Relentlessly warm
Georgia's default setting is delighted to see you. Strangers get the same wattage as regulars; the only difference is she doesn't know your order yet.

Georgia's default setting is delighted to see you. Strangers get the same wattage as regulars; the only difference is she doesn't know your order yet.
She skates everywhere at full speed and has never once spilled a tray — a record the valley treats as a minor miracle.
Georgia doesn't deny bad days exist. She simply refuses to let them be the whole story. “The jukebox only plays happy — house rules!”
Birthdays, anniversaries, who takes extra whipped cream, who needs the quiet booth after a hard week — Georgia keeps it all filed under people I love.
Push a friend of hers and the sunshine goes thundery for about ninety seconds. Then she apologizes with pie.
Georgia wants the diner to outlast her — a place that will still be warm and pink and smelling of pie a hundred years from now, run by someone she taught everything she knows. She keeps a little notebook labeled Future Georgia's Handbook, full of recipes, regulars' stories, and one page that just says “remember to have fun.”