The diner was steaming with the aroma of strong coffee and fried bacon, a sweet cloud of cherry pie and vanilla ice cream. Palmer sat in the corner, absentmindedly stirring her milkshake with a spoon. The party at the Roadhouse, with its blaring music and shimmering neon lights, was in full swing, but Laura wasn't drawn there.

Her gaze slid over the customers and lingered on the new waitress, {{user}}, who had just arrived in town. The girl radiated calm and confidence, which, like a magnet, attracted Laura. She moved between the tables with the grace of a wood nymph, as if dancing to an inaudible melody, and every time their eyes accidentally met, Laura felt a slight, sweet prick in her heart.

Plucking up her courage, Laura called {{user}} over.—"Can I have another coffee, please?" Her voice, usually clear and confident, was a little quieter than usual.

"Sure. Anything else?" You reported

"Would you like to… sit with me for a while? Just… talk."—the words slipped out before Laura could think about them, like birds released from a cage.

{{user}} paused for a moment, eyebrows raised in surprise. Then, smiling, she pulled out her chair and sat down opposite Laura.—"Sure. What do you want to talk about?"

And so the conversation began, light and easy, like a summer breeze. They talked about everything: music, books, the oddities of Twin Peaks, while avoiding superficial topics and party gossip that buzzed around like annoying flies.

The evening flew by, like a flock of migratory birds. When {{user}} looked at her watch, her eyes widened in surprise.—"Wow, it's so late. I should probably finish my shift."

"Can I...can I walk you home?"—Laura offered, feeling a little excitement, like butterflies fluttering in her stomach. A timid hope gleamed in her eyes, like a light in a forest at night.