“I think I can do that.” With a sweet smile, she relaxes against the leather seat. “Let the relaxing and trusting commence.”

We don’t have far to go. I make the three-mile drive to the outskirts of town and then another mile past the on-ramp to the interstate. When I pull into a desolate parking lot and the pink neon lights come into view, Abigail perks up.

“Welcome to Abby’s,” I announce, putting my car into park. “Home of the best burger in Montana.”

“Shut the front door!” Abigail laughs. She hops from my truck and walks toward the front of the diner with a look of awe on her face.

I climb out and follow behind. She spins around and pins me with her signature smile, the one that reaches the deepest parts of my heart.

The one I’m falling for.

“This is crazy!”

“Wait until you taste the food. It’s delicious.” I grab her hand and lead her toward the front door.

“I don’t believe this. I’ve been to Cunningham Falls twice to visit Hannah, and she never mentioned this place.”

“She probably doesn’t know about it. Abby’s is sort of a hometown gem. Unless you were born and raised here, or know someone who was, you’ve likely never heard of it. Most people don’t drive out this way.”

“It is sort of an odd spot for a diner,” she says, looking around. “It’s the middle of nowhere.”

A bell chimes when I open the front door. “There’s a sweet story about the location.”

&nbs

p; “Tell me everything,” she says, walking in ahead of me.

I nod to the only waitress in the joint and follow Abigail to a booth in the corner.

“This place is wonderful,” she says.

My eyes follow hers around the room, seeing everything for the first time. The floor is black and white checkered. The booths are metallic and red. Old Coca Cola décor lines the walls, and then there’s the very best piece, the jukebox, which is currently playing Dion & The Belmonts’ “A Teenager in Love,” which is fitting for the story of how this diner came to life.

“The story goes a little somethin’ like this…” I begin. “John Truman married his childhood sweetheart, Abby Tallman. The first house they lived in as a married couple sat right here—”

“Like, right here, right here?”

“Right here, right here,” I confirm. “In this exact spot. They spent fifteen years in the house, where they had four children. John was a carpenter, and Abby was a teacher.”

“I love her already. I bet she was wonderful.”

“Abby loved to cook and bake, and it was her dream to open her own restaurant. She never fulfilled that dream because one evening the house caught fire. John was at work when it happened, and everyone made it out except Abby. She died saving her children’s lives.”

Abigail sucks in a breath and covers her mouth with her hands.

“John was devastated. Abby was the love of his life. He never remarried, and he finished raising their children down the road in an old farmhouse. When his kids grew up and moved away, he spent his life’s savings to build this diner.”

A tear rolls down Abigail’s cheek. “He fulfilled her dream for her. That’s the worst and best story I’ve ever heard.”

I nod. “It’s a tragic story, but also very beautiful. There’s a picture of Abby on the wall in the hallway.”

“What about John? Is he still alive?”

“Oh yeah, he’s still kickin’. He’s got a bad hip, so he isn’t here as much as he’d like to be, but her memory lives on, and that’s all he really wanted.”

“If I die tomorrow, will you open a turtle sanctuary in my name?”

I smile, unsure if she’s joking or not. “You’re serious?”

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