Page 93 of Scatter the Bones

He shrugs. “Needed air.”

I understand more than he realizes. “You want to go somewhere to talk? Grab lunch? Have you eaten?”

Jesus Christ, why am I so fucking awkward around this kid?

He gives me a half smile. “I could eat.”

“All right. There are like a dozen chain restaurants on the mall road.”

“I know.”

“Anything interest you?”

“The steakhouse?” he asks hopefully.

“Hell yeah, let’s do it.” I clap my hands, eager to get moving.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re tucked into a wide, wooden booth in the corner of a Southwest Steakhouse—country music playing overhead, peanut shells crunching underfoot, and the scent of grilled meat thick in the air. The walls are plastered with vintage rodeo posters and rusted license plates, making it look, feel, and smell exactly like every other Southwest Steakhouse I’ve ever stepped into.

A pretty—in an ordinary, girl-next-door kind of way—server in jeans, boots, and pigtails drops off glasses of ice water and rattles off the daily specials.

“Order whatever you want,” I say, figuring he’ll get a cheeseburger and fries.

Cain studies the menu like it’s a final exam, his brow furrowed and mouth pressed into a tight line. Then he clears his throat. “Uh, the bone-in ribeye. Medium. With the spicy shrimp, baked potato, and mac and cheese.”

Did this little shit just order the most expensive thing on the menu?

I snort under my breath and hand the server my menu. “I’ll have the same.”

“Everything?” she asks, arching a brow.

“Yup.”

“And a Coke,” Cain adds, without looking up.

I tap my water glass. “I’m good with this.”

After she leaves, Cain leans back in the booth, hands in his lap. He doesn’t fidget or reach for his phone, just stares past me in the direction the server went.

“How’s the hotel?” I ask, gripping the base of my water glass and giving it a slow spin, condensation slick under my fingertips.

“Okay. Planes are noisy, though.”

“Staying there can’t be cheap.”

He shrugs.

“You been eating enough?”

He crosses his arms over his chest. As if he thinks I’m criticizing his lunch order. “They have a free continental breakfast. I’ve been making it last all day.”

“That’s good.”

The scent of fresh baked bread and cinnamon hits my nose and a second later, a basket of rolls and a dish of cinnamon butter lands in front of us. I nod a thanks at the server and she hurries away.

Cain’s eyes light up for the first time since we sat down. He grabs a roll, tears it in half, and slathers it with butter.

I take one too, tearing it in half and smear butter on one side. It’s sweet, warm, and soft. Probably terrible for me, but I don’t care right now.

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