My Dad's friend Carol was the one who got me the job. Carol even gave me an old apron of hers to have for the first day. It tied around the waist and had a faded Miller Lite logo on it. I loved it. I loved how it was worn and weathered and mine. When I got to the restaurant, Carol hugged me tight before looping her arm through mine and tugging me along for a tour of the place.

The place was a roadhouse. Old school, classic. Carol told me that onetime a filmmaker came through and asked if he could film some scenes in the place because he'd never seen anything like it. Said it was "stuck out of time." I asked her if he'd ended up filming something here. Carol just laughed, saying the owner was not too keen of the guy, and sent him on his way.

And maybe it was. The booth seats had cracks in them after years of wear and tear caused by lots of butts sitting on them. Regulars' butts. Most of the guys who came buy were regulars. Rough looking guys who people think are racist or simple. Sometimes they are. Sometimes they're not.

It was a simple building, not much to look at from the outside. But when you step inside it's like you're back in the warmth of your mother's womb. Not my words. Tyreese told me that, when he joined Carol on our little tour. He's the cook, and he's got a big smile.

Tyreese isn't wrong about the whole womb things. I'd come in from outside, where there was a bite in the January air. It gets especially cold out here, where there's not much else around but this place and the road. But inside it's warm and too cozy. It's old but I bet this is where Urban Outfitter's get their inspirations. There's colorful Christmas lights hanging everywhere, all year. There's a couple of hunting trophies hanging on the walls: bucks. It's all wood paneling. There isn't a fireplace, but it feels like there could be.

There's a bar and about 15 booths. A couple of tables. "For fat or old people who feel uncomfortable in the booths." I laughed too much at that. Tried to stop myself from laughing as she continued on her tour. I don't know why it was just so funny to me. Don't think I'd ever heard someone be so frank before.

Right now, every patron was at the bar, watching a Western that was playing on the one TV.

It's right off a one lane highway. "Lotsa bikers comin' through here. You let me know if they give you any trouble." Tyreese said with that big smile of his. "They're scared of us black folk."

I chuckled, because he had a little twinkle in his eye as he said it. Gave me a wink so discrete I barely caught it. He's the kind of guy you can't help but instantly like. Before I had a chance to respond, he'd disappear. Gone to smoke a cigarette, I figured.

Carol said there had been a big stink when the State outlawed smoking indoors. Even though it had been a couple of years, the place still had the smell of cigarettes. Carol told me the owner still smoked in here, law be damned. He was tight with the only cop who might come in here to enforce, so what was the State gonna do about it. Real stubborn one, Carol said.

I wrinkled my nose up whenever my brother smoked cigarettes, so it's safe to say I was not a fan. But part of me couldn't help but smile at the thought of a crotchety old owner stuck in his ways.

After my day of training, I left the place tired and happy. There's something magical about it. The pay was bad, but I didn't mind. It's just me, after all. No kids to support, no husband to think about. I'm only twenty-two after all, but most have my friends have got little ones. I don't even really need any money really, since I sold the farm.

I just needed…something. A place to come to in the morning and to leave at night. And I think it's this. Staring at the place, I reached into my pocket to grab my phone so I could snap a picture of it.

Dixon's.

It was perfect.

I've been working here a couple weeks now and I still haven't met the owner. Carol says sometimes he'll go on long hunting trips. I'm not sure why but I was already wary of him, just from the stories everyone's told me.

"One time he punched a guy in the stomach because he grabbed Karen's ass. A paying customer! Punched him right in the gut." Tyreese told me. "Luckily the Sherriff's his best friend. He's above the law around here."

Karen was Tyreese's wife, and the bartender. Getting your ass grabbed as a bartender is sort of an occupational hazard but the guy had caught Daryl on the wrong day.

Oh, yeah. His name is Daryl. Daryl Dixon. Bought this place off his uncle a few years back. He's 37 years old and his brother, Merle, is married to Carol and comes around a lot. Smokes like a chimney and looks like a criminal. He loves Carol more than I'd ever seen anyone love someone though. Makes fun of everyone constantly, it seems he knows everyone in the whole place by name. Everyone's always buying him drinks and Carol looks at him sternly but he just kisses her on the mouth when she gives him the look. When he gets too drunk he calls Tyreese "the Negro" and Tyreese puts him in a sleeper hold till he passes out right on the restaurant floor. Everyone laughs and claps when this happens. I don't think he's racist. I think he's stupid. But everyone likes him. Even Tyreese. The next morning Merle will always come in and give Tyreese a bashful look, and then everything's settled.

I think about what my parent's might have thought of me in here, watching drunk grown men wrestle on the floor of an establishment. What they would have thought of me thinking it was the funniest thing I'd ever seen. What they might think of me flirting with the younger handsome bikers who come through and leave their numbers on their receipts.

I think of how delighted Maggie would have been to hear that I even called one of those bikers back and spent the night with him in my little apartment down the way.

It wasn't like me, that. Inviting a strange man into my house. But he rode a motorcycle and had boyish smile. What was I supposed to do? Not call him back?

Today I came in and it smelled like cigarettes. I didn't think much of it. I clocked in and poured myself a cup of coffee. I had a splitting headache.

Last night, I let Merle buy me shots.

I don't know who I was becoming. Taking shots and bringing strange men into my apartment. But I let part of myself really like it. I know I still had my bookcases at home, and my knitting needles. I know I still liked to watch romance movies and read romance books. I was a little old lady at heart, that's what Maggie always said. But now I was taking shots and being hungover and getting texts from a cute guy who was somewhere in Arkansas now, his bike probably parked outside a motel. Telling me he was thinking of me. Those romance novels weren't so fantastical after all.

I start into the kitchen to ask Tyreese to make me an omelet.

"Oh Tyreese" I say in a sing-songy voice. "I gave Karen my Cosmo last night so you're probably in for some good stuff. I think that means you owe me an omelet."

It's not Tyreese standing by the stove.

It's Daryl.

Well I'm not positive it's him but I'm as sure as I can be. There's a cigarette hanging from his mouth and he's looking at me and it looks like he's trying to hide it but he's amused. He raises his eyebrows at me.

Of all the stories I heard about Daryl Dixon no one told me he was…hot. He's wearing a dark and tight grey button up shirts. The sleeves are short and tight on his biceps. Big. Biceps.

"Hi." I said lamely.
"You Beth?"
"Yeah."
"I'm Daryl." He said, cigarette still in his mouth.
"Hi Daryl."
"Sorry I haven't been around your first few weeks."
"Oh, it's…"

He started scrubbing the stove with a wool sponge so I don't know if he can hear me.

"Fine."

He pauses his scrubbing and looks at me. He's got an intense look. Makes me feel like he's seeing more than I want him to.

"Need something?"
"Uh, is Tyreese coming in today?"
"Gave him the day off."
"Ah."

I turned on my heel, with intent to get the hell outta there.

"He's probably getting' all that good stuff from that Cosmo you lent Karen."

I laugh, just a puff of air from my lips. I'm surprised.

"Sorry if I was inappropriate." I say, with a smile.

He shrugs.

I turn to leave again but he stops me once more. "Whatcha like in your omelet?"