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CHAPTER TEN
ANGIE’S CAFÉ was warm and brightly lit.
It was also as busy as any place in Times Square would have been at this hour.
A plump woman looked up when they came in. Her eyes widened and she rushed out from behind the counter, greeted Jake with a squeal and a hug. He lifted her off her feet, spun her around as if she weighed no more than a feather.
“You come home to make an honest woman outta me, Jake Wilde?”
Jake grinned.
“If I ever settle down, Angie, it’ll surely be with you.”
The woman laughed and Jake made quick introductions. Angie looked at Addison from head to toe, then nodded her approval and led them to one of the red vinyl booths that lined the walls.
Jake waved away the menu.
“Don’t need it, Angie. I’ve been dreaming of one of your breakfasts for months.”
Angie grinned.
“Eggs over easy. Bacon. Home fries. Biscuits. Grits. And buckets and buckets of coffee.”
Jake smiled. “Add some sausage and you’ve got it.”
“How ‘bout you, miss? You want the same?”
Addison looked up from the menu.
“Do you have Egg Beaters?”
Jake snorted. Addison ignored him.
“If not,” she said politely, “then I’d like one poached egg on wheat toast. No butter on the toast.”
“And?”
“And, that’s it. Oh, coffee, please, with a packet of the blue stuff or the pink stuff instead of sugar.”
“One regular breakfast,” Angie said. “One poached egg, wheat toast and grits.”
“No grits, thank you.”
“Grits,” Angie said, tucking her pencil behind her ear and walking away.
“No. Wait. I don’t want—”
“It’s got nothing to do with what you want, Adoré,” Jake said patiently. “You’re south of the Mason-Dixon Line. Grits come with everything.”
“Mason and Dixon were surveyors,” Addison said, with a toss of her head, “not chefs.”
“They were Northerners.”
She raised an eyebrow. He’d said it the way someone else might say, They were barbarians.
“News flash, Jacob. So am I.”
He grinned. “Yeah, and I’ve decided to look beyond that.”
