Page 99 of One Last Chance

And he needed a shake in the worst way after today. A shake and some midnight chicken and . . . Tillie. Even if they’d only be just friends.

If he believed God was in control, then clearly she’d turned him down for a reason. And who was he to tell God that reason wasn’t good enough?

Right. He flicked off the lights, then headed outside to his truck, sitting in the parking lot. Climbing in, he glanced in the rearview mirror, then decided he’d have to live with the two days of beard growth.

She’d seen him in worse shape, maybe. Probably.Whatever.

He pulled out and headed over to the diner. The sun glinted off the green roof of the fifties-style diner, the name painted onto the windows, along with pictures of pie.

He parked in his spot in the corner, backing in. Then sat for a moment, replaying the memory of helping Tillie get her decrepit car started one cold night.

And the way she’d sat down with him once, to share onion rings.

She had drawn a heart on the top of the takeout box. Maybe it was a just-friends heart. But it was a heart all the same.

Regret keeps you entangled in sin and darkness and futile thinking.

He’d done quite a bit of futile thinking . . .

Time to trust that God had something good waiting.

He got out, swinging his keys around his finger, and entered the diner.

It smelled of coffee, buttermilk-battered chicken, frying burgers, and fresh milkshakes.

Home.

Not busy—one other man sat at a booth. It was after nine p.m., so he didn’t expect it. But Tillie worked the late shift, and he preferred it quiet.

Maybe she’d have time to sit with him, just for five minutes.

He spotted a waitress in the Skyport’s blue uniform grabbing a couple plates from under the heat lamps behind the counter.

Not Tillie. He didn’t see her around, but she could be in the back.

He walked down the row of red-vinyl booths and slid into his regular spot, three booths down, facing the door.

Folded his hands.

Tried to sort out what to say.

Hey, Tillie, sorry it’s been so long—no, that just made it sound like he’d stayed away on purpose. Except, yeah, but . . .

Okay, maybe,Hey, Tillie, how about the usual?

That felt too . . . well, like he was just a customer and she was just a waitress.

And she had drawn the heart on the container . . .

Tillie, I’m sorry I screwed things up between us.

Maybe closer.

Hi, Tillie, thank you for the chicken. I . . . missed you.

Could work, maybe over the top, but?—

“Can I help you?”

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