She waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, you grew up hot, whatever. I’m busy having a crisis over here. My best friend is back in town.” She turns back to face me. “Isallthe gossip true? Was there a runaway bride situation?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “It’s… complicated.”
Jet’s expression softens immediately. The Jet switch from chaotic gremlin to protective mama bear is still fully operational. “You okay?”
“I’m getting there.”
“Good.” She links our arms. “You’re sitting. And talking. And eating real food, not whatever emotional support protein bars people eat in the city.”
Dallas raises a brow. “People eat protein bars for emotional support?”
Jet doesn’t break eye contact with me. “Cowboy, don’t start.”
We slide into my old favorite booth, Dallas across from me, Jet beside me, practically vibrating with questions.
Dallas glances around the diner, taking it in. “Still your favorite booth?”
I blink. “You remember that?”
He shrugs. “You used to get mad if someone else took it.”
“I did not get mad.”
“You absolutely did,” he says. “You said the sunlight hit wrong everywhere else.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “It does.”
His eyes soften. “Yeah. It does.”
“Oh, my stars,” Martha Lou Daniels booms from across the diner, interrupting us. “Look who rolled back into Buckhorn!”
She waddles over, apron flapping, hair pinned up in its usual tornado pattern.
“Faith Ross,” she says, patting my cheek. “I used to have you and Jet in here giggling so loud I thought the windows would crack.”
Jet preens. “We were icons.”
“You were menaces,” Martha Lou corrects fondly. “Sit tight, sugar. Whatever you order is on me.”
“Oh, no, that’s…”
“Yes,” she says, already walking away.
Jet leans in. “Queen behavior.”
We order.
“Chicken fried steak,” I say. “Extra gravy.”
Jet clutches her chest. “Classic.”
She turns to Dallas, already smirking. “And you still drink that tar you call coffee? Black and strong enough to resurrect the dead?”
Dallas huffs a laugh. “Yeah.”
“You ever try it with cream?” I ask.
He looks genuinely startled. “Why would I ruin it?”
