Eric's Diner
 

Eric's Diner is a popular eatery located in the center of Bedford Falls. It is owned by Eric Sawyer, who inherited his father's hardware store and transformed it into a diner. The establishment is well-liked by the townspeople, with Eric's coffee receiving particularly high praise.

Riley never imagined she would move back to her hometown of Bedford Falls, but here she was, sipping coffee and waiting for her niece and nephew to finish eating their waffles and pancakes at the local coffee shop. Riley only visited home a few times a year for major holidays. Other than that, she stayed in New York City, living her best life and focusing on her career. Getting out of Bedford Falls had always been a dream of hers. However, she knew uprooting Benny and Nicole wasn't an option. This place was their home. It wasn't their fault someone decided to drive drunk, causing the death of their mother. Riley’s mother offered to take custody because she knew how much this would disrupt Riley’s life, but she declined. Sara left custody to her for a reason, and Riley was going to fulfil that wish.

The squeal from her niece's mouth startled her, causing her to almost spill her coffee. That could only mean one thing: Joe was here. Joseph Barnes was Riley's high school boyfriend and a golden boy around their small town. After they graduated high school, Riley became the bad guy when she decided to break up with him. He took it better than she expected, but after she finally left for college, her mother informed Riley that she had broken his heart. To Riley's dismay, Joe had stayed in touch with her family more than she did over the years. So, it wasn’t surprising when Nicole jumped out of her seat and ran to him. She’s only ten, Riley. It’s not her fault she doesn’t know. Riley tried to remind herself so she didn’t get annoyed with her niece, who knew no better.

Sara was four years older than Riley and had always been a bit of a wild child. Sara got pregnant when she was seventeen, and her boyfriend ended up not hanging around, leaving Sara to be a single mother. Luckily, their parents were saints and helped Sara while she finished high school. Sara met her husband, Jesse, when Benny was almost 2. They eventually had Nicole, and wanting something better for his family, Jesse chose to join the police academy, eventually leading him to join the police department in the next town. Jesse’s time was cut short, and he was killed in the line of duty a few years ago. Riley knew she could be selfish, but she would never forgive herself if she picked up and moved, taking her niece and nephew from the only place they'd ever know. They were still grieving, and this was the only connection they had left to their parents. Nicole was much more open about it, while at fourteen years old, Benny kept to himself. Riley hadn't figured him out yet, but she was working on it.

Joe brought Nicole back to the table, forcing Riley to interact with him. Nicole returned to her seat and resumed eating pancakes. "Hi, Joe," Riley said kindly. While she was annoyed because he always tended to show up where she was, Riley had to remember that this wasn't New York City. This town was small, and running into him would be inevitable. Before she knew it, Nicole invited Joe to join them for the remainder of their breakfast. Riley’s head fell back, Jesus Christ, Nikki. They would need to converse when they got home because this couldn’t continue. Riley didn’t like confrontation, and she didn’t like being put on the spot. She could feel Joe’s eyes on her, waiting for her approval. Riley shrugged, “Yeah, sure, why not?” Riley forced a smile, looking over at him, as he took the seat between her and Nicole.

Joseph still couldn't believe it. None of it felt real. After Jesse's death, Joe spent more time with Sara and the kids. When she needed some handyman work or a short-notice babysitter, he was there for them - like the brother-in-law, he would have been had things happened differently with Riley. Then to lose Sara so tragically, he felt the drive to help take care of those kids even more, as if they were his niece and nephew, but this time it was much more complicated. Riley and Sara shared many similarities as many sisters do, so why she would leave the kids in her care made sense to him. There were many times when Sara reminded him of Riley, and it made him feel like she was still around, so possibly Riley would give Benny and Nicole the same feeling of having their mom around.

Joe was exhausted and honestly a little hungover. He was a bit of a lightweight these days, he'd rather make money off alcohol than drink it, but lately, he ended his nights pouring himself a couple of drinks. It was easier to be over Riley when she was far away, but when he ran into her all over town, it opened old wounds he'd spent years trying to ignore. Some coffee and a breakfast plate from Eric's was always the perfect remedy, however, the high-pitched squeal he heard the moment he walked in the doors made his headache that much worse. A smile quickly formed on his face once he realized the source of the noise. "Mornin' miss Nikki." he greeted her, returning her hug with one of his arms before leading her back to the table.

