Page 34 of Scrum Heat

Ten minutes and a brisk walk later, we’re at Hazel’s Diner. The place is small, warm, and aggressively yellow. There’s a cowbell on the door that announces our presence to literally everyone, and a laminated sign by the register that saysNo Fighting, No Heat Disputes, No Loud Opinions About Toast.

A few heads turn when we walk in. Two older women sitting at a corner booth whisper something to each other and wave at Finn. Behind the counter, a broad-shouldered man with a gray beard and an apron that saysBacon Is My Love Languageraises his chin in greeting. He’s got the tired eyes of someone who’s seen three generations of local drama and lived to mock it.

Finn nods back. “Morning, Mark.”

“Is this her?” the man squints.

“Depends,” Finn says, guiding me to a booth. “Herwho?”

“The one behind the videos,” Mark clarifies, like it’s obvious. “You know: the slow-motion lunge? My wife’s got a theory you choreographed it.”

I slide into the booth and smile politely.

“I’m just doing my job. And apparently ruining the local thirst curve while I’m at it.”

Mark laughs. “Hazel’ll be out in a sec. You want the usual, son?”

“Two double stacks with extra butter, and an oat milk latte if you’re still pretending to carry it.”

“I got two cartons yesterday.”

Finn turns to me, all sunny and soft. “You good with pancakes?”

“I feel emotionally ready,” I nod.

“To drink?”

“Juice is fine,” I tell him.

“And an apple juice, too.”

“Coming right up,” Mark nods.

A woman appears round the corner with a notepad in hand a blunt, no-nonsense expression, and I immediately assume thatthisis Hazel. She’s wearing a purple fleece with no name tag, and the sharp glare of a woman who’s been running this place—and everyone in it—for the past thirty years.

“Finn Whitaker,” she calls. “You’re late.”

“It’s seven-fifteen!” he whines.

“And I said Thursday. We had a deal.”

“I brought an apology omega,” he offers, gesturing to me.

Hazel gives me a once-over and narrows her eyes.

“You’re small.”

“I’m quick,” I say. “And I film thighs for a living.”

Her mouth twitches in approval.

The food doesn’t take too long to arrive, and it’sperfect. The coffee is strong enough to burn off regret, and Hazel reappears by our booth three separate times just to stare at Finn like he’s her personal charity case. He smiles at her every time.

“You come here a lot,” I say, when she disappears again.

“At least once a week,” he says. “Sometimes more. The guys say that the food’s too greasy, so I usually come on my own, unless Jax is in the mood. I think Hazel felt kind of sorry for me. She used to give me free coffee and told me I looked too pretty to be lonely.”

“She’s not wrong.”

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