Diner Dilemma – Chapter 1

Elizabeth Webber hated mornings. Positively loathed them.

If it were up to her, no one would be expected to leave the safe haven of their warm beds and Smurf comforters until noon. Noon was a nice, safe time to face the world.

Not like seven o'clock in the God-forsaken morning.

Not at a cramped diner.

And certainly not while one's self-employed best friend enjoyed an apple turnover that one was forced to bring for her.

Brushing her hair away from her face with the back of her hand, a flushed Elizabeth glared at a smug Emily as she ran across Kelly's to put an end to the Timmer twins' early morning food fight.

"Laugh it up while you can, Em," she spit out as the girl giggled at the stubborn toddlers, with Elizabeth caught in the middle.

"I intend to do so," she replied happily, taking a small sip of her cold milk. "Who wants to sit around in the office listening to Johnny snore while trying against all odds to write a humor column, or should I say 'distinguished social commentary'?" Emily tossed her red locks with a huff. "Certainly not me, and especially not when I could be having so much fun with you."

Elizabeth growled as she finally separated the two boys, tossing a lethal glare at their mother, who was applying makeup while talking into a miniaturized cell phone. "You know," she began, walking quickly back to the counter to pick up the next order, "I should really start charging royalties or whatever on every column you write. You get all your freaking material from me and my crazy life."

"This is true," Emily mused, a slender finger on her chin. "But you get nothing except my gratitude and friendship."

Elizabeth scoffed. "And who the hell wants that? Heck, who the hell needs that?"

Emily tsk tsked. "Elizabeth, darling," she scolded, "kindly remember that this is a family restaurant."

"Yeah, yeah," was the only response she got as Elizabeth reached over the counter, rising off her toes, to pluck the bottle of ketchup out from underneath. Emily watched her movements – fluid, quick, graceful. A quick pivot here, a feminine twist there, and the gentle pitter patter of her spring pink flip-flops that perfectly matched her tiny toes.

She often wondered what her friend was doing here, in Port Charles of all places, working at a diner. As a would-be professional ballerina with all the talent but none of the social connections, she knew Elizabeth belonged in Boston, studying with the Joffrey ballet as her grandmother had once.

And yet she was here, trying to plop a stubborn blob of ketchup next to the hash brown of a messy five-year old.

She twisted around in her seat, trying to find her busy whirlwind of a friend. "Liz, honey, when can you take a break?" she asked, spying Elizabeth with a platter of danishes. "Come have some breakfast with me."

Elizabeth glanced uncertainly toward the kitchen. "I don't know, Em."

"Oh, please?" Emily begged, clasping her hands together in a gesture of mock-begging. "You've been working forever. I think you're entitled to breakfast by now."

Elizabeth whirled gracefully past a crawling baby, crinkling her nose as the preoccupied parent scooped it up. She set her orders down at a table of laughing teenagers, distributing the cheese fries and sodas. "I guess, but I feel bad asking sometimes. Cookie's been here as long as I have, and he hasn't taken a break yet."

Emily raised an eyebrow, a suggestive smile on her lips. "Cookie, huh? Is this what we're calling him these days?"

Elizabeth blushed, dipping her head. "Shut up."

"No, no," Emily hastily assured. "I'm genuinely curious. So, tell me how this endearing nickname came about."

Elizabeth laughed easily, briefly catching the eye of the tall fry cook at the counter. He dipped his head quickly, disappearing back into the kitchen. "Well, it started last week, when me, Penny, Amy, and Cookie were cleaning up after the lunch bunch."

Emily nodded, already spinning up a clever way to weave her friend's newest story into her column. "Go on."

"Well," Elizabeth grinned, placing a small hand on her even smaller waist. "Since there was a lull in the cooking, he came out to see if we needed any help cleaning up. He'd just come out of the double doors," she motioned at the swinging wooden doors that led into the kitchen, "and I totally slammed into him carrying a bowl of melted ice cream."

Her last words were swallowed by giggles, and Emily laughed along. "So, duh, his apron was totally messed up."

