It had rained all morning and into the afternoon, the sky an unrelenting gray, tiny beads of precipitation trailing down the windows that faced the street beyond.

Maybe the weather had driven everyone away, but whatever the reason, the diner was deserted, giving Demelza little to do but stand behind the counter and wait for someone, anyone, to come in. She didn't like it, though, being idle; she would have preferred to have something to do with her hands, something to fill her with a sense of purpose or activity. If there was anything she had learned from her momma, who had raised seven children, it was that there was always something that needed to be done. She had half a mind to empty out the refrigerated display case and give the whole thing a thorough scrub-down – Judas God, it surely needed it – but that could probably wait until closing, when there was no chance a customer could walk in and see her gauntleted in rubber gloves, brandishing around a steel wool pad like some kind of weapon.

From back in the kitchen she heard the faint hum of voices and then a peal of laughter, coming, unmistakably, from Jinny. The budding romance between the young waitress and Jim, their short order cook, was no secret, although sometimes Demelza had to roll her eyes at their lack of discretion. Just last week, she had walked in on the two of them in the supply pantry, Jinny pink-cheeked and happily pressed up against the piled sacks of onions and potatoes.

They were young, and it was sweet in a way, even though it meant that Jinny tended to linger in the kitchen far longer than she really ought to, which was less than helpful on days when they were busy or short-staffed. But for now, at least, it was quiet out front, and she didn't see the harm in letting them continue to spend some uninterrupted time together.

Of course, she wasn't actually their boss, even though it sometimes felt like it. Jud and Prudie, the owners of the diner, were almost never in, leaving Demelza to act as the de facto manager in their absence. She found she enjoyed the responsibility, making her think that someday she might want to try to open her own place, where she could choose the menu and decorate everything exactly the way she wanted it, with wide windows and jars of bright wildflowers at every table and votive candles they would light when it grew dark.

But that was just a dream, a fancy that lived only in her thoughts.

And what she had now was enough – a stable job, a clean and quiet place to live, a loyal friend who greeted her each day with licks and gentle nuzzles – and some days her heart was full to bursting with the realization of how much she had. Here, she had the peace of knowing that no one would touch her, that there would be no belts or raised hands, no one to bellow out her name with bourbon-laced breath. Here, she had the freedom to do as she pleased, to take long walks to nowhere in particular, to lay lazily in bed on the mornings she didn't work and answer to no one for it. Here, she had herself – and Garrick, of course – and it was more than enough.

The front door of the diner swung open, pulling Demelza from her thoughts. Out of habit, she reached down towards the stack of menus underneath the counter, feeling the slick of plastic against her fingertips. Looking up, she could see that it was just a man, all by himself, but as soon as he took a few steps inside, it was clear how truly inadequate that description was.

He was tall, with tousled black hair curling almost to his jawline, and as he attempted to shake off some of the rain, she noticed that he was wearing dark jeans and a trim gray coat, both half-soaked. He glanced up at her, revealing a pair of intense and hooded eyes, the kind to draw you easily into temptation, like her momma had always warned about. He had a strong jaw, tapering to a narrow chin, all of it covered in a heavy dusting of scruff. Normally, she didn't find much appeal in overgrown facial hair, but in this case she found herself more than willing to make an exception. His dark eyebrows arched up inquiringly, as if he were waiting for something, and it was only then Demelza remembered the menu she had clutched in her hand.

"You can sit anywhere you like," she said, trying to turn her thoughts back to the notion that she was at work and as such ought not to be gaping at the patrons. "If you can find a place… as you can see, we're real busy."

He didn't respond to her half-hearted attempt at humor, but just offered an acknowledging nod and began to walk over towards the tables by the window.

She gave him a moment to extract himself from his wet coat and slide into one of the booths before she followed.

He waved away the menu when she offered it to him. "Just coffee," he said, his voice rich and whiskey-warm. "Thanks."

"Sure," she said, but left the menu for him anyway. It was always possible he might change his mind.

Luckily, there was fresh coffee, so she grabbed the pot and a mug off the shelf and made her way back to where he was sitting. He glanced up at her quickly as she poured the coffee and nodded again as she set it down, but then turned his gaze over toward the window, at the rain-soaked sidewalk and the few people passing by under outstretched umbrellas.

"There's creamer and sugar," she said, nodding her head towards the far end of the table.

"I'm fine," he said, the words clipped in polite dismissal.

