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We come to a stop in the parking lot, I drop my kickstand and we dismount. As soon as our helmets are off, I grab Lara and give her another deep kiss.
I love her so much.
When we break apart, she says, “What was that for?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“Nope,” she kisses me back, then we hold hands and enter the diner.
It’s a little busier than when I normally come here. This looks like it’s the peak breakfast rush.
It’s not like bikers keep office hours, so it’s very rare that we’ll clash with society’s schedule—breakfast included.
I suppose my breakfast is generally at 10am because we’re partying all night.
We take a booth and sit opposite each other. In no time at all, the blonde waitress named, Denise, comes to our table.
She’s new-ish.I’ve seen her a few times. Bret told me she was in school with him and she’s moved back to town, but he doesn’t know why—he didn’t ask.
“Hey y’all,” she greets us.
Lara and I both say, “Hi, Denise.”
She looks at Lara for two seconds too long and then mutters under her breath, “Somebody’sbeen getting around.”
I say, “What was that?”
“Nothing,” then she flashes us a smile.
Lara hangs her head, then picks up the menu and buries her attention in it.
“What’ll it be, folks?”
I say, “Coffee, a short stack, bacon, eggs and…yeah, that’ll do it for me. Lara?”
She barely looks up and says, “Number twenty-three, please.”
Denise nods, “Coming right up.” And she leaves.
Lara’s still staring at her lap.
“Hey.”
She looks up, “Mm?”
“What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head with a frown, then looks out the window.
“Did I do something?”
“Of course, not,” she reaches over and squeezes my hand. “It’s nothing.”
We sit there in silence for a while longer. Normally it’s Lara who does most of the talking. I try to get her going by asking, “What’s twenty-three?”
Lara answers absentmindedly, “Something from the breakfast section. I forget.”
“Lara, what is it? What’s wrong?”
