A woman near the window tightened her grip on her handbag. A man in a tailored coat leaned toward his companion and murmured something that ended with a laugh. Behind the counter, two servers exchanged looks and returned their attention to wiping down equipment as if they had not heard a word.
The elderly man remained standing, his cane resting against his leg, his shoulders squared in a way that suggested he was used to waiting longer than most people thought reasonable.
From the far end of the room, Evelyn Moore noticed him.
She had been working at Silver Elm Café for nearly two years, balancing double shifts with night classes and caring for her younger brother at home. She recognized the look on the man’s face because she had seen it on her mother years earlier, the look people wore when they sensed they were being evaluated rather than welcomed.
The floor manager, Paul Kramer, caught Evelyn’s eye and shook his head almost imperceptibly, then pointed toward a stack of clean menus as if to remind her of her assigned task.
Evelyn hesitated only a moment.