He wasn't looking at her, but Demelza offered a quick smile anyway – mostly out of professional habit – and then she walked back towards the counter, leaving him to the company of his own thoughts.

For a little while, she tried to busy herself, humming a song as she wiped down the counter for the twentieth time that afternoon, topping up salt and pepper shakers, doing anything else she could think of, but she couldn't help herself from glancing over at him now and again. Honestly, it was such a cliché – tall, dark, and handsome – but there he was, all three, sitting in her diner, looking devastating and slightly dangerous as he stared out at the rain like the brooding hero of some old-fashioned novel. As time passed, though, she could sense that his serious demeanor wasn't all for show: with the slight but noticeable furrows in his brow, he clearly had something on his mind, something making him… well, not sad exactly, but weary, as if whatever troubled his thoughts had become just a little too much to bear. For just a moment, she allowed herself to indulge in idle speculation about what it was – money problems? stress at work? fight with his girlfriend? or his wife? – and then proceeded to chide herself for being so ridiculous. Certainly she had better things to do than stand around and fantasize about the preoccupations of the customers.

But still, for reasons unknown even to her, she found herself wanting to do something to help him, to relieve him of a little of his burden. It tugged at her, like a string pulled taut within her body, but what could she do? She was a stranger, some waitress in a diner he had wandered into, who certainly didn't know the first thing about him or his problems.

But as she stood there, the rough outline of an idea began to form in her mind. Impulsively, she leaned across the counter, pulling the domed glass cover off of the display stand and grabbing the dish of cherry pie that sat on top. With a knife she carved a generous slice out of the half-circle left remaining and served it onto a small plate.

She had made the pie earlier that morning – she often came in before the diner opened so she could bake – and she knew, with a fair degree of pride, that it was good. It was a family recipe, one Demelza had learned at her momma's knee. She loved the familiar paces of it: rolling out the crust, mixing the filling, adding in the cinnamon and vanilla, and the secret ingredient, almond extract. And then there was the smell, all warm and sweet with tiny notes of tartness as the juices bubbled up in the oven. It was just the thing to make anyone feel better.

Plate in hand, she strolled over to the row of booths; as she approached, he quickly shifted his gaze away from the window, his eyes – a stormy hazel, she noted – turning up towards her.

"What's this?" he asked confusedly as she set the plate down in front of him.

"Pie," she said with a small but knowing smile. "On the house." Feeling slightly playful, she turned on her heel, not daring to glance back at him as she walked away.

Only once she was safely behind the counter did she venture to glance over at him from underneath her lashes. She bit her lips together, suppressing a smile; it was a little hard to tell at this distance, but it looked like he had already eaten several bites.

Demelza watched in silent satisfaction as he made short work of the rest of it, until all that was left on the plate were a few bits of crust and smeared crimson stains from the filling. He wiped his mouth on a napkin and then proceeded to relax back into the cushions of the booth, reaching for his coffee and taking a long sip.

Was it just her imagination, or did he already look happier?

She set her attention back towards the counter, knowing that as much as she might want to, she couldn't stare at him all afternoon, at his long fingers as they curled around the coffee cup, at the way a piece of his dark hair fell rakishly in front of his eyes, until he unconsciously pushed it back behind his ear.

The rain kept falling, a soft curtain of sound. She leaned back against the edge of the counter, crossing her arms against her body, her breath escaping in a quiet sigh.

After a little while, she glanced back over at him, realizing that he had almost finished his coffee. Grateful for something to finally do – and, if she were being honest with herself, an excuse to go talk to him again – she grabbed the pot and made her way over.

"Refill?" she asked.

"Thanks," he said, pushing the mug towards the edge of the table. He glanced up at her while she poured and then cleared his throat. "I have to say, that pie was excellent."

She didn't say anything, but just smiled and nodded, warmth flooding into her cheeks.

"Did you make it?"

"I did," she admitted.

"My compliments…" He paused, turning towards her a little in his seat. "Can I ask why I was the recipient of such an offering? Or are you normally in the habit of giving away pie to unsuspecting patrons?" The edge of his mouth was curled up teasingly, and Demelza was finding it increasingly difficult not to stare at it.

"Honestly?" she said, with a small shrug of her shoulders. "You just looked like you needed it."

That was enough to elicit a tiny grin, and all it did was make her want more.

"That easy to read, huh?" he asked, his eyebrows raised in slight amusement. "I'm Ross, by the way…"

"Demelza."

