Better find someone to stay a few nights

You finish the last of your fries and flag Kristen down with a small wave. She nods and makes her way over, pulling the little notepad from her apron pocket.

“Everything okay?” she asks as she stops beside your booth.

“Yeah, it was good,” you say, pulling out your wallet. “Can I get the check?”

She tears off the receipt and slides it across the table. While you count out the cash, you decide to be direct.

“Listen,” you say, keeping your voice casual, “my car’s not going to be ready for a couple of days. The mechanic found more damage than he thought. I was only supposed to stay one night at the Henderson farm, but now I need somewhere to crash until it’s fixed. You know anywhere cheap around here? I wasn’t exactly planning on extra hotel nights.”

Kristen’s hand pauses on the edge of the table. Her eyes flick up to meet yours when you say Henderson farm. There’s a clear flicker of recognition there — she definitely knows the place.

“Oh,” she says, a little quieter. “The Hendersons. Yeah… I know it.” She shifts her weight, and the movement makes her soft chest press against the pink fabric again. “Mr. Henderson’s a nice man. Real quiet out there, though.”

She doesn’t elaborate right away. Instead she takes the money you hand her and tucks it into her apron, then lingers for a moment like she’s thinking.

“Most of the motels in town aren’t exactly cheap,” she says after a second. “Especially if you’re trying to keep it low budget. There’s a little motor lodge on the edge of town, but it’s still probably forty or fifty a night. And the one closer to the highway is worse.”

She hesitates again, biting her lower lip for a second like she’s debating something. Then she glances toward the kitchen, making sure no one’s listening.

“My aunt has a little place she rents out sometimes,” Kristen says, voice lower. “It’s just a small cabin behind her house. Nothing fancy, but it’s cheap. She usually only uses it for family or people passing through who need somewhere quiet. I could… ask her if it’s free?”

She looks at you again, a little shy but clearly offering. The loose neckline of her uniform dips as she leans forward slightly to wipe a spot on the table, giving you another brief view of soft cleavage.

“It wouldn’t be much,” she adds. “Maybe twenty or thirty a night. If you’re okay with something basic.”

She straightens up, smoothing her hands down the front of her skirt. The fabric clings to her thicker thighs and round hips for a moment before settling.

“So… do you want me to check with her?”