#beau ar

The mornings always came too early now.

Beau Arlen sat in his truck, engine idling outside the diner, fingers tight around the steering wheel. The old leather creaked under his grip, but he didn’t loosen it. Couldn’t. If he let go, he might just fall apart.

The divorce papers sat crumpled on the passenger seat beside him, like some ugly reminder he couldn't shake. Not that he needed the reminder — Sharon made sure he remembered every damn day. The texts, the voicemails, the sudden "accidental" run-ins at the grocery store...

It wasn’t just the ending of the marriage. It was her. How she twisted every good memory into something ugly. How she blamed him for things he didn’t even know he'd done. How she made him feel small.

Tired, Beau shoved the truck door open and stepped out into the sharp morning air. The diner’s neon sign buzzed weakly against the gray dawn, the "Open" flickering in and out like it wasn’t sure it meant it.

Beau wasn’t sure of much these days either.

He pushed inside. The place was nearly empty — just a couple regulars hunched over coffee cups — and the smell of bacon grease and cheap coffee wrapped around him like an old blanket.

That’s when he saw her.

You.

You were wiping down the counter, humming softly under your breath. Nothing fancy — just a simple tune — but it caught him off guard. It was the first pleasant sound he'd heard in days. Maybe weeks.

You looked up when the door chimed, offering a smile. A real one. Not forced, not polite — just… warm.

"Morning, Sheriff," you called, grabbing a menu without being asked.

"Morning," Beau grunted back, sliding onto a stool at the counter.

He didn’t need a menu. Hell, he didn’t even need to order anymore — he was here so often, you already knew what he liked. Black coffee, two eggs over easy, hashbrowns extra crispy. The essentials of a man barely holding himself together.

You poured his coffee, setting it in front of him with a gentle clink. "Rough morning?" you asked, voice low and kind.

Beau stared into his cup for a beat too long. He could lie. Say he was fine. Tell you what he told everyone else.

But for some reason, the words stuck.

"Somethin’ like that," he muttered.

You didn’t push. You just nodded and went to ring up another customer, giving him space without leaving him alone. It was... a rare kind of kindness.

One he hadn’t realized he was starving for.

Over the next few weeks, the diner became less about the coffee and more about you.

The way you'd lean over the counter when he told you dumb stories from patrol. The way you’d laugh — not that fake, high-pitched giggle he heard too much of, but a real laugh that crinkled the corners of your eyes. The way you’d listen — really listen — when he grumbled about Sharon and the divorce and how everything he touched seemed to turn sour.

Some mornings, you’d scribble little jokes on his napkin. Other mornings, you’d just refill his coffee before he even realized he needed it.

And little by little, Beau started wanting to get up in the morning again.

It wasn’t love. But it was hope.

And hope, after months of choking on bitterness, felt damn near holy.

Sometimes, when you weren’t looking, Beau would catch himself smiling into his coffee cup.

And sometimes, when you thought he wasn’t looking, you’d watch him with this soft, secret look he didn’t know how to name.

He didn’t think about the way his heart picked up when you laughed. He didn’t think about the sudden ache in his chest when your shift ended and you waved goodbye.

He couldn’t afford to think about it.

But he thought about you anyway.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter 2 coming soon!