A story where a waitress's life takes a dramatic turn after being unexpectedly recruited by the CIA through a charming gentleman and her long-lost brother. What begins as a leap into the unknown unravels a truth she never anticipated-that she is cap...
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1962
"Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice."
Emilia's voice carried through the quiet back room in the diner as she read aloud, her tone soft and contemplative.
"Em, you've got to get your head out of those books," Lucy called as she entered the room, balancing a stack of dirty plates. Her blonde hair glinted in the dim light, a halo of loose curls framing her sharp green eyes. Though not as willowy as the Southern belles Emilia had seen in this small South Carolina town, Lucy had a natural beauty, her curves and confident demeanor drawing attention wherever she went.
"Donny likes it. Don't you?" Emilia said, turning her hazel eyes toward the man scrubbing the grill.
Donald, or Donny as everyone called him, glanced over his shoulder with a chuckle. His dark skin glistened under the fluorescent lights, and his chocolate-brown eyes held a quiet warmth. He was solid and dependable, though unlucky in love despite his kind heart and striking features.
"I don't mind it," Donny said, his voice deep and steady as he returned to cleaning.
"You know the only reason he listens to you is because he's sweet on you," Lucy murmured, her voice low but laced with mischief.
"You're just jealous, Lucy," Emilia teased, a wicked grin lighting up her face. "You can't sit still long enough to read more than a menu."
"Only here two weeks, and you're already roasting me like this?" Lucy shot back, a grin spreading across her face as she stacked another plate in the sink.
"You love me," Emilia quipped, snapping her book closed with a dramatic flair and marking her page. "Time to get back to work. My ghost will have to keep you company now, Donny."
Tying her apron around her waist, she hopped off the stool and winked at Lucy. The three of them shared an easy camaraderie, their banter filling the quiet moments between the diner's bustling hours. For Emilia, it was a rare sense of normalcy—a fleeting but precious reprieve from the weight of her past.
"Whose writing was that?," Donny asked as Emilia reached for the door.
"Robert Frost," she called out, as she pushed open the door and allowed the light from the windows in the diner to touch her brown strands of hair.
"Em, dear, could you get that table over there?" Lucy's warm voice carried over as she followed her out of the small kitchen. Lucy was a steady presence, a comforting contrast to the chaos of the shift. Emilia glanced across the half-empty diner, her stomach tightening as she spotted the new arrivals. The lunch rush had just wound down, leaving Emilia to wipe tables and prepare for the long hours ahead. The promise of night loomed like a shadow; she already knew the usual crowd would arrive, including the regulars who made her job harder in ways she didn't let herself think about too much. Years ago, she'd learned how to stay silent, to keep her head down and her smile up, though it wore on her.
