Page 11 of One Whopper of a Love Story

The waitress barely had the last word out before Layla said, “Coffee.”

“Cream and sugar?”

Layla shook her head. “Just black.”

“Same for me.” I opened my menu, my gaze still locked on her.

“I’ll have those out in a moment.” The waitress hurried away from the table.

Layla picked up her menu, and it blocked my view of her face. But when I lifted mine, her menu dropped a little.

“Have you figured out what you want?”

Her eyes widened. “Huh? No. I mean, we only just—” She glanced down at the menu. “Oh, you’re talking about breakfast.”

At least now I didn’t have to wonder what was occupying her thoughts, but I had an awful feeling in my gut that I wouldn’t like the way today ended. Until then, I’d do my best to build that friendship she’d mentioned yesterday.

“I was, but if you’d rather talk about something else, I’m all ears.”

“No. I’m having the steak and eggs.” She closed the menu and shoved it toward the end of the table. “Did you grow up around here?”

“San Antonio. My family is still there, but I found a job out here.” I set my menu on top of hers. “I have a cousin who lives around here. He’s a ranch hand out at Stargazer Springs Ranch.”

“Why don’t you live in Stadtburg?”

“I live in the county where I work. Stadtburg isn’t in that county. I found that house to rent, and I like living in the middle of nowhere.” After growing up in a city, sleeping with the windows open and not hearing street noises was a nice change. And the stars were brighter without all the lights polluting the sky. “What about you? Where did you move from?”

She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, I grabbed her hand.

“Wait. Let me guess.” When she glanced down at my hand, I let go. “I figure you’re from Texas by the way you sound, so...” I pursed my lips and cocked my head, acting like I was thinking hard. “San Marcos.”

Her jaw fell open. “How did you...”

“It’s the Mermaid Capitol of Texas.” I was a stunned as she was. I was trying to be funny, but I turned out to be right. That combination—funny and right—rarely happened.

Coffee mugs appeared on the table, and the waitress smiled. “Have you decided?”

I nodded for Layla to go first.

“I’ll take the ribeye and eggs.”

The waitress scribbled on her little pad. “What side?”

“Hashbrowns.”

“And how do you want your steak?”

“Medium rare.”

“Your eggs?”

Layla’s brow pinched. “Um, over easy.”

The waitress looked at me. “For you?”

“The same.”

“Y’all are making this easy.” She winked and wandered back through the tables, checking on customers as she made her way to the kitchen.

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