Juliet groaned and rested her head in her hands. She was sitting in a booth whose red vinyl probably hadn't seen a washcloth since it was installed. Yellow lights hung from the ceiling, flickering. The restaurant was small. Apart from a few tables and booths, there was a counter, behind which a teenager with dark under eye circles had been wiping the same spot for ten minutes. Somewhere behind her a spotty radio was set to an oldies station, playing an instrumental that Juliet recognized but couldn't name.
The only other person in the restaurant was seated at a booth across the aisle and a row behind hers. He had a paper napkin tucked into his green striped shirt and a veritable feast in front of him: burgers, shakes, french fries, and more breakfast food than Juliet had ever seen in one place. He was digging into all of it with the same fork, and seemed the only thing in the restaurant that hadn't completely given up.
She bit her lip and looked around, waffling a moment before finally standing up and taking a seat in front of him.
He looked up from his pancakes, surprised. "Hi."
"Hey," she replied in a quiet voice, not wanting the waitress listening in. She reached across the table and grabbed a burger. "Look, I'm sorry, but I've had a… a real crappy day. And I left my wallet in my hotel room. And I watched that poor waitress make seven trips to this table. So you're gonna share, and I can pay you back tomorrow, okay?"
"Uh, sure," he said, in the same low tone. "Do you... want to talk about it or something?"
"You know I'm a police officer?" she said, waving a french fry in the air.
"Well, I met you forty seconds ago, so no, but please, keep taking my food."
"Sorry," she said, no hint of apology in her voice. "It's just, I was working phones at my station, and someone called in a tip about this big case. So, I told the detectives working it, but they said it was probably nothing. So, I told my captain and he said he would send someone there Monday. So I'm like, 'well, what if they're gone Monday'. And because I'm an idiot, I decided to follow it up myself. And it really was nothing. So now it's two am on a Saturday and I'm in a freaking Denny's in Santa Barbara stealing a stranger's food. Which is awful by the way." She stuck out her tongue and dropped the piece of bacon she was holding.
The man paused for a moment before asked, "So, have you been a cop long, or…?"
She shook her head. "Six months." She saw his smile and sat up straighter. "I'm going to be a detective someday."
"And I will never be one," he replied, tapping a salt shaker against the milkshake she was holding before reaching across the table and grabbing her discarded bacon. He took a bite, dripping grease across the napkin. "And hey, that's not the most pathetic story ever. Want to know why I'm here?"
She nodded. "Sure."
"Well, for a while I ran a cart that sold toast. Not that impressive, but the hook was that I owned a toaster that made every piece have Jesus' face on it."
Juliet snorted.
"I'm not kidding!" the man cried.
"That's not a business, that's an insane guy with a loaf of bread and a prank toaster. I bet you didn't sell one."
"I sold… a few. But you are right, it didn't go the way I'd hoped. And worse, my best friend's a traitor who told my dad what I was up to. So he got all made about how I was wasting my potential - same old, same old. Only this time he offered me a deal: He would give a small loan, I would hold down a real job for six months, and he would give me more money, basically."
"Sounds like a good deal. But I mean, I already have a job and I can't possibly imagine putting what you're eating right now into my mouth."
"One, this food is great. Two, that deal was not my style. I wouldn't have even considered it if I wasn't broke and still owing money to pay for a toaster I bought online." He shook his head. "I drove all the way here, and I couldn't even face him. I just crashed at my best friend's house for a week, and…" He checked his watch. "Two hours ago he kicked me out. So I am using his credit card to eat a meal I couldn't afford, and then I'm driving until I find a Wienermobile that's hiring."
"Wow," said Juliet. "That's, um, something. But if you need a place to crash tonight, my hotel room's got a fold-out couch." She shrugged.
"Really? You're not worried I'm a murderer?"
She picked sesame seeds off a burger. "If something was going to kill me tonight, it would be this food." She looked up and smiled. "I'll take my chances with you." After a moment she added, "Plus I have a gun."
He smiled back. "Well, I think that's noble. You deserve a story. Do you want to hear about the time I lived in a Dollar Tree for three days or how I had the original idea for cinematic masterpiece Legally Blonde?"
"Oh, both, please."
They sat in the same booth for another two hours. They talked, occasionally checked the waitress's vital signs, and talked some more. Finally they ducked out of the restaurant. "My car's this way, said Juliet, gesturing with her head. "I can drop you off in the morning or-"
"I can't."
"What? Why?"
"I have to keep moving. I have to… get out of here. Find whatever I'm gonna be doing
next."
Juliet sighed. "That's pretty dumb, don't you think?"
He shrugged. "Isn't it?"
She sighed, and gave him a salute. She unlocked car but paused after opening the door. She looked at him and asked, "Hey, what's your name?"
"You didn't ask my name this whole time?" he laughed. "You're going to make a great detective, who is going to have to pepper spray a lot of people."
"Come on," she said, also laughing. "Tell me."
He extended a hand. "Shawn Spencer."
She shook it. "Juliet O'Hara."
"Nice knowing you, Juliet."
She leaned up and kissed him gently. "You, too, Shawn."
She got in her car and didn't look back.
It took her a minute, but she recognized him, years later, in that diner where he claimed she'd stolen his seat. She couldn't be sure if he did, too, and she didn't bring it up. It was their little secret. And besides, what happens in Denny's, stay at Denny's.