Chapter 3 — Maggie’s Diner

Claire

The bell above the diner door gave a cheerful jingle as Claire pushed it open, stepping into a scene that might have been plucked straight from a nostalgic postcard. The scent of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee wrapped around her, warm and welcoming, with a sugary undertone—pie, perhaps. She wanted to appreciate the charm, but her pinching heels, rumbling stomach, and the growing weight of being stranded in this nowhere town made it feel just out of reach.

The diner was cozy, though unapologetically kitschy. Red vinyl booths lined the walls, their edges softened by years of wear. A long counter ran along one side, flanked by mismatched chrome stools that gleamed in the morning sunlight filtering through wide windows. On the walls, an eclectic collection of decorations competed for attention: black-and-white photos, old license plates, a clock shaped like a frying pan, and a wooden sign declaring, "Eat Here Diet at Home!" Above the counter, a blackboard listed daily specials in chalky handwriting, complete with a doodle of a smiling coffee cup.

Claire hesitated, her polished heels clicking faintly against the checkered floor. A pair of locals perched at the counter glanced her way, their curiosity brief but polite. Claire smoothed her blazer and skirt, acutely aware of how her tailored outfit set her apart in this lived-in space. She felt like an exhibit in an art gallery, something sharp and out of place among the diner’s soft, worn edges.

“Well, don’t just stand there like you’re deciding if it’s safe. Come on in, city girl!” The voice came from behind the counter, where a woman with bright red hair piled into a messy bun stood, wiping her hands on a colorful apron. Her freckled face beamed with a wide, inviting smile. “You must be Jack’s new project.”

Claire blinked, caught off guard. “I’m sorry, what?”

“The car,” the woman clarified, gesturing with a dish towel. “Earl was in here earlier, said he saw you on the roadside, and Jack hauled your fancy wheels to his garage. Figured you’d wander in here eventually. Everyone does.”

Claire’s polished exterior faltered under the woman’s disarming warmth. “Oh. Yes, I’m… Claire Montgomery.” She adjusted her blouse unnecessarily, suddenly unsure of herself. “And you are?”

“Maggie Barnes.” The woman extended a flour-dusted hand over the counter. Claire hesitated before shaking it, feeling the calluses on Maggie’s palm. “This is my place. Sit wherever you like—unless, of course, you’re one of those city folks who needs a reservation.”

Claire raised a brow at the teasing remark, suppressing a small smile. “I think I’ll survive without one.”

Sliding into the nearest booth, Claire carefully placed her handbag beside her. She picked up a laminated menu already on the table, its slightly curling edges a testament to daily use. The diner was far removed from the sleek, chic coffee houses she frequented in the city. Here, everything felt used, personal, and strangely intimate. It unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.

Maggie appeared almost immediately, notepad in hand. “Let me guess—an oat milk latte and a fruit parfait?”

Claire arched a brow at the suggestion. “Let me guess—you don’t have oat milk?”

“We’ve got fresh cream and whole milk from the Jensen farm down the road,” Maggie replied with an unapologetic grin. “Take it or leave it.”

A dry smile tugged at Claire’s lips. “Charming. I’ll have a black coffee, then.”

Maggie gave her an approving nod. “Now we’re getting somewhere. You eating, too? Waffles and bacon’s the special today. Or, if you’re feeling adventurous, I’ve got a slice of my triple-berry pie. Best in the county.”

“Pie for breakfast?” Claire asked, skeptical.

“Honey, pie’s good any time of day,” Maggie declared, her grin broadening. “And trust me, one bite and you won’t care what time it is.”

Claire hesitated, then gave a small shrug. “Fine. I’ll have the pie.”

“That’s the spirit.” Maggie scribbled on her notepad. “Be right back.”

As Maggie disappeared into the kitchen, Claire allowed herself to relax slightly against the booth’s cushion. She pulled out her phone, hoping to check her emails, but the spinning circle on her screen announced the Wi-Fi was hopeless. With a sigh, she set it down and let her gaze wander.

At the counter, Maggie leaned over to refill a regular’s coffee, laughing at something he said. A child at a nearby table giggled as her father carefully cut her pancakes into squares. Two women in the corner booth chatted animatedly, their heads bent close over a shared plate of waffles. The scene was so… ordinary. Yet, for Claire, it felt like watching an old movie she didn’t quite belong in.

“Here you go,” Maggie’s voice broke through her thoughts. She set down a plate with a generous wedge of pie and a steaming mug of coffee. The pie’s lattice crust glistened with sugar, the vibrant berries beneath it promising a burst of flavor. Claire’s stomach growled audibly, and Maggie smirked. “Told you it’d be worth it.”

Claire picked up her fork, taking a tentative bite. The tangy-sweet explosion of berries paired perfectly with the buttery crust, warm and flaky. She took another bite, and then another, forgetting her initial skepticism. It was, without a doubt, the best pie she had ever tasted.

Maggie leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her. “Well?”

Claire paused, meeting Maggie’s expectant gaze. “It’s… good.”

Maggie laughed. “Good? Sweetheart, that’s magic on a plate. But I’ll take the compliment.” She refilled another customer’s coffee and returned her attention to Claire. “So, what’s with the car? Got a thing for vintage?”

Claire hesitated, her fork hovering over the plate. “It was my father’s,” she said softly. “He restored it himself. After he passed, I… I couldn’t let go of it.”

Maggie’s expression softened, the teasing glint in her eye replaced by something warmer. “That’s a beautiful way to keep him close. Jack’ll take good care of it. He’s got a real knack for breathing life back into old things.”

“I hope so,” Claire replied, her voice steadying. “He seemed… capable.”

Maggie snorted. “Capable’s putting it mildly. Jack’s the best mechanic you’ll find, but he’s not exactly Mr. Congeniality. Don’t take it personally if he’s a bit… abrupt.”

“He’s fine,” Claire said, though their tense interaction replayed in her mind. “Focused, I’d say.”

“That’s Jack for you.” Maggie slid into the seat across from Claire without waiting for an invitation. “He’s been through a lot, but he doesn’t talk much about himself. That’s why you’ve got me—I do the talking for both of us.” She gave a conspiratorial wink.

Claire couldn’t help a small laugh. “And what exactly are you trying to figure out about me?”

“Everything,” Maggie said without hesitation. “Like, what’s a big-city girl like you doing with a car like that?”

Claire hesitated. “Work, mostly. I’m an interior designer. I was driving to a client meeting when the car broke down.”

“Big-shot designer, huh?” Maggie’s eyes sparkled. “Well, don’t underestimate us small-town folk. You might just learn a thing or two while you’re here.”

“I doubt it.” The words were dry, but the faint humor in her voice surprised even Claire.

Maggie laughed, standing and collecting the empty plate. “We’ll see about that. You keep coming by, and I might just win you over.”

Claire watched as Maggie returned to the counter, her chatter with customers as easy as breathing. The diner buzzed with warmth and familiarity, a world away from the isolated rhythm of Claire’s city life. For the first time, she wondered if there might be something worth discovering in this tiny town.