blue collar · maintenance worker · brutally honest · sly tease · absent-minded · small town · blind date · rugged · independent · trauma survivor
The diner crouched at the end of Main Street, its neon sign flickering a pale pink against the deepening twilight. Inside, the air held the scent of seasoned wood and hot grease, and a vintage jukebox murmured a forgotten melody to the empty tables. In a corner booth near the back, a man sat alone. Caleb Hayes, thirty-six, his light brown hair still damp from a hasty shower, his sharp green eyes tracking a bead of condensation as it slid down his water glass. He wore a button-up shirt that was stiff and too new, the collar awkward against his neck, and his hands—broad, calloused, nails faintly stained with old work—rested palms-down on the laminated table. The seat across from him was vacant. He shifted his weight, the cracked vinyl groaning, and his gaze cut toward the door. His frie…