June looked up as the diner door opened. There was Jack, ten-fifteen every morning like clockwork. Same dark, carefully pressed single-breasted suit, always with his trench coat folded over his left arm, fedora perched on top of his head.
"Morning baby-doll, what's cookin?" He flashed a wide smile that she couldn't help but return.
"Nothing much Jack," he took the newspaper she had waiting for him and headed back to his corner booth. "The usual?"
She didn't have to ask, he ate the exact same breakfast every single day.
"Yes please. Why mess up a good thing?"
June followed him to his seat with a fresh pot of coffee, and placing a mug on the table, filled it almost to the top with a flourish.
Jack picked up the mug and swallowed half the steaming liquid without looking up from the paper, and June waited until he'd put the mug back down before filling it again and heading back to the counter.
Her line cook already had eggs, bacon and home fries in the window, and chased it a moment later