Mamma’s Diner had its share of early morning customers, but usually they started trickling in around eight or nine. Hunter and Mamma were the only ones there this early, going through the morning routine of prepping and setting the chairs back down off the tables, making sure all the ketchup bottles and salt and pepper shakers were full, the napkin dispensers were stuffed, and other such menial tasks. So when Hunter heard the bell above the door, he was surprised. Even more so when he exited the kitchen and found himself face to face with none other than Cody Cavaleri. Hunter honestly hadn’t been expecting to see him again after the disaster that was their first meeting. The fact that Cody even remembered his name made his face feel warm, and he had to force himself to remain professional.
“Uh, yeah, hey, good morning,” he said with a nod, taking a step forward before stopping. Something felt off about the guy. He looked like he’d been up all night, but there was more to it than that. That perky smile definitely wasn’t genuine, Hunter could tell that, at least.
“Coffee, right, coming up,” he said with a small smile of his own, not forcing anything. He hoped his nerves weren’t showing, as he stepped over to the coffee pot and got a clean mug from the rack, filling it before stepping over to place it in front of Cody. “Are … you okay?” he decided to ask, guessing the worst that could happen was Cody simply brushing him off (and it wasn’t like that hadn’t happened before).
“Thanks,” he smiled through that, weakly, as Hunter turned away. Some kind of... discomfort, something bristly and claustrophobic, was creeping and crawling through Cody’s chest. Maybe it was being back here, at the diner - even smelled the same, didn’t it? What did they say about smell being the sense most tied to memory, some crap like that? He’d believe it, sitting there, trying not to remember the last time he’d slid into one of those squeaky vinyl booths. That one, specifically. Corner. Nonna’s favourite. It’d been, what, a couple months before that stroke? She was small and old, and he’d just got tall and gangly, sixteen and trying to pull off puberty gracefully. One of those wrinkled hands had slid across the table to cover his nervous, tapping fingers. And where are you going, over there? She’d asked, smiling. His face had flushed hot, ashamed, embarrassed, stumbling into a run through of his schedule - shoots, auditions, tutoring. Life, back in California. Stuff that... just didn’t seem to make much sense, from the Pines. Stop. With that gentle, solid way she had about her. Stay awhile.
His fingers weren’t tapping, now. Only because he’d picked up a few more camera-friendly ways to keep them busy.
Maybe it was Hunter, and how - how he was. Nice. So fucking nice, too nice. No. No, Hunter was fine. Cody was the one being weird. This town was making him weird. He swung that big grin back up when the coffee slid his way. Managed to pin it in place, when Hunter went and got... personal. Great. So, it was obvious. “Oh, sure,” Cody waved the thought away, insistently. Was he okay. “Think I’m getting a migraine.” That wasn’t too bullshitty, was it? Might be true. He raised that coffee, grateful, exhausted. “How, uh - how about you? Early start, huh? Rough...” Well, that sucked, as small talk went. But the coffee was still good, so.