When I was young, I worked as a waitress. A super wealthy guy wanted to date me, but I wasn’t having it. Even after his $500 tips.
One day, I came to work, and he was there with some important-looking guy. Then he announced that he was buying the diner. I thought he was joking.
I laughed, said, “Sure you are,” and kept pouring coffee for table six. But he wasn’t kidding. The owner came out not ten minutes later, white as a sheet, and confirmed it—he had just sold the place.
To him. To the guy who kept leaving me ridiculous tips and calling me “sunshine.”
His name was Victor. He owned a chain of high-end car dealerships and had more money than anyone in our small town could even imagine.
And he was persistent. He’d come in every Thursday, always ordered the same thing: black coffee, over-easy eggs, wheat toast, and a slice of apple pie. Then he’d leave a $500 tip and try to get me to sit with him for five minutes.
I never did. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him. He was charming in a strange, quiet way.
But I had just gotten out of a bad relationship, was behind on rent, and had a younger brother I was helping raise. Dating a rich guy wasn’t in my plans. I didn’t trust easy money, and Victor felt like a shortcut.
I didn’t believe in shortcuts. After he bought the diner, I thought maybe he’d finally back off. Maybe now that he had “won” in some weird way, he’d move on.
But instead, he stopped tipping altogether and just sat in his regular booth, drinking his coffee and reading the paper. Weeks passed, and he didn’t say much to me. No more flirtatious comments.
No more apple pie compliments. Just quiet mornings and a small nod when I brought his food. One day, I couldn’t help myself.
I walked over and said, “So you bought a whole diner just to stop tipping me?”
He looked up and smiled. “No. I bought it because it was about to go under.
I like this place. And I like watching you work.”
I stared at him. “That’s weird,” I said, not kindly.
“Maybe,” he replied. “But it’s honest.”
We stood there for a moment, not saying anything. Then the bell above the door jingled and I had to get back to work.
A month later, I was offered a promotion—manager of the diner. I’d been working there five years by then and never thought I’d move up. The old owner, Pete, had promised me the role more than once, but it never came through.
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