Specifics vary a lot per species. But a universal approach is "talk to yourself". Though only things one could conceivable say by themselves, and never addressing the fae directly, it's better to lie and talk about a person that's a way or even someone imaginary or a character from a book. It's highly recommended inventing your own sort of norm, because anything too normalized ends up being a clear sign of impolite acknowledgment.

Another thing that's common is leaving food for them, though the details on that vary a lot. There is a species that will be okay if you leave anything overnight in front of the light of a hearth. Some have specific dietary requirements/customs. One of the "bolder" species will gladly accept if you leave a plate under the moonlight with words to the effect that anyone can eat the meal.

Most of the advice is regarding standard homes, instead of her vehicle. It's unclear if the van is even counts as a home, though the commentary on sea going vessels (which often contain their own subspecies) implies that even a small boat might count under the right circumstances.

Well crap, she only has a half packet of Funyuns in here, and zero plates. Guess it's just going out in the bag then? She slides open the van door, places the bag on the ground and takes a deep breath.

"If anyone out here is hungry, this is a packet of chips that taste like onions, it's free to a good home, and or stomach."

The dark empty street in front of her provides no answer. That clouds in the night sky part to shine more moonlight upon her.

"I'm gonna close the door and hope that worked," she has a tendency to speak outloud to herself, a habit formed from years spent in the isolation of homelessness in the big city.

Again. No reply. It's a quiet town in the middle of nowhere, so there is no sound louder than an owl's hoot.

Shrug.

She slides the door closed and rests on the mattress firmly situated in the bed of her van, its old, and damaged, and to be completely honest, she found it in a dumpster out the back of an apartment building, but it is a bed so she figures its fine. She picks the book back up to make sure she read everything there is to read in it, she is finding it surprisingly unboring because 'oh my god faeries' is the prime thought.

There is a lot of book to read, eventually she will need to get to her well-deserved rest. Or maybe she just falls asleep anyway. The dreams are surprisingly pleasant that night.

She falls asleep midsentence. Healthy sleep patterns and practices aren't a thing she knows. And her dreams... are weirdly pleasant? She hasn't not had a nightmare about being attacked in her van or... her childhood. But this was just her, in a house with dogs and all the tech she could ever use. And she wakes up rested and happy? Weird.

It's a relatively quiet morning, she can hear the sound of birds and people out and about in the streets.

She very quietly and peacefully gets dressed into the work clothes from yesterday, and her stomach grumbles briefly, she hungers the silence with a gulp of water and leaves the car to walk back to the diner with a rare skip in her step.

Work today keeps not being meaningfully different from working on a restaurant on Earth. Same level of people being curious about her "supposed" origin. With only one lady doing air quotes about it.

She doesn't even slightly react or care about said lady, other people's opinions rarely affect her, so she just carries on with her work day as normal. Before she leaves, she realises that she doesn't have any food left in the van, worries about it briefly, which is probably evident on her face as poker has never been something she's been good at, and hopes nothing will come of not leaving food out tonight. She then goes to leave.

"Bye Mr Upton, have a good night."

"Bye... Uh, if you don't mind asking. Have you eaten anything at all today?"

"Uh..." She hesitates, going back and forth in her mind between admitting the truth and lying. On one hand, she doesn't want to worry this very nice man, on the other hand, she really doesn't want to lie to this very nice man. Eventually, she lands on telling him the embarassing truth. "I haven't, but I'm fine, I promise. I normally don't eat that often."

Frown. "Weird... is that something that the food in your world just does?"

"Well... no. Technically, people are meant to eat at least three full meals a day, with snacks in between, or a variant therein depending on your metabolism, but I just... don't, usually."

Blink. "Why? Curse?"

"We don't really have those there. I just... don't usually get the opportunity."

"But... are you hungry?"

"...No?" 

She tries to sound convincing but she is, 100%, the worst liar in existence.

"Okay... I am going to currently assume that you are under a curse where you can't talk about the curse, but I can talk about it."

"I..." Now she feels bad for making this complicated, ugh, well. "No, I'm not cursed, I just... I don't like talking about it a lot, but I grew up in an orphanage, and once I was 13, I ran away and lived on the streets. So eating food more than once every few days isn't something I'm used to. I can and should eat a normal amount, but I don't because... Well, because that's just, normal, for me, I guess."

"Oh... Now I feel like a jerk for pushing, I guess. You really shouldn't starve yourself."

"Oh no, it's fine, you were just being nice, I was being all... Weird about it."

She very intentionally skips over that last part.

"Okay. Can you at least... take something home?"