Page 11 of Crash and Burn
That was it, I decided. I couldn't put it off any longer.
I had to tell Grant how I felt.
3
The plate of food in front of us was large enough to feed a family of four.The Farmer's Breakfastwas what the twenty-four hour diner called it. Four eggs, four pancakes, eight strips of bacon, eight sausage links, a mountain of roughly diced home fries and, on the side, a wedge of pineapple and a single, round slice of an orange.
"That's the stuff," Grant groaned before shoving another forkful of egg and sausage into his mouth.
"Mmm," was my only reply as I took a mouthful of pancake myself.
The woman who usually served us had worked at this diner for close to two decades and knew our routine. We hadn't needed to say a word. Within minutes of sitting down, our usual order had been placed in front of us, along with two chilled glasses of fresh orange juice.
Grant and I always shared the plate, because it had a little bit of everything and also because it was cheaper than ordering two separate meals.
With our new jobs we could probably both afford our own meals, but this had become something of a ritual. After most of our late shifts Grant and I would come to the diner together and have a late evening breakfast before heading off home. Being on my feet all night made me ravenous. I assumed the same was true for Grant, because he usually ate a good two-thirds of the platter himself.
We both chewed in silence, with theFarmer's Breakfast plate between us, until our initial hunger pains were sated and we could slow down.
"Are you going to eat that sausage?" Grant asked me hopefully.
I pushed the sausage link over to his side of the plate. He stabbed his fork into it quickly, as if afraid I might change my mind.
"I like your shirt," he said before popping the sausage in his mouth.
My chocolate-smeared shirt was in my bag, still damp from when I'd tried to clean it. Mason had given me a shirt from the bar, a black baby-tee with the Sin and Tonic logo on it.
"I feel like a walking advertisement," I told him, tugging on the hem.
"You can't say no to free publicity," Grant said.
"I can when that publicity is broadcasted across my boobs."
Grant paused with the fork halfway to his mouth.
I flushed. I shouldn't have brought up my boobs.
"Isn't it weird, though?" I asked hurriedly. "Why does a bar have branded t-shirts?"
"Places as popular and well-known as us often do," Grant said. "Shirts, mugs, coasters, lots of stuff."
"Are we that well-known?" Sure, we were always busy, but I hadn't thought Sin and Tonic was different from any other bar. I thought we had a cool vibe, of course, with our live music nights and high quality drinks, but I was biased.
"Haven't you noticed a change in the crowd?" Grant asked. "We've gotten written up in a couple newspapers and magazines. We're attracting a lot more people."
"We have been a lot busier, lately." I plucked at the shirt again. "I guess I should be happy I didn't have to wear some sweat-stained shirt full of holes from the lost and found box." I faked a shudder.
"You would have made it work," Grant said confidently. "You could take a potato sack and figure out a way to make it look like runway fashion."
"And how would you know what runway fashion looks like?" I countered, even as I squirmed inside with secret pride. I really did love creating my own outfits. I hadn't thought anyone noticed what I wore.
But Grant had.
Grant always noticed the little things.
"I've learned a thing or two about fashion through my photography," he said. "I've been doing some fashion magazine shoots recently."
“Really?” I exclaimed. “That’s so cool. I can't imagine how awesome a fashion shoot must be."