"What's up, Benny?" Joe gave him a pat on the shoulder and didn't take offense when he got a grunt in response. "Nice catching up with you, as always," he teased. Benny knew that if he ever wanted to, he could come to Joe so he never tried to force anything out of him. That would only have adverse effects on getting him to open up. When he was ready though, Joe would be there for him. It was nothing against Riley, he was trying very hard not to step on her toes but he'd watched these kids grow up while she was gone and he liked to think he knew them pretty well. But they were her family, not his and he needed to respect that so he did. He didn't want Benny or Nikki to think he had abandoned them, just because he felt it better to stay away from Riley.

"Hey Riles," he called her out of a habit that never really died; she would always be Riles to him. Standing there awkwardly, he looked to Riley to make the first move before joining them. He already knew Nikki wanted it by the puppy eyes she gave Riley while she scarfed on pancakes. It wasn't exactly the warmest invitation to eat but it was still an invitation nonetheless. "Thanks," he mumbled as he sat himself, and waved to Eric. "My usual? Thanks." He called out before bringing his attention back to the table. Joe glanced over at Nikki and chuckled as she continued on her pancake feast then he glanced at Benny with his headphones and face in his phone before finally turning to Riley. "H-how has it been going?" He stumbled over his words as he nervously waited to see if this was a 'you can eat with us but don't try talking to me, this is for the kids' kind of thing.

Riley often found herself unintentionally being mean to Joe as she tried to guard her own feelings. Did she truly want to break up with him all those years ago? No, but Riley felt she had no other choice. She wanted to leave town, and Joe wanted to stay. How could they have possibly made it work? Even after all these years, she still carries a heavy burden of guilt about how she ended their relationship, a burden that weighs on her every day now that she is home. He didn't deserve that. Joe had always been good to her.

“Good morning,” Riley greeted with a nod and a soft smile. She couldn’t be mean to him forever, could she? Especially now that Riley was home for good and he seemed to have a good relationship with Nikki. She leaned forward, her arms resting against the table, as her hands wrapped around her coffee cup. “It’s okay, we’re okay… I think.” Riley said with a shrug, her gaze moving between her niece and nephew. It was hard to look Joe in the face sometimes. Her repressed memories flooded back when she looked at him for too long. "We're going school shopping today. I'm trying to keep everything as normal as possible," Riley said, still doubting herself every step of the way.

Since Riley had moved home, her mother often reminded her that Joe had been single for some time, as if they would magically get back together. Riley became a mom overnight, not even two months ago. The last thing she was looking for was a relationship, especially a relationship with her high school sweetheart, whose heart she broke. Her mom liked to meddle with things that she shouldn't. Riley's love life is at the top of the list. Her mother still couldn't fathom how Riley chose to have a career over having a family. It was quite easy, actually.

“How are you? You look hungover," Riley commented, glancing back at him with a mischievous smirk as she brought her coffee to her mouth and took a drink. "Rough night, Joey?" A name she hadn't called him since they were teenagers. It felt weird, that's for sure, but still somewhat normal.

Joe's eyes remained on her as she spoke; something he'd found himself doing frequently since her return. He couldn't help himself, she was even more beautiful than when she'd left. That was the problem though: she left. He couldn't blame her for that, however. They were young and wanted different things so she did the logical thing by breaking it off. He was a simple guy who loved his little town and her return had complicated everything. He always thought he was finally over her but then she strolled into town and all his feelings for her returned. Just because he was upset with how things ended, didn't mean he ever stopped loving her.

"That's good," he agreed to her desire to keep everything normal even though nothing about all of this was normal. Nikki and Benny appeared to be more absorbed in their little worlds rather than caring what the boring grownups were talking about, however, Joe was still going to be careful about what he said - especially after seeing the slight smirk Benny flashed when Riley called him out on being hungover. "Yeah, no, I'm good," he lied as he leaned back into his chair. "I had a late night doing inventory on the bar." Wanting to change the subject as quickly as possible, he shifted his gaze to Nicole and asked, "So, we still on for that dance, Miss Nikki? I bet Riley could help you pick a pretty dress while shopping today. My treat." He knew that it was likely that she wouldn't want to go now but in case she did, he wanted to make sure to make it special for her. He didn't want Riley stressing over money either, it was his way of helping. Did he also get a smidge of satisfaction from the look on Riley's face when he asked? Maybe a little.

