It was the sensation you get when become convinced that there is someone else in the room although you know deep down you’re alone: She felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. Her limbs felt like they were made of stone ...

Allison Morrison was about to be face to face with a ghost ... from her past, that is.

She toyed with the idea of running out the back door, tossing her uniform and apron behind her, and making a beeline for her car. She would never come back. Forget the tips. Forget her last paycheck. It would be worth not having to face ...

“Allie?”

Mustering every ounce of courage she had, she turned to face the specter: “Kevin! Gosh, what are you doing here?”

Allie caught her breath in her throat as she awaited his response. She took in the lines of his dark gray, perfectly-tailored suit; it gave him an air of dignity that didn’t often grace Better Eats Diner.

“I’m working,” he said, smiling broadly and sitting down at a nearby booth. “What about you?”

“Uh ... I’m working, too,” she managed, hating how shaky her voice sounded. “What can I get you?”

“What’s good?”

“Um ... the chili isn’t bad. And ... the club sandwich is pretty tasty.”

“Okay, the club sandwich.”

“Extra mustard?”

“Of course.”

“Okay ... and... an iced tea with that?”

“Oh, yeah. On the eight day ...”

“God made sweet tea,” Allie completed the song lyric and a smile played at the edge of her mouth. “Coming right up.”

Allison Morrison -- Allie to her friends ... Al to a chosen few -- had made up her mind to be one of those “better to have loved and lost” people rather than a bitter old lady with 31 cats. Her stormy relationship with the boy of her dreams had been a mistake, but it was a good kind of mistake, she always reasoned.

But that was all behind her now. She was single-minded. (Literally -- since she hadn’t been on a date in four-and-a-half years.) She had a goal and it had precious little to do with finding another man.

So she worked hard and saved her pennies and knew that one day her dreams would come true. Either that or she would end up a would-have been actress still waistressing at 71 ... with 31 cats.

In the meantime she was hollering at the Michelin-man sized cook -- who was also her boss -- at the greasy spoon she called home three full days and two split shifts a week. “Extra yellow paint on that, Bogey.”

“Here ya go,” She brought him his iced tea, smiling at this still baby-faced, sandy-haired creature in a designer suit. “So, what are you doing here?”

“I have witnesses to interview out in Rolling Brook.”

“But what are you doing here?”

“Heard this place had some good eats,” he replied, flashing the smile that had always made her go a litlle weak in the knees.

“Better eats, actually,” she said.

“I stand corrected.”

“So, out of all the greasy spoons in all the towns--”

The bell dinged loudly and Bogey bellowed, “Order up!”

“I’ll be right back,” she said, giving him a wink as she turned around.

Allie delivered the chicken fried steak to the man seated at the counter only to be told it had been to-go.

“That should’ve been on legs, Bogey,” she called back over her shoulder. She grabbed a Styrofoam container from the nearby stack and transferred the food, promising the regular a free Coke on his next visit for the inconvenience.

She made her refill rounds, catching Kevin’s eye when she passed. She didn’t mind if she did look at him a little suspiciously. Baby-faced or not, this fella was up to something.