"Demelza," he repeated, and she felt a pleasurable flutter in the pit of her stomach as he voiced each syllable. "That's one you don't hear every day."

"It's a family name," she said. "Cornish, I think." She stopped, not wanting to talk – or even think – much more about her family.

"Well, Demelza," he continued, "you were more right than you knew. It's been a hellish day and I was clearly in need of pie."

"That bad?" she asked. She wasn't quite sure how it had happened, getting drawn into a conversation with him, but she was determined to make it last as long as she could.

"I've been forced to spend most of this afternoon running around in the rain, trying to find a wedding gift, of all things. I don't know… I couldn't really find anything I thought would work. And there's not much time. The ceremony's on Saturday…" He breathed out a small sigh of exasperation. "Here's a question for you: what's an appropriate gift to get for your ex-girlfriend and your wealthy cousin who she dumped you for?"

She paused, biting down on her lip. "The number for a good divorce lawyer?" she offered.

It had been an impulsive thing to say, the kind of sharp quip that always seemed to get her into trouble, and just as quickly she was filled with the fear that she might have offended him. Thankfully, though, he grinned widely and laughed, a deep, resonant sound that warmed her to the very curl of her toes. Judas God, she had thought he was handsome before, so dark and mysterious, but it was nothing compared to what he looked like when he smiled. For a moment, his bright eyes caught and held hers, until she was finally compelled to glance away.

"I was thinking maybe a blender…" he said, with a touch of sarcasm. "Nothing says, 'Thanks for breaking my heart and making me watch while you do it' like a blender. Or maybe a set of steak knives would be more fitting…"

He let out a long breath, tracing his thumb along the curved edge of the mug's handle.

"I'm sorry…" He shook his head. "I really shouldn't be talking to you like this. We barely know each other."

"It's alright," she said. "I don't mind."

He nodded, giving her a tiny smile of acknowledgement.

"Here, sit down, if you want," he said, nodding towards the empty seat across from him.

She hesitated, glancing around the deserted restaurant, despite knowing, of course, that there was no one around to notice if she were sitting down on the job. It felt slightly improper, as if she were about to cross some invisible line. Still, he had asked, and Demelza somehow got the sense that she would do just about anything he asked, if only to see him smile again and look at her the way he had, with his heat of his gaze warming her from the inside out. So she put down the coffee pot and slid across the cushion of the booth, feeling deliciously transgressive.

Once they were sitting face-to-face, though, it was clear that something had shifted, and she could feel her pulse begin to beat a little more rapidly. The thought came to her unbidden: this is what it would be like on a date with him, this is what they would do together. She tried to push it away, knowing how stupid and silly it was of her to even imagine such a thing, especially when he all he had done was talk about his ex-girlfriend and his broken heart.

"So… do you even have to go to the wedding?" she asked, wanting to say something to break the quiet. "Maybe then you wouldn't have to worry about a gift."

"No such luck," he replied. "I'm a groomsman."

"Your cousin's marryin' your ex and wanted you to be in the wedding?" she asked in disbelief.

"I know, right?" he said, rubbing his fingers against his forehead. "God, it's going to be horrible. I don't even want to think about it… Thankfully, the reception should have an open bar," he added, as a tiny, tempting smile began to play on his lips.

"I'm real sorry," she said. "Can't be easy, bein' reminded of someone when all you want to do is try to forget about them…" She couldn't really imagine, though; she had never really had a boyfriend, much less gone through the pain of a break-up. She paused, struck by a horrible notion. "Oh, no, you don't have to make a toast, do you?"

He shook his head. "I was spared that, at least. Francis asked one of his old college friends to be his best man. The guy's in finance or banking or something… No, I just have to show up and look presentable in the photographs."

She gave him a small sympathetic smile. Demelza had little doubt that dressed up – in a suit and tie, shoes bright with polish, his dark hair brushed back from his face – he would look more than presentable.

"The whole thing, it's just so messed up," he continued. "And I never even saw it coming. There must have been some way to see it coming…"

"People always end up showin' you their true colors," she said. "Or at least, that's what my momma used to say. Maybe it's good you found out now, rather than later."

"Maybe…" he said, his voice trailing off. "You ever had your heart broken?"

"Can't say that I have." You would've actually had to fall in love in order to get your heart broken, she thought wistfully.

"Well, it's pretty awful," he said, and then took a sip of coffee. "I wouldn't recommend it."