He didn't want to have tension between them but she also needed to know that he wasn't going to stop being there for the kids just because he and she had some unresolved issues to work out. To his surprise, Nikki still wanted to go to the dance. "Perfect," he smiled and gave a nod before noticing the waitress coming with his coffee. He moved to make room for her to set down the mug and brought his attention back to Riley. "I mean it. My treat. I can swing by the ATM after breakfast or get it to you after, whatever works best for you."

Riley pressed her lips together, “Mmhm, I’m sure,” she said before sipping her coffee. Riley didn’t get to say what she wanted next because Joe quickly changed the subject. He must’ve bumped his head and forgot they’d known each other since they were five. She could also tell how nervous he was by how he stuttered earlier once joining them. It took Riley a moment to look away, but when she did, her gaze followed his, and she looked at Nikki.

Riley watched Nikki’s face light up excitedly when Joe mentioned the dance, and Riley immediately felt ashamed. She wanted so badly for her niece to forget about the dance. The less interaction with Joe, the better, but Riley felt God had other plans for them. She’d seen him the first day she moved back home and every day since. The offer to buy Nikki a new dress caught Riley off guard, and she started to open her mouth to detest it but quickly stopped. Riley could hear her sister’s voice from the night of her graduation, yelling at her and calling her selfish for choosing NYU over her family and for breaking up with Joe. It was a memory she hadn’t thought about in years because they eventually reconciled months later. She closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head slightly as if she was shaking the memory out. Riley could no longer be selfish. She needed to think of her happiness and the happiness of two other human beings. It scared her so much. Okay. I hear you, Sara. Those flashbacks happened more than Riley liked to admit. Sometimes Riley felt like her sister was helping guide her so she didn't fuck up her children, but then Riley remembered Sara chose her, her immature, selfish, bratty little sister, and Riley still didn't know why.

Her demeanour changed suddenly; she became gentler when she turned her attention back to Joe. She raised an eyebrow when he started to offer her money. “I appreciate the offer, but I…” Riley thought about it and, at the last moment, changed her response, “I think I have a better idea; why don't you come with us?” Riley couldn't believe how casually the words came out of her mouth. Oh my God. Oh. My. Fucking. God. Riley felt committed and continued, “C‘mon, it’ll be fun.” Hope you’re fucking happy, Sara. Riley thought, briefly looking up. They may not have spoken often, but Sara was always the first person Riley called when she needed someone. So, feeling her sister sometimes when she would need her the most wasn’t as crazy as it sounded. Sara would always be Riley’s older sister, and Sara's passing away wouldn’t change that. Riley would continue to talk to Sara until the day she died.

“Oh! I have another idea! Why don’t you take Benny shopping, and I’ll take Nikki?” Oh. Jesus Christ, stop being nice to him, Riley. Another thing was Riley had an active inner dialogue. “I can Cash App you,” Riley offered, pulling out her phone. “What’s your phone number?” She did not want to look at him because, once again, she felt ashamed. Riley ghosted Joe years ago after visiting for winter break. The day she was supposed to return to New York, Riley went to say goodbye to Joe after hooking up the previous night and confessing they still had feelings, only to see him with another girl on his front porch. She left before either one could notice her. Riley deleted his number on the bus ride back to New York. If only forgetting his number had been that easy. It took years and within two months of being home, his phone number was going back into her phone.

The bell over Eric’s Diner rang when Ava stepped inside, sharp and familiar, and she felt her shoulders loosen on reflex.

The place smelled like burnt coffee and butter on a hot griddle, the kind of smell that promised nothing surprising. Plates clinked softly behind the counter. Someone laughed in a booth she didn’t look toward. The world felt contained here, manageable — which was more than she could say for the rest of her day.

It had been one of those afternoons.
Her last class had been restless. The copier had jammed twice. A senior had asked if commas were “still required.” She’d smiled through it all, but her head still buzzed with lesson plans and responsibility and the strange weight of being twenty-four and suddenly the adult in the room.

