12.

It was bright and quiet in the diner; sun glaring through large windows, amplifying the smell of eggs and coffee. There were soft conversations and a low motors from the highway outside. The stranger was sitting at the bar dressed in a gray suit and black tie, a dark fedora resting on the seat next to him. He was smoking and pushing his black hair off his forehead.

The lady was in a blue and white uniform, standing behind the shiny bar and glowing cakes and muffins. Her curly red hair was pulled back with a pink band.
"Goodmorning..." he started.
"Kelly." She pointed at a name tag.
"Morning Kelly."
"Coffee?"
"Sure," he smiled and tapped his cigarette while she grabbed him a mug.
"Cream? Sugar?"
"No."
"Anything else?"
"Actually I'm supposed to meet a Beatrix Oswald... You know her?"
"The writer? Know of her. She doesn't come here."
He sipped his coffee. "She knows I'm meeting her if thats what your thinking." he pushed his hair back again, "Do I look like like a weirdo?"
She shrugged. Her eyes tagged the far corner of the diner, and then back to him. "Enjoy your coffee." and she walked into the kitchen, glancing once over her shoulder.

And that must be her. In a corner booth, late-twenties, short black hair messed, wide blue eyes behind small wire rimmed spectacles, and knees resting on the table edge. In front of her were plates of bacon, eggs and toast, two steaming cups of coffee, and what seemed to be the remnants of a few muffins. She was hunched over scribbling in a hidden notebook. The way she squished her face around while thinking made her look angry.