The calm shatters with the sharp swing of the diner’s screen door. In strides Cole Tanner — leather jacket, heavy boots, confidence loud enough to fill the room. His reputation precedes him, the kind of man who mistakes volume for power. When his gaze lands on Harold’s window seat, he smirks.
“That’s my seat,” he says, not asking.
Around them, forks pause midair. The waitress, Darlene, grips the coffee pot a little tighter.
Cole steps closer, voice rising. “You deaf or just stubborn?”
Harold doesn’t match the tone. His words are calm, measured. “Son, a chair isn’t worth a fight. If it keeps the peace, take it.”
But peace doesn’t interest Cole. He leans in, mocking. “Old man, your stories don’t mean anything here.”
And then, before anyone can stop him, he see …
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