Page 19 of Ace
“What’ll it be?” Agent Boniface asked as he flipped quickly through the sticky, plasticized two-page menu. “Waffles or—waffles?”
“Good morning, America!” a tall, slender young man exclaimed when he placed two hearty mugs filled with coffee to a good inch below their brims on the table. Dressed in the corporate uniform of the day, black slacks, WH issued tan shirt, and black apron, the bright yellow name tag on his chest declared Tyrone had arrived. “Whatcha all eatin’ this mornin’, folks?”
Keller nodded at the mugs. “Thanks for not filling them full.”
“I’ll bet you’re one of them guys who likes a little coffee with his creamer, huh?” Tyrone’s chocolate brown eyes sparkled.
“And coffee’s easier to stir when it’s not sloshing over the edge. Good job.”
“You bet. Mama always says make room for all the sugar and cream you can, cuz life’s tough enough. Don’t need to make it tougher.”
Keller’s eyes narrowed on Savannah. “Do you know what you want?”
“Oh, my, I umm…” And there she stalled. There were so many choices. So many different versions of pancakes, omelets and breakfast combinations. Whoever heard of peanut butter waffles? “I, umm…”Hmmm. Cinnamon French toast...
“We’ll need a few more minutes,” Keller told Tyrone.
“Sure. I’ll check back in a couple.”
“I’m sorry,” Savannah whispered after Tyrone sauntered away. “I don’t get out much.” The understatement of the day.
Keller nodded like he understood. Man, was he in for a surprise. “I imagine you’ve been busy taking care of your great grandmother.”
“Not at all. Lately, I’ve been too busy at Sanctuary to visit Gran Mere...” Instant remorse swamped Savannah. Wasn’t that the truth? She’d been so preoccupied with the latest additions to her four-legged family that she’d neglected the one person in her life who’d meant the most.
Keller reached across the table and lifted her fingers from her menu with a gentle squeeze. “I am sorry for your loss, Miss Church. I wish you’d let me do something for you.”
She put on her brave face as his body heat once more lapped over hers. For some reason, he seemed able toshare his strength as well as his comfort through touch. Pinching his fingertips, she let go of him first this time. “I’m handling things at the moment. But if you’re Keller, then I’m just Savannah.”
A glittering vein of golden amusement twinkled deep in his eyes. “Of course. So what are you hungry for, Savannah?”
He’d made her name sound as delicious as those peanut butter waffles. “Pancakes,” she breathed as she skimmed the menu, hurrying to decide, so he wouldn’t think she’d never been to town. She had, just not recently. “Ummmm…” The chocolate chip pancakes looked good, but those pecan waffles… “I’m ready to order.”
Keller signaled Tyrone. The moment he trotted back to the table, she told him, “I’d like pecan waffles, please.” Gran Mere always said to put on your Sunday morning manners when you went to town. ‘Course, she also said to make sure your underwear was clean in case you got into an accident, which Savannah always did.
“Excellent choice. Would you like eggs with that?”
Oh, that’d be nice.“Sure.”
“One egg or two?”
Ooo, choices.“I’ll have two,” she replied, proud of herself for adding protein to her all-carb order.
Tyrone must know shorthand. He had everything written down on that little tablet of his before she’d finished speaking. “How would you like them cooked?”
She blinked up at him. He was so nice!
“Sunnyside up? Over-easy? Over-medium? Over-hard? Scrambled? Poached or—?”
“Scrambled,” she replied before she lost track of her choices. There was a reason she didn’t eat out.
Self-conscious now, she looked past Tyrone to the woman and the older gentleman in the booth across the aisle. The woman was upset, and the gentleman stared at his food. Something was wrong, but not with him. The more the woman talked at him, the worse he felt, until the despair rolling off him hit Savannah like a slap in the face. The woman was his daughter and she’d decided he needed an assisted living home. She couldn’t handle him leaving the stove on in her house anymore. She’d had enough.
“Cheese?” Tyrone asked.
Savannah nodded to get him to go away. “Please.”
“What kind? We’ve got provolone, swiss, cheddar, American, gouda, and—”
