Page 10 of Big Daddy Mountain Man

It was a gamble, though. Going into the diner and asking would waste valuable time.

Then again, she would already be walking in the dark no matter when she started. She might as well see if she could call someone.

With that in mind, she started rolling her battered old suitcase in the direction of the diner. There were only two vehicles in the parking lot—a car and an older model black truck or SUV of some kind—but it looked to still be open.

Perhaps she could call a ride, get to the cabin, and still have enough money to eat on until she found a job.

CHAPTER SIX

Sawyer had reluctantly driven to the diner.

He wasn’t necessarily in the mood for company, but Quinn’s words had rattled around in his head all afternoon and into the evening.

The sheriff was right.

How could he ever meet a Little if he stayed holed up in his cabin all the time, or traipsing through the woods every spare minute, living like some mountain man back in 1830?

So, he’d hopped in his truck and drove the few miles to the eatery. He might as well have stayed home. There wasn’t anyone else there besides him and Marsha, the older woman who owned the establishment.

She was about sixty or a bit older and was as sweet as could be. She was also the type to mind her own business when it came to Big Cedar’s unique dynamic. She wasn’t in the AgePlay lifestyle, so she didn’t get too wrapped up in it all other than commenting on how cute the Littles were.

At least that’s all she did the times Sawyer had been in there and witnessed her interactions.

He was hoping that stayed the case tonight.

He didn’t mind chatting with her. A little company now and then was nice. But he wasn’t in the mood for anyone to play matchmaker or ask him when he was going to find his sweet Little.

People meant well. But it was still annoying.

“You doing okay over there, hon?” Marsha asked from behind the counter where she stood at the register, counting money.

“Yes, ma’am. Still good,” Sawyer said from his booth near the middle of the old place.

He looked around and smiled, liking it in there. It was old fashioned, like him.

Tin signs of old, some even long-gone brands hung tastefully on the walls. The hardwood floor was original to the building, as were some of the built-in booths and that the register rested on. He didn’t know exactly how old it was, but it had stood there for at least a hundred years. Maybe a few more.

“Well, you let me know if you need anything,” Marsha called, though she never looked up from her counting and organizing, her reading glasses sliding further down the tip of her nose.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

The burger and fries before him were nearly finished, and he was thinking about going for a piece of pie next. Near the register was a glass case that held some sweet treats, and he’d eyed the chocolate meringue on his way in.

He took a drink of tea and contemplated the pie with a chaser of coffee.

“Doesn’t sound half bad,” he noted quietly.

He got up and walked toward the counter.

“Now I told you to let me know if you need anything,” Marsha said.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. I felt bad about just yelling for you.”

“Oh, we’re not formal around here, hon. You know that. What do you need?”

“Wouldn’t mind some of that chocolate pie and?—”

A bell jingled as the door swung open. A young lady stepped in, momentarily causing Sawyer to forget what he was even ordering.

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