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Santa Zombie Guy’s pancakes came up and I grabbed them and the coffeepot and floated them out.

“Thanks,” he said when I set the plate down. “Not as big as I thought,” he said, looking relieved.

“Yeah, I asked the cook to scale them back. I thought maybe the pancakes were part of the punishment?”

He grinned at me. “How’d you know?”

I shrugged. “A guess.”

“I get an hour off for every three I eat,” he explained.

“Ahh. Well, I’ll order them small for you.”

He puffed his cheeks and looked at the plate. “Technically they’re supposed to be full-sized or they don’t count.”

I tilted my head. “They are full-sized pancakes. They’re just not full-sized for Pancake Disco,” I pointed out.

He looked like he was thinking about this seriously. “They didn’t specify that it had to be Pancake Disco full-sized pancakes…”

“Sounds like they’ve left a lot of this open to interpretation.”

“And really it’s not my fault if the cooks keep making them wrong.”

“We are training a new guy.”

I watched a crooked smile play along his lips. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I have brothers, I get it. I’m here all day too. I’m working a double, so you’re stuck with me.”

“I promise I will leave you a good tip,” he said. “Zombie Santa’s honor.”

“Ha. Coffee?” I asked.

“Sure.”

I studied him for a moment while I topped off his mug. I couldn’t really tell what he looked like, but he did have a great smile. Sandy-blond hair. He was on the taller side, maybe six foot, probably around my age, twenty-two or twenty-three.

“So what was the bet?” I asked.

He stopped, fork midway to plate. “I’d rather not say.”

I gave him an amused look. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s not bad, just embarrassing.”

“Worse than the punishment?”

He seemed to think about it. “Yes.”

I laughed a little. “Okay. Well, enjoy the pancakes,” I said.

“I don’t think that’s going to be possible. But thanks. Hey, what are junkyard potatoes?” he asked.

I looked over my shoulder at the white dry-erase board with the specials on it. “It’s like a potato hash,” I said, coming back to him. “The cook calls it that because he throws all the leftover junk in them. They’re really good, though. I get it every time it’s on the menu.”

“Huh. Maybe I’ll come back one day to try it when I don’t look like a four-year-old who dressed himself.” He gave me a beautiful grin.

I laughed all the way back to the server station.