Page 22 of Time After Time
Sebastian
The soft chime of the entrance bell briefly diverted Robert’s attention from his duties, causing him to glance our way for a moment before returning to work. Holding the door ajar for Gen, I patiently awaited her entrance, but her mind appeared elsewhere. She lingered in the doorway, her gaze distant, fingers tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear—an anxious habit that had taken the place of her once-constant nail-biting.
I rested my hand on the small of her back, nudging her forward. The smell of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon drifted through the air.
She stepped inside, taking it all in like she hadn’t seen it a hundred times before. Neon pink and blue lights flickered along the walls, their glow stretching across the diner. At night, they were the only lights on, tinting everything in shades of cotton candy and midnight. Every inch of wall and ceiling was covered in vintage car banners, ‘80s ads, and rusted license plates, all crammed together with no space left to spare.
The diner was packed with so many interesting details that it was hard to focus on one for long. One of my favourites was the shiny disco ball hanging from the ceiling.
Next to the white bar counter was a glass case with a bright red button and a sign that read, “Only press if you’re a maniac.” The button was well-known around here. Tourists would always look at it like it was some kind of puzzle, missing the reference entirely. But the regulars?Weknew what would happen if someone was bold enough to press it.
On the right side of the diner, vibrant crimson booths hugged the windows, the second most popular choice for customers. The cushions were soft, the kind you could sink into, offering a cosy spot with a perfect view of the world outside. The red tables in the middle were nothing special, just standard diner fare, and usually the last to fill up. But the most sought-after seats? Those were all thanks to Sylvie.
A striking blue 1982 Chrysler Imperial Convertible had been gutted and turned into a table with plush seating. It was the most popular spot in the diner, so much so that it occasionally sparked heated arguments over who got there first.
As Gen stepped onto the black-and-white chequered floor, Robert appeared right in front of us, a broad smile spreading across his face as he glanced between the two of us. He wiped his hands on the tablecloth tied around his waist and said, “Hey, you two. Ready to get started?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Gen beat me to it. Her face was set with determination, though the slight tremble in her lips and the way her fingers tugged at the hem of her t-shirt gave her away. She drew in a deep breath, steadying herself. “Let’s do this.”
Rob’s grin stayed in place. “Waist aprons, notebook, and pen are under the counter. Gen, you’ve got the tables by the window. Seb, take the ones in the middle.” He moved behind the counter, grabbing the items and setting them on top. “Lunch can get hectic, but once everyone has their food, you can take a breather.” He glanced at the clock on the wall, nodding tohimself. “And once the kitchen’s done, I’ll have your meals ready. After that, I’ll fill you in on everything I can about running your own business.”
Gen’s eyes sparkled, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief as I noticed that tiny flicker of light that always seemed to vanish when she was stressed. “Does this lunch come with your famous milkshakes?” she asked, a grin tugging at her lips. I chuckled, knowing how much she loved them. She’d practically drag me out of bed at ridiculous hours just for a milkshake, but I’d always wake up and bring her here anyway.
“How could I not serveyoumy famous milkshakes?” Rob winked at Gen, and she couldn’t help but grin, her shoulders relaxing as the tension melted away.
The diner filled up quickly, and I lost sight of Gen for a while. When I finally looked over, she was chatting with a couple of tourists, smiling as she recommended her favourite dish.
During lunch—and for a while after—we worked side by side, darting back and forth between the kitchen and the tables.
“Thanks for your help,” Rob said, his grin spreading as he shifted his attention from Gen to me, setting our food down at the table. “It’s on the house.” He disappeared into the space between the kitchen and the counter, returning moments later with two milkshakes, which he placed in front of us. A wink toward Gen made her laugh, and she eagerly grabbed her milkshake, licking her lips before taking a ridiculously long sip. I chuckled as I watched her close her eyes, leaning back on her bar stool, her smile stretching wider. After finishing half, she let out a satisfied sigh.
We were starving, and the food was too good to bother with talking. If anyone had been watching, they probably would’ve thought we were a little crazy, devouring our meals like we hadn’t eaten in days. We shovelled bites into our mouths,sharing the occasional goofy ketchup smile across the table. The food didn’t last long, of course.
I took a sip of my milkshake here and there, while Gen stared at hers—empty now—with a dreamy, over-the-top look that made me roll my eyes. Without thinking, I pushed my drink toward her, offering the rest.
Once we’d finished eating and let our stomachs settle, we were ready for the next part.
Rob’s office was tucked away at the back of the diner, and it had a completely different vibe from the rest of the place. The diner was bright and lively, but his office was quieter, with a more relaxed, almost elegant feel.
The walls were decorated with framed photos, most of them of my mum, me, and his late father. There were also plenty from memorable moments at the restaurant, like the grand opening or visits from celebrities who somehow ended up eating at Golden Sands. Behind the desk, a shelf held a collection of awards and certificates, some for business, others for best restaurant, and a few more like that.
Rob’s gaze shifted to a particular photo on the wall, and I had the feeling he knew exactly what I was thinking. The white frame around this one stood out against the darker frames of the others.
In the photo, he was giving a hesitant smile to the camera, but there was something in his eyes—excitement, maybe, or a kind of thrill. His hands were clutching the front of his pants, almost as if he was stopping himself from reaching out to touch… my mum and me.
She stood beside him, her smile lighting up her face, the younger version of herself. And there I was, just a kid, holding onto my mum’s leg, my eyes on the camera even though my attention was really on Rob.
It was one of our early moments together. He had taken my mum and me to a street market, packed with family activities. It had been a great day, and I liked Rob, though I wasn’t quite ready to trust him. But as days turned into weeks, he spent more time with us, and before I knew it, he became one of my favourite people. He was the man who patiently answered all the embarrassing questions I felt too hesitant to ask my mum.
That picture brought back memories of the conversation we’d had the other day.
I shook my head and let my gaze drift around the room. In the centre stood a large mahogany desk, its polished surface catching the warm light from the vintage lamps on either side. Behind it, an old leather recliner looked like it could use some attention—it had clearly seen better days. Maybe a little of Cora Ventura’s touch would help.
Rob sank into the recliner and gestured for us to take a seat on the other side.
Gen looked a little nervous as she settled into her chair, hands neatly resting on her lap. I sat down next to her, hoping she’d catch my eye so I could give her a reassuring smile. When she didn’t, I casually draped my arm behind her chair, nudging her to lean back into the support. My fingers brushed against the exposed skin of her shoulder where her t-shirt had ridden up just a little.
Leaning forward, Rob furrowed his brow, locking eyes with us. His expression grew serious as he straightened up and started jotting down a few things on a piece of paper. “When you own your own business, you’re the captain of your ship. You get a level of independence and control like nothing else. You make the decisions, set the course, and lead your crew where you want it to go.”