Emily bit her lip to stifle her laughter. "Gotta love a man that's secure enough to wear an apron."

Elizabeth laughed, glancing quickly toward the kitchen to make sure Cookie was nowhere around. "That's not even the best part. He takes off the apron, which Amy offered to wash for him later. And then-"

"Wait," Emily interrupted, raising a hand. "Didn't he even get mad at you?"

"Not a bit," Elizabeth replied, the surprise evident in her voice. "I thought for sure my ass was fried."

"Yeah, go on."

"Well, he's looking for a new apron, and he's freaking out because he can't find one. And we're all laughing our butts off, of course."

"Of course," Emily grinned, leaning forward.

"So he's freaking out anyway, and then Penny finds one in the cabinet, and gives it to him. He unfolds it, and starts freaking out even more. It was the funniest thing in the world, Em!"

"Why? What happened?"

Elizabeth covered her mouth, silencing her giggles. "It was this knee-length apron that fastened at the back and the neck, and it was all white. On the front, there was a picture of the Cookie Monster, and it said 'This cook doesn't want a kiss, he wants a cookie'!"

"No way!" Emily cried, leaning forward until her hair almost dipped into her milk. "Did he wear it?"

"Yup!" Elizabeth announced proudly, leaning against the chair across from Emily. "He wore it, all right. And then this young family comes in, and they have two small kids, the oldest one being probably only six. So this kid walks up to Jason, who's standing by the counter, and says, 'You're not a cook, you're a Cookie!', meaning Cookie Monster. It was the cutest thing ever. We gave them all complimentary brownies."

"Aw," Emily sighed. "That is so going into a column. And you're not seeing a dime," she added when Elizabeth's eyes narrowed.

The girl laughed, running a hair through her shoulder-length hair. "It's okay; I'm used to it by now."

"So," Emily began, a devious smile on her face. "Go ask 'Cookie' if you can take a break."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Fine," she relented, walking slowly to the counter. She dropped her waitress' platter on the side, placing both hands on the counter and leaning over.

"Ja-ason!"

"What?" came the irritated reply. Elizabeth waited for a minute, and presently a blonde head poked out over the double doors.

She stopped for a minute, caught off guard. Usually he stayed behind in the kitchen, tucked safely out of view. And that was good for her: one look at those sparkling blue eyes had her knees mushier than Kelly's mashed potatoes.

He stared at her expectantly, cocking an eyebrow, as he waited for her to say something. One large hand, glistening with beads of water, rose above the door to tousle his wheat-colored spikes.

Instead of disappearing as she expected it to, the one hand was soon joined by the other as Jason brought both arms up to lean across the swinging doors, crossing his legs at the ankle underneath.

Damn it, she had to say something before he did. What did she want again?

"Uh, would you mind if I took a quick break?" Her voice didn't even sound like her own anymore.

He sniffed, crinkling that fine Roman nose of his. Shrugging, he stretched out the muscles of his neck and shoulders. "Sure. Go ahead."

"Thanks," she squeaked before grabbing a doughnut and scampering away to join her friend.

She sat down quickly, barely remembering to smooth her floral skirt before she did so. As she squirmed in place, she could feel Emily's eyes on her. The awareness soon had a blush creeping up her neck, and Elizabeth stopped fidgeting and began to pick up her doughnut.

"Some things never change, do they?" Emily's voice was low and smug. Too smug, damn it.

Best course of action: run. Second best: feign innocence.

"What are you talking about?" she asked sweetly, licking the cream from inside the doughnut.

"Don't you dare give me that crap, Elizabeth Imogene," Emily ordered, wagging a finger at Elizabeth's nose as she leaned forward. "I know you too well. Nothing has changed."

Damn. It was no use. "I still don't know what you're talking about."

Emily shook her head, disbelief written on her face. "You don't know what I'm talking about? Do I need to spell it out for you? Fine, I will." She sat back, a daring grin on her face. "Y-O-U. J-A-S-O-N." She paused, thinking. "Is 'hot monkey sex' a hyphenated word? I can't remember."

