The rain had been falling steadily for hours, a hollow counterpoint to the whirling ceiling fans as it chattered against the roof. The sound was vaguely reminiscent of typewriters, and a metaphorical soul might have found parallels to the writings of one's story, or the turning of the pages of life. Rain often seemed to hold some strange, deeper meaning for those sorts of people. Waiting for a bus in the rain, kissing in the rain, crying in the rain, everything had some sort of story to tell. Poets lapped it up. Rain meant something to everyone.

Even diner owners in the dead of night. Though, to be honest, Rhett was more worried about mud then the meaning of life at the moment.

The diner was quiet, that late on a Friday night. It wasn't too terribly surprising-- Lima had a club that was, while somewhat dated, more then adequate for the youth of the town. That included his two teen age waitresses that night, both calling off a few hours before their shifts in a flurry of giggles over some cover band a promises that they would definetely make it up over the week end. Having been seventeen and stupid before, Rhett couldn't really blame them. The dinner rush hadn't been fun, but he'd managed. And he'd spent enough hours behind the long lunch counter that a few more wouldn't kill him yet.

'Rhett's Place', as it was locally known, was a familiar landmark in Lima. It had belonged to a local couple for fifty years, before the siren song of retirement had prompted them to sell. Rhett, then a young waiter with an MBA he'd never expected to use, had poured all his savings into the offer and kept the place open. The life of a restaurant owner had been hell for the first few years, abd there were some nights when the man would pour over his financials and pray for a quick and clean heart attack, but over the six years he'd owned the place it had overall worth it.

Even on nights like that, when he bored, tired and staring at the pie case with a little too much longing--

The [i]tinkling[/i] of the bell over the door jerled him from his dessert related musings, and he glanced up to see a woman standing in the doorway. The storm had clearly caught her unawares, and she dripped from head to foot. The small part of him that was annoyed by the mess-he'd just mopped the tile, after all- was silenced by the tension he could read in her body language.

"Come on in, welcome to Rhett's. That's me, so hand your coat up to dry and come sit at the counter-- booths an' tables are still dryin'. You look like you could use somethin' cool, fight down the humidity?"