The diner noise kept going around me—forks hitting plates, coffee pouring, somebody laughing too loud near the front windows—but table seven went dead silent in my ears.
I stood there with a tray in my hands, staring at him like he had just spoken in another language.
He didn’t look confused.
He didn’t look like a man telling a joke, either.
He looked like the kind of man who had made up his mind before he ever opened the door.
His suit was dark and clean. Not flashy. Just expensive in that quiet way. His white hair was combed back neat. His hands were still. His eyes were sharp, calm, and tired all at once.
I gave a little laugh, but it came out weak.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
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