Page 84 of Cowboys at Coconuts

“Are you off your meds?” He asked.

Ignoring him, she picked up a rolled paper napkin.

Holding a pad, the server turned to Cheri. “Whatcha drinkin’, honey?”

“A Bloody Mary. Pronto,” Sebastian said.

The server pursed her lips. “Sir, we don’t serve alcohol.” Plucking a pencil from behind her ear, she poised her tiny pad in mid-air. “We have sweet tea, coffee, and Pepsi products.”

“I’ll have coffee,” Cheri said.

“What do you mean you don’t serve alcohol? I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Snorting, Sebastian said, “This is going to be a long, damn night. I’ll try the sweet tea, whatever that is.”

The server cocked her head. “It’s tea and it’s sweet.” She shuffled away to get their drinks.

Sebastian reached across the table with both hands, but Cheri kept hers in her lap.

“Stop playing games, Cheri. Cut it out. You obviously have cold feet.” Peering around the half-empty restaurant, he said, “We can delay the wedding another year if that’s the problem. I have to go back to Dubai for another hotel project for six to eight months anyway. They want me to design two more hotels.” Softening his voice, he said, “I’ve heard a lot of brides get cold feet. I don’t blame you for that.”

Swallowing, she said, “It’s not cold feet.”

His voice rose. “Then, what is it?”

“You . . . Me . . . Us.”

The server reappeared with Cheri’s coffee and Sebastian’s sweet tea. Plucking a straw out of her apron pocket, she placed it on the table.

Grunting, Sebastian said, “I don’t need a straw. I guess you haven’t gotten that memo in Hicks—”

“Sebastian. Stop it.”

Undaunted, the waitress held her pad in position. “Ready to order?”

“I’ll try a slice of pecan pie,” Cheri said.

Sebastian scanned the sparse menu, front and back. “BLT.”

“Want chips or fries with that?”

He glanced at the server. “I don’t suppose you have sautéed vegetables or sweet potato fries?”

“No, sir.” She stared at their menu board. “We have fried okra if you don’t like regular fries.”

“I don’t have enough Tums for anything fried. How about coleslaw?”

“Comin’ right up.”

Cheri heard her shout the order to the cook while simultaneously cutting the pecan pie. Yelling across the room, the waitress asked her, “Honey, want ice cream or whipped toppin’ on your pie?”

“Neither, ma’am. Just the pie.”

Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “Ma’am?”

“Everyone’s polite here. You should try it sometime.”

Within minutes, their food arrived. Cheri picked at her crust while Sebastian wolfed down his sandwich and slaw.

Toying with a large pecan, Cheri worked up newfound courage. “That stunt you pulled today was not cool.”

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