He set down the mug, staring down at it before his eyes circled back to her again. There was something about him she was drawn towards, she realized, beyond the dark good looks and romantic sensibilities, beyond the roguish charm he no doubt presented to the world with practiced ease. Under all that, he had a heart – a good one, as far as she could sense, and she had always been one to trust her instincts.

"Okay," she said, feeling her cheeks rounding with a smile. "Thanks for the advice."

It grew quiet again, the air heavy with something she couldn't even name. Demelza knew she didn't have much experience with men – especially not with men like him – but she couldn't help but think that he felt it, too. It was causing her heart to pound unsteadily against her ribs, the rhythm skittering astray each time she glanced over at him. And he was definitely looking at her, his eyes catching brilliantly in the light, and she found herself filled with a strange and overwhelming desire to lean across the table and cup his rough, unshaven cheek in her palm, if only to know what it felt like.

He grinned and glanced away, and just as quickly the tension broke.

"So," he said, playfully drawing out the word, "I should probably get going… I still need to find a gift, after all." He reached down towards his pocket and extracted his wallet, pulling out a bill and dropping it on the table. "Thanks for listening. And for the pie… it really was delicious."

She nodded, easing herself out of the booth as she watched him stand up and put his coat back on. She could see that it was still slightly damp, the shoulders and the tops of the sleeves a little discolored where the rain had soaked in.

"It was nice to meet you, Demelza," he said, as he tugged the sleeves down towards his wrists.

"Likewise… Ross," she replied.

She didn't know what else to say. Maybe that was all there was to say. It didn't feel like enough, though, not with all the feelings tugging at her so insistently.

She was back by the counter, he a few paces from the door, when she finally turned and spoke.

"You should get them some candlesticks."

"What?" he asked, his dark eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"For the wedding gift," she replied. "Somethin' simple, elegant. Says, 'Yeah, you broke my heart, but I'm gonna be the better man about it'."

He smiled softly, the warmth of it reaching to his eyes, and then he gave her a quick nod of his head, as an acknowledgement but clearly also a farewell. She could feel her heart sinking a little as he turned towards the door and took a step. He would walk out of here, she knew, and that would be that. She would probably never see him again. And she wanted to, of that much she was certain; whether she would even cross his mind after this afternoon, crowded as it seemed to be with unresolved thoughts of another woman, well, that was something else altogether.

But his step was hesitant, and suddenly he turned back towards her, a cautious, hopeful expression etched on his face.

"Demelza," he said, the word like a song in her ears, "do you work here every day?"

"Most days," she replied. Her heart was trembling, but she held his gaze firmly with her own.

"That's good to know."

He flashed her one last smile – a wicked, knowing grin set into the side of his mouth, powerful enough to make her breath catch in her throat – and then turned and walked out the door. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of his dark head through the windows before he passed out of sight, and then she could hear the door shut with a muffled hush.

She stood there for a few seconds, trying to regain her bearings. Everything seemed so silent and still, everything but her mind, which was still racing even in the aftermath of his departure. She needed something to quiet it, something to busy her hands with until she could find her way back to the place she had been before he walked in the door.

She was nearly to the booth, intent on cleaning everything up and putting it back into order, when she saw Jinny emerge from the kitchen.

"Somebody finally came in, huh?" Jinny asked, looking around at the empty tables as she made her way over to Demelza's side.

"Yeah," Demelza murmured. She found herself not wanting to say anything else about what had just happened, the chance encounter that still had her spinning; if no one else knew, then it could be like a dream, like a secret that was solely hers.

Jinny surveyed the table and then leaned over to grab the cash where he had dropped it earlier. "Just pie and coffee?" she asked, arching her eyebrows. "Nice tip." She handed the money over to Demelza, who now saw that he had left her a twenty dollar bill.

Demelza smiled – a tiny thing, meant only for herself – and slipped the money into her pocket.

"Here, I'll take these," Jinny said, grabbing the menu and the coffee pot from off the table, and then she walked back towards the counter, leaving Demelza to gather up the dishes.

She stacked them neatly – mug and fork on top of plate, crumpled napkin tucked inside the mug – and then deposited them in one of the busing bins near the kitchen. Grabbing a damp cloth, she came back to the booth and began to wipe down the surface of the table. She found, as she worked, that her thoughts began to drift back to him, back to the color of his eyes, the way they brightened when he smiled. In her heart was a song, and she felt no shame as it quietly bubbled up onto her lips.