Her first real teaching job.
At her old high school.

Some days, that still felt unreal.

She slid into a booth near the counter, vinyl cool against the backs of her legs, and eased her tote down by her feet. It landed heavier than she expected. Essays. Too many essays. She’d meant to leave them in her classroom, but she’d only been back in Bedford Falls a few months and hadn’t quite learned how to stop carrying work home yet.

She reached for the table edge—

—and the tote tipped.

Not violently. Not dramatically. Just enough.

Papers slid out in a slow spill, fanning across the floor. Red ink. Margins. Her handwriting suddenly exposed in a way that made her chest tighten. She closed her eyes for half a second, exhaling through her nose.

“Oh.”

She crouched immediately, fingers closing around the nearest page. There was something deeply humbling about seeing your students’ work scattered across a diner floor.

“I—sorry.”

Movement beside her.

Someone else lowering down without hesitation. Not rushed, not flustered. Just there. Careful hands stacking papers neatly instead of scooping them up. Close enough that she noticed the worn edge of a jacket sleeve, the scuff on the toe of a boot, the quiet efficiency of someone who wasn’t making the moment bigger than it needed to be.

She took a page from his hand, smoothing the corner out of habit.

“Sorry.”

As she reached for another, her gaze lifted — just briefly — and something quiet clicked into place.

Not who are you, but oh.

A face she’d seen for years without ever really knowing. Hallways between second and third period. Assemblies where she’d been half-focused on notes. Classes they’d shared without sitting near each other. Someone who had graduated from the same school, walked the same floors, lived in the same town — and yet had never crossed into her life in any real way.

They’d known of each other.
Not each other.

She couldn’t remember a single conversation. Couldn’t remember his voice. Just the familiarity of features her brain recognized before her heart had time to weigh in.

Her pulse jumped anyway.

She dropped her gaze back to the paper in her hand, grounding herself in the order of it. Stack. Straighten. Stack again. The normalcy of the task steadied her.

She stood, clutching the small stack to her chest, suddenly aware of how strange this must look — a former student now teaching, a former classmate crouched beside her on a diner floor years later.

“That’s—yeah.”

She didn’t elaborate.
Didn’t acknowledge the recognition.
Didn’t name the shared past that hovered quietly between them.

She stepped back into the booth, the sense of familiarity following her — soft, unfinished, impossible to place neatly.

“Thank you.”

Just once.
Low.
Simple.

And then she sat down, heart still humming, unaware that this was the first crack in two parallel lives finally beginning to intersect.

He noticed the tote before he noticed her.

Canvas, overstuffed. The kind that had been slung over one shoulder too many times without complaint. It hit the edge of the booth, tipped just slightly—and the papers followed like they’d been waiting for permission.

He was already out of his seat.

Not out of heroics. Out of instinct. Years of watching things almost fall and deciding—too late sometimes—that he should’ve moved faster.

He crouched, gathering pages before they could slide under the counter or get tracked through with grease. Essays. Red pen. Margins full of careful notes. Not lazy checkmarks—actual sentences. Guidance. Questions. Encouragement.

Still believes in it, he thought.

That stopped him more than recognition did.

Then her hand brushed the stack as she reached for it, smoothing the corner like she couldn’t help herself, and his brain finally caught up.

Oh.

Yeah.

Same town. Same grade. Same hallways. A face he’d nodded at a hundred times without ever learning how her voice sounded when she wasn’t answering a teacher.

She looked… steadier than he remembered. Not harder. Just anchored. Like someone who knew where she was meant to stand and was still surprised to find herself there.

He handed over the last page without comment, stood slowly so he didn’t rush the moment. Let her have the thank you. Let her retreat into the booth if she needed to.

But something about the tote—about the weight of it, the way it had landed heavier than expected—kept him from letting this become nothing.

“You know,” he said, easy, conversational, like this wasn’t charged at all, “this place gets weirdly quiet after four. Counter crowd clears out. Back booths stay empty.”

He gestured vaguely with his thumb, not looking at her directly now. Giving her space to decide what this was.

“I’ve been working from here some afternoons,” he added. True, but not the whole truth. “Helps when home feels… crowded.”

