room, I’m met with his intense stare, a surge of electricity rising between us. If my cheeks weren’t red before, they sure are now. I turn around to grab the receipts out of the printer and feel Lucy at my side.

“That is not nothing.” Lucy is back to whisper-yelling at me.

I turn to her. “Shush. I’ll tell you at home.”

I return to Emmett in the dining room and hand him the check.

My back straightens, trying to maintain a professional stature, as I smile and say, “Here’s the check! Thank you for dining at Dave’s.”

Emmett casually hands me a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill, more than enough to cover the meals they ordered.

“I’ll grab change,” I say.

I take two steps before a grasp tightens on my left wrist.

With a quick pivot, I redirect my attention and cast my eyes downward, only to discover that the hand that had clasped on to me belongs to none other than Emmett.

“I don’t need change,” he replies.

My cheeks are now tingling and becoming increasingly hot. Wonderful.

I don’t respond, but I also don’t move. He shimmies out of the booth, still holding my wrist, finally letting go when he’s inches from me. Standing next to him, my head would fit right in the nook of his chest.

A car flashes its lights on and off, the light radiating off the front windows and into the dining room. Emmett turns his head for a moment to look behind him at the door.

“That’s my ride,” Emmett explains, averting his gaze momentarily to the floor and then back to me. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

He most definitely will not see me again, but I nod anyway. It’s the least I can do after it seemed as if we were feeling the same attraction to one another. Emmett stalls for a moment before nodding back and giving me a slight smile. He turns around and walks out the door, turning his head to look at me once more before finally exiting the building. For a moment, it felt as if none of this was real and he was about to run toward me and profess his love.

Except this is real, and I have to get back to work. It’s rare for a celebrity to dine with us, especially when every American household knows their last name.

Tomorrow I will start a new job at the film studio, continue avoiding distractions, and land a major role. Those are my only goals for this year. I know it’s June, and that’s six months late for New Year’s resolutions, but I can do it. One day at a time. Stick to the course, dedicate more time to acting, and don’t fall for anyone who works in the industry. Yeah, I can do that. What’s the worst that can happen?