Elizabeth's jaw dropped. "Emily Bowen!" she shrieked, causing all of Kelly's patrons to stare at her. In the kitchen, Jason even dropped his spatula at the shrill cry.

"You did not just say that!" Elizabeth hissed as the customers went back to their breakfasts. Across from their tables, the teenagers laughed quietly and strained to pick up the conversation.

"And what if I did?" Emily challenged, lifting a perfectly shaped brow. "It's the truth."

"No, it's not," Elizabeth argued lamely, her defense crumbling.

Emily leaned forward, lowering her voice. She was nothing save serious now. "You know it is, I know it is, and the only one who doesn't is good ol' Cookie back there."

Elizabeth sighed, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand.

Emily waited for her to say something, but when she didn't, she continued. "Hey." Elizabeth looked up. "Hasn't anything changed? Anything?"

When Elizabeth shook her head silently, Emily huffed in annoyance, crossing her arms across her chest. "We haven't talked about Fry Cookie since before Johnny and I left for Arkansas, and that was almost two months ago." Her in-laws had insisted that their son and his new bride spend the holidays at the farm, and Emily quickly learned one thing when it came to Johnny's country-bumpkin parents: Resistance was futile. And stupid.

"Yeah."

"That idiot still hasn't done anything? Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Damn." Emily leaned back in her chair, absently fiddling with a thick lock of her hair. "Are you sure you haven't played too hard to get? Did you drop any more hints that you're interested in him?"

"Why the hell else would I wear a freaking skirt in February?" Elizabeth hissed, lightly pounding a fist on the table. "It's not like I haven't tried."

Emily's mind raced as she tried to analyze the situation. "What else have you done?"

"Well," Elizabeth began, squinting at the ceiling as she struggled to recall the many tactics she had used to try to lure the fry cook. "Like I said, I've worn nothing but short skirts to work for a while, because I think he likes that. Mind you, I said I think."

Emily nodded.

"I threatened the other girls and told them to keep their paws off. How's that for subtlety?"

Emily grinned. "Pretty good, from where I'm sitting. I literally almost shoved a pool cue up Carly's nose when she tried to rub up against Johnny at Jake's."

Elizabeth laughed. "Ah, yes. I always forget: you take the cake."

"Damn straight. Go on."

"Well, I touched him every chance I got." When Emily nearly spit out her milk, a flushed Elizabeth hastily amended her statement. "You know what I mean. Like, if I needed the tongs I'd reach around him for them and place a hand on his arm. Stuff like that."

Emily nodded, catching her breath. "Okay, good. I thought you were turning into me."

"God forbid."

"Anyway…"

"Yeah. Um, I can't think of anything else. Oh, wait!" she exclaimed when she noticed Emily shake her head disapprovingly. "I remember. I came in five minutes early one day and rearranged all his spices."

Emily choked on her milk. "Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?"

"EMILY!"

The teenagers tittered with laughter at the pure shock in Elizabeth's voice, and even Jason poked his head out of the kitchen.

"You want to keep the hysterics to minimum, Webber?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Whatever floats your boat, Cookie."

"Damn it, woman," he growled under his breath. "I told you to stop calling me that."

Emily watched Elizabeth's follow Jason as he disappeared into the kitchen. "That man's a fool."

"Yeah, well." Elizabeth sighed and looked at her watch. "You know, I should really get back to work. I don't feel right taking a break during the breakfast rush."

She slid off the stool and made her way behind the counter to retrieve the coffee before making her rounds for refills. Emily watched her float around the diner effortlessly and couldn't help but scowl down at her milk. She didn't understand how it was possible for people like her to find love and get married and live happily ever after when people like Elizabeth – people who were just as kind and wonderful and loving – ended up alone. It didn't make any sense.

But it wasn't like she pitied her best friend; far from it. Pity was something that Elizabeth refused to accept, hands down. And Emily respected that tremendously. Elizabeth still did her best to squeeze into the proper crowds and events, venues where her talent would be recognized and she where she might finally get the chance to pursue her dream of dancing professionally.

Yup, Jason Morgan was definitely a fool if he didn't see the wonderful woman that was twirling about right under his nose.