Another pause. Careful.

“And if you ever need a second set of eyes—just for pacing, or catching stuff you’ve stared at too long—I’m decent with words. No commas-shaming. Promise.”

A small smile, self-aware, not flirtatious.

He stepped back then, picking up his mug, letting the moment breathe instead of pushing it.

Same town. Different orbits.

But this—this felt like a place where paths could cross without either of them having to pretend they’d always been meant to.

Ava drew her tote closer with the toe of her boot, tucking it under the table like it might behave better if she kept it contained. She wrapped both hands around the edge of the booth instead of the mug she hadn’t ordered yet, grounding herself in the familiar texture of chipped laminate and old scratches.

“Yeah,” she said again, softer this time, nodding. “I’ve noticed that.”

Her eyes flicked toward the counter where a waitress was wiping it down, the earlier rush already thinning out.

“It’s quieter after four,” Ava added. “Not empty. Just… calmer. Like the room stops trying so hard.”

She smiled faintly at that, then glanced back at him, a little embarrassed she’d said it out loud.

“I think I gravitate toward places like that lately.” A pause. “Calm ones.”

She shifted in the booth, crossing her ankles beneath the table.

“This is my first year teaching,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “So I’m still learning where to put all of it when the day’s over.” She gestured vaguely toward the tote. “I keep telling myself I’ll stop carrying everything home, but—” she shrugged, small and self-aware. “I haven’t figured out how yet.”

Her fingers brushed the strap of the bag, smoothing it without thinking.

“A second set of eyes would actually be really helpful,” Ava continued, warming just enough to keep going. “Sometimes I read the same paragraph so many times it stops sounding like words and starts sounding like… noise.”

She let out a quiet laugh, the kind that barely escaped her.

“And the no commas-shaming rule,” she added, meeting his eyes again, “might be the most comforting thing I’ve heard all day.”

There was another pause — not awkward, just gentle. Ava felt it hovering, the sense that this could either end politely or stretch into something else. She didn’t rush it.

“I’m Ava,” she said again, softer but steadier now, offering her name like it mattered.

“And—if you really do work here sometimes,” she added, gentle curiosity threading through her voice, “I might steal the back booth once in a while. Just until I learn how to leave the red pen at school.”

The smile she gave him then was warmer, unguarded — not flirtatious, just sincere.

A small step forward.

Enough to keep the conversation going.

He liked the way she said calm.

Not like she was chasing it. More like she was finally allowing herself to admit she needed it. That mattered. He clocked that about people—the way they named the things they were tired of carrying.

He stayed where he was, didn’t slide into the booth, didn’t crowd the space she’d just claimed for herself. Just rested his weight back against the edge of the table across from her, posture easy, open. Present without pressing.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, a small nod. “That’s exactly it. Calmer. Like the room exhales.”

Her name landed between them, simple and grounded. Ava. It fit her in a way that made him almost smile again.

“I’m Miles,” he said then, finally—clear, unhurried, like introductions weren’t a formality but a choice. “I—uh—grew up here too. Same school. Same year.”

He lifted a shoulder in a small, self-aware shrug.

“Didn’t really know you,” he added, careful with the wording. “But I knew of you. Hard not to.” A beat. “You were… organized. Always looked like you knew where you were going.”

Not a compliment meant to impress. Just an observation he’d carried longer than he realized.

He nodded toward the tote under the table, the essays tucked safely away for now. “First year teaching at the same place you sat in a desk?” He let out a quiet breath that was half admiration, half disbelief. “That’s a lot to hold.”

Another pause—this one thoughtful, not hesitant.

“If you want,” he continued, tone easy, “we could make the back booth a standing truce. Couple afternoons a week. You grade. I pretend I’m working. We both get to exist without the world asking anything extra of us.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Not hopeful. Not assuming. Just open.

“And for what it’s worth,” he added, softer now, “I think the fact that you haven’t figured out how to leave the red pen behind yet says more good things than bad.”

He didn’t move away after that.

Didn’t rush the moment closed or give it an exit it hadn’t asked for yet.

He stayed where he was, fingers curling loosely around his mug, gaze steady but unintrusive—like he was willing to let the quiet stretch as long as it needed to, to see what shape it wanted to take next.