Minuscule sparks of boiling grease shot out from baskets of oil, as servers rushed in and out with burning plates of food laid neatly on their forearms, already wishing for their evening shift to be over; the off-white coloured walls of the diner peeled near the corners, the small pellets of paint piling on the wooden panel floors, ready to be swept away.

But mornings were generally tranquil, with only a few people, mostly elders, sitting at the counter with mugs of coffee; or families chatting merrily in cushioned booths.

Amongst those few people, was a slender yet tall man; with salt-and-pepper scattered, short black hair, and a thick sweep above his lips. The deep navy uniform easily indicated his profession — but the town was small, so it would’ve been known anyway — a police officer, specifically chief of police.

He was more soft spoken than some of the other customers, subtly sweet, and often came in with his daughter, Bella — or, ‘Bells’, as he called her sometimes…

However, the man, known as Charlie, came in alone this morning — though, without a solemn expression, so it could be assumed that his daughter was just off somewhere, being a teenager, or something similar. Charlie had his own, unofficially designated booth: neatly slotted against a wide-reaching window.

Menu in hand, he most likely already had his order planned out in his mind, though his eyebrows were naturally knotted in a concentrated expression, making him hard to read at times.