Her stomach turned a little at that. "And you didn't call child protective services because...?" Celeste scanned the diner. Full enough to not be noticed, but not so much that anyone would be breathing down their necks.
She slid into a booth, the vinyl instantly adhering to her bare legs. Celeste picked at the frayed strands of her shorts, waiting for him to sit. A small mountain of single-serving creamer sat on the table, as well as two overturned coffee cups. The one closest to her was chipped.
Both exits of the diner were equidistant from their booth. She'd have to run past everyone if things went sideways, or go through the kitchen. An off-duty cop was at the counter, but seemed to be paying and finishing up. Three servers, two cooks. Maybe a manager in a dingy little office in the back.
"Level with me, Frankie. You good at this? You were vouched for, but," Celeste shrugged and smiled. "That isn't always gold."