The guy by the window sat facing away from the coffee bar, making it easy to watch him, unnoticed. A wide-shouldered, strong-looking type, with his hair arranged in ruffled spikes, he naturally drew Rory’s attention. Rory wondered what the guy’s face looked like, whether it matched his manly frame. He wondered how those hair spikes felt to the touch. It was a slow hour in the diner, so he had time to wonder about all kinds of things.

The girl next to the spiky guy probably knew some of the answers. She kept leaning into her companion, touching him, laughing, tossing her shiny hair. Two more guys to the other side of the table listened and nodded at whatever the spiky one was currently telling them. They all looked like students from the nearby college, who often frequented Laura’s Finer Diner.

“Hey! Excuse me?”

Rory blinked. The girl had her hand in the air, clicking her fingers at him, smiling in that condescending manner that some customers adopted when he didn’t react immediately. The guys to the other side of the table watched him, too, looking amused. Perhaps they’d been trying to get his attention for some time, while he’d been eyeing the spiky guy, the only one who hadn’t turned to him yet.

“Coming.” He turned away to look for his tablet, as well as to hide his suddenly burning face. The tablet was under the counter. He scooped it and headed for the table.

The girl watched him approach. She had the polished appearance of an online influencer—the right makeup, the right hairdo, perhaps even the right lighting, choosing to sit against the window with the sunlight behind her. She had a white, short-sleeve blazer on, and a revealing red top underneath. Rory briefly wondered if she was perhaps some kind of celebrity and was expecting him to recognize her. If so, she was out of luck.

“Ready to order?” He stopped in front of them, his pen and tablet ready.

“Yes, if you’re done checking out my boyfriend.” She smiled, and the guy with the spikes turned to look at Rory.

His face was easy on the eye, too—young, clean-shaven, with a strong jaw and brown eyes that looked at Rory with a surprisingly friendly expression. Rory quickly shifted his gaze to his tablet, his cheeks growing hotter.

“I wasn’t,” he said, and then, in a flash of inspiration, added, “I was looking at his hair. I was wondering if I should get a haircut.”

“What have you got now?” said the spiky guy, and Rory turned his head to show his ponytail. The spiky guy squinted at it and then, in a surprising move, reached up and ran his fingers through it.

“Nah, don’t cut it,” he said, settling back into his seat. “Long hair on guys is rare. It’d be a pity to cut it off. Yours is healthy, too. Softer than Madeline’s.” He nodded at the girl who instantly sat straighter.

“Really? Can I touch?”

Absolutely not. That would have sounded rude, though, and they would be rude back, and he didn’t have it in him to deal with that today.

“Would you like to order?” he said, failing to come up with a cleverer remark.

“Sorry.” The spiky guy raised a hand. “Was I out of line? I shouldn’t have touched you.”

“Em can be such a caveman sometimes,” Madeline chimed in, drawing more chuckles from the other guys.

“Em?” Rory repeated after her. What kind of name was that? “Like em-dash?”

The chuckles exploded into laughter, and the spiky guy rolled his eyes, making Rory wish the earth would just open and swallow him together with this stupid diner and its annoying customers.

“Sorry,” he said. “You probably get that all the time.”

“No, usually people just ask if my parents were Eminem fans or something. Em-dash is actually fresh. The full name is Emerson, but Em is fine, too.”

He offered his hand. Rory stared at it. This was the first time a customer had done this.

“Do you always shake hands with waiters?”

“Sure, he does,” said one of the other guys. “Minimizes the chances of them spitting in his food.”

“Don’t give him ideas,” said Madeline, and they all laughed, except for Emerson who still had his hand outstretched, waiting.

“I won’t spit in your food,” said Rory.

“Makes me want to know your name even more,” said Emerson.

He clearly wasn’t backing off, so Rory secured the tablet and the pen under his arm and shook the offered hand. Emerson’s handshake was strong, but not bone-crushing. It felt weird, touching him, almost electrifying. Rory withdrew his hand quickly.

“And your name is?” Emerson prompted.

“Rory.” The desire to be swallowed by a random sinkhole intensified. Why couldn’t this bunch just go ahead and order, like everybody else? If there were other customers, he could have asked them to hurry, but the diner was empty save for these four troublemakers.

“Nice to meet you, Rory,” said Emerson, picking one of the menus from the table. “What do you recommend?”

“To place an order,” Rory said, making the others snort with laughter again.

He shot them a glance. Why were they laughing all the time? What was it like, to be one of those people to whom laughter came so easily? What amount of confidence did it take to treat life as a joke, and not like an overhanging rock waiting to fall on your head?

Emerson didn’t laugh, but he wagged his finger at Rory knowingly. He looked over the menu before handing it back.

“Okay,” he said. “I don’t know what my friends will have, but you can bring me whatever you like most in here.”

“We might have different tastes,” Rory said.

“I trust yours,” said Emerson, smiling.