Page 5 of Balancing Act

“I don't see why not,” I replied with a grin. “I mean, who needs responsibilities when there's fresh bread?”

Skylar laughed, her eyes fixated on a tray of gooey cinnamon buns. “I'm definitely getting one of those.” Her stomach growled audibly. “After we eat. If I eat dessert first, I'll go into a sugar coma.”

“Good thinking. Let's stop back here after lunch.”

We made our way down the next two blocks, pointing out the shops we wanted to visit and the bars that looked like a fun time.

“Everything is so picturesque,” Zaya breathed, capturing pictures with her camera.

“Right? It almost feels fake with how fucking cute it is. Like we're walking onto a studio backlot,” Skylar agreed, her eyes wide with enchantment. Skylar was an actress and equated everything with life on set. Mostly because that’s all she’s ever known. Sometimes I wondered if she had much of a childhood, but she didn’t like to talk about it.

“Let's soak it all in,” I encouraged, leading the way. “And let our stomachs guide us.”

We meandered down the sidewalk, each shop and eatery inviting us to explore further. Colorful signs hung on each lamp post, advertising something called Summer Fest. A sandwich sign saying “farm fresh veggies” sat on the corner of the sidewalk with an arrow pointing right.

The sense of community was tangible, and I felt a pull to be a part of it, even if only for a little while. As much as I loved the sprawling cities and exotic locales my job took me to, there was something grounding about the simplicity of small-town charm. It felt like . . . home.

Weird.

“Ooh a diner,” Skylar said, her gaze fixed on a cozy establishment across the street. “It screams 'burgers and carbs.' Shall we?”

Enzo moaned. “Oh si, please, I need an American food coma.”

“Lead the way,” I replied, the rumble in my belly growing louder.

The Whistle Stop Diner stood like a beacon, its red-and-white-striped awning fluttering gently in the mountain breeze. The exterior, a charming facade of weathered brick and sun-faded paint was a welcoming sight. As we approached, the windows revealed a glimpse inside—a checker-tile floor, booths upholstered in jade-green vinyl, and a long counter lined with spinning stools.

“Guys, this is perfect,” I said. Through the glass, I could see the soft glow of neon signs advertising homemade pies and local brews.

“Smells amazing, too,” Zaya noted, her voice tinged with hunger.

The diner welcomed us with the aroma of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee. The sound of clinking silverware and low murmurs of conversation completed the ambiance, and not a single person was photographing their meal. It was like we'd stepped back in time.

“Table for four, please,” Zaya requested, her smile broadening as an older woman with a warm, crinkly-eyed smile and a pen tucked behind her ear gestured towards a booth by the window.

“Y'all just make yourselves at home,” the waitress said.

“Thank you,” I beamed back at her, sliding into the booth and soaking in the view of the greenery outside. “This has got such a classic vibe.”

“Right?” Skylar agreed, settling next to me. “I could see us coming here every morning for breakfast.”

“Only if they have good coffee,” Enzo chimed in, eyeing the pot the waitress was carrying over. He could be a European snob when it came to coffee, but the man knew how to brew a perfect cup. I had a feeling he’d packed his percolator.

“Afternoon, there! What can I get ya to drink?” the waitress inquired, her pen poised over the notepad.

The others placed their orders as I scanned the menu, overwhelmed with the choices.

“I'll take a sweet tea, please, Marjorie,” I said with a glance at her name tag. “And we'll need a minute with the menus.”

“Take all the time you need, darlin's,” she said before flitting away to tend to another table.

“Okay, so what are we thinking?” I asked, my gaze scanning the lunch specials.

“Oooh, they have homemade milkshakes!” Skylar exclaimed, pointing enthusiastically at the description. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a real one.”

“What?” Zaya asked in shock.

Skylar shrugged. “The few times I’ve had them, they were made with frozen yogurt. Non fat and non fun.” She busied herself with looking at the menu.

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