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“Not a problem. It’s leather and besides, a little sauce is like wearing a badge of honor.” When her head tilted to the side, obviously questioning my word, I added, “Honestly. You didn’t think one is a true Texan without being able to identify not only the sauce but the rib joint it came from did you?”
“I think you’re a big fat liar,” she said without a moment’s hesitation. “You might live in Austin, but you’re not a native Texan.”
“I’m not?” I asked, placing my hand over my heart. “You wound me deeply.”
She laughed, releasing my hand in order to put hers over the one covering my heart. “Sorry, Max, but you have an accent beneath that twang. In fact, come to think about it, it sounds familiar, somehow.” Her brow furrowed and my heart skipped a beat.
This was definitely not the time nor the place I wanted to come clean. Turning my hand over to capture hers, I gave her fingers a squeeze and began to walk toward the entrance again. “I believe the bet was about where you call home, but good try on turning the tables.”
“As if I needed to cheat,” she scoffed, but her laugh told me she’d forgotten all about my accent, which, if she only listened to herself, she’d recognize instantly.
“Austria,” I said, sacrificing one of my five guesses simply to keep her mind occupied as I pulled the door open.
“Bzzzzzz,” she said, using those perfect lips to form a rather impressive imitation of a game show’s buzzer. “Not even close. Um, Max?”
“Yes?”
“Why are there peanuts all over the floor?”
I chuckled, having become totally immune to the empty peanuts shells crunching beneath the soles of my boots. Looking at the room with fresh eyes, I had to admit Smokey’s rather rustic style might be a bit startling to some people. Seeing a handful of shells being brushed off a tabletop by the occupants of a couple seated across the room, I asked, “Would you rather go somewhere else?”
Marcie’s face turned up to mine, her smile bright. “Are you kidding? I love peanuts! I bet I can eat more than you!”
While there wasn’t a chance of that happening, I didn’t contradict her, but laughed as she purposedly trod on as many shells as she could when the hostess led us to a table. I watched as Marcie took her time scanning the décor, the pleasure on her face making a smile come to mine.
After popping the peanuts into her mouth, she looked around and then leaned forward in her seat. “Are you sure we’re really supposed to just drop them on the floor?”
“Absolutely positive, though dropping is rather boring. I like to toss them myself.”
Her smile widened and she wound up her arm like a baseball player readying his fastball pitch and threw the handful of shells, watching wide-eyed as they skipped and bounced halfway to the door. Looking back at me, the giggle she let escape was muffled by her hand as if she didn’t believe she’d actually just done that.
Unable to resist, I said, “Or, you can just put them back in the bucket.” I jiggled the handle of the bucket of unshelled nuts in the center of our table.
The delightful sound of her laughter cut off mid-giggle, and she was halfway out of her chair preparing to retrieve the scattered shells before I reached over and blocked her path with my outstretched arm. “Whoa, I’m kidding!”
The princess’ head slowly turned toward me, her eyes narrowing as she realized she’d been had. Sitting again, she tossed her hair and without a word, reached into the bucket and made her choice. After slowly putting each of the newly shelled peanuts into her mouth and crunching down, she tossed the shells–directly across the table at me.
I’d played with this woman when she was a kid and was prepared. I simply used the menu to deflect the missiles to the floor, then offered her the laminated one-sided page. I knew she was accustomed to perusing leather-bound volumes listing enough courses to make a person dizzy, but like she’d done ever since we’d pulled into the parking lot, she seemed to find pleasure in even this.
It only took her a few seconds to read the offerings before she slid it back between the bottles of barbecue sauce and the paper-towel dispenser. “I’ll leave the ordering to you,” she said, then grinned. “Except that I want both Smokey’s nanna’s prize-winning pecan pie and the blackberry cobbler. Oh, and that little trick with the peanuts means you’ll be paying for a scoop of ice cream… on each, of course.”
Of course.
I grinned and shook my head. “Poor little thing. Since I’m winning the bet, I’m afraid you’ll not be tasting anything other than peanuts and good-ole’ Texas beef.”
She rolled her eyes and reached for another handful of peanuts. “In your dreams. Now, what are we having?”
I had no need to read the menu.
When the waitress stopped at our table, she chirped, “Well, look who’s here. Max, it’s about time you graced us with your presence,” then leaned a bit closer, tapping a fingertip against her cheek.
I dutifully kissed the indicated spot. “You’re looking as fine as always, Miss Susie.”
Straightening, she grinned. “Don’t I know it.” She looked from me to Marcie and back again. “Not as fine as your lady friend. Don’t tell him I said so, but she is far finer than your usual grumpy dinner companion. I suggest you do your best to keep this one.”
I chuckled. Smokey’s wife had to be in her mid-seventies at the very least and loved to dole out advice almost as much as she loved to flirt. “I won’t argue with that, and before she empties the peanut pail, double my usual and we’ll be set. Oh, and two glasses of sweet tea, please.”
“And what will you be having for dessert?”
