Page 25 of The One I Hate
Simon: I can, but I don’t want to. french toast alone is depressing.
Oliver: I’m sorry, buddy. Wish I could help.
Simon: I know. That’s why you’re my number one best friend.
Wes: Fucking stop it with the friend ranking bullshit.
Simon: Says the man who is dying to be in first place.
Shane: Just go get your fucking breakfast and quit texting us.
Simon: Rude. But also I will because I’m hungry. And don’t ask me to bring you takeout. Because the answer will be no.
Shane: I’ll make sure to cry in my pillow.
Okay, apparently I’m going to Mona’s alone, so I grab my keys and head out the door to make the short drive into town.
I get it. My friends have lives and responsibilities and other people who rely on them. Oliver is currently putting his heart on the line for the woman he loves. Wes is starting the second chapter of his professional, and personal, life. And Shane…well, things are a little rocky for him right now with Amelia. They’ve got themselves in a pickle I don’t envy. It’s why I didn’t press him. I know my man is going through it.
Then there’s me. Single Simon. No wife. No girlfriend. No kids.
Just the way I like it.
I could call one of my sisters to drive down from Nashville to eat with me, but I don’t feel like a lecture. Because that’s what always happens. Usually it’s about how I’m turning thirty-six years old and have never been in a serious relationship.
No. That doesnotsound like the kind of Saturday I want to have.
Plus, I know where my mind will go: Charlie.
The only one I’ve ever wanted a serious relationship with.
The one I can still taste and feel, despite it being over a week since we were together.
The one who left before the sun came up. No note. Nothing.
Which makes sense. That’s her MO, after all.
Only this time, I expected it. No way did I think I was going to wake up with her warm body next to me. I didn’t expect morning cuddles or round two.
Which was disappointing. I love cuddling.
No. Fuck it. I can’t let my mind go there again. I need to move on. And you know what helps with that? french toast.
“Mona!”
The gray-haired owner-slash-waitress looks up from the coffee she’s pouring. Somehow she doesn’t spill. “Simon Banks! How are you, sugar? How’s your mom and ‘em?”
“She’s good. Sisters are good. Dad’s good,” I say as I sit down at the counter. “Now, the real question is, how’s the love of my life?”
She rolls her eyes before turning to grab me a glass of water and an orange juice. “You don’t need to butter me up, Simon. You know I’ll throw in extra slices of french toast.”
I grab her hand and bring it to my mouth for a kiss. “And that is why you’re the love of my life.”
“Quit pissing on my leg and tellin’ me it’s raining,” Mona says. “Now put that flirt away and let me go get your order in.”
I smile and take a sip of my orange juice. The Saturday morning crowd has thinned a bit and the lunch rush hasn’t started, but there are still plenty of people here. Mona’s is never empty. It’s a staple in Rolling Hills. If you’ve ever stepped foot in this town, you’ve come here for a meal. And you haven’t been disappointed.
Mona’s is famous for breakfast, a damn good patty melt, the gossip mill, and prices so cheap they should be illegal. The interior hasn’t changed in all the years I’ve been coming here. Yes, the pictures on the wall have evolved with different little league teams she’s sponsored, but some of the originals still remain, including the one of her standing out front under her sign that still hangs today. It was taken the day she opened. You’ll always find the same group of men sitting at the front table talking sports and politics. Sewing and book clubs come in and out through the week. When someone thinks of Rolling Hills, they think of Mona’s.
