Page 4 of Friends With Benedicts

“Hungry, mijo?” she asked.

“Can’t a guy just come say hello to his abuela?”

“Sí, but you’re here for sopapillas.”

“Sopapillas and a kiss.”

“Well, you got your besos, so go get your food. Tell Manny I said to make your avocado rellenos.”

One of my brows rose. “Off menu at nine in the morning? You want me to get hit?”

“He won’t hit you,” she said with the wave of her gnarled hand. “He’s too afraid of me.”

I laughed. “He’s afraid of la chancla.”

“And who throws la chancla?” she asked. Her sandal was already in hand, the motion so fluid, I didn’t even see her do it.

“Fair enough,” I said with my hands up in surrender.

When I walked by, she thwacked me on the butt with it as a reminder of its power. “Wyatt is in the booth by the kitchen trying to get Manny to notice him, if you want company.”

“You won’t come sit with me?”

“I’m busy working.”

“Busy working on sudoku.”

She slapped her sandal against her palm and gave me a look.

“I’m going, I’m going,” I said, hands up again as I turned for the dining room.

The restaurant was busy, even this early. Abuela’s had brunch fare to rival Bettie across the street, a friendly competition between a couple old friends. In the back where she said he’d be was Wyatt, who was too busy glancing into the kitchen to notice me walk up.

“You’re gonna twist your neck trying to get a good look.”

Startled, he straightened up, meeting my eyes with an easy smile. “If Manny would buy shirts that fit, I wouldn’t have to creep on him.”

I slipped into the booth across from him and hung my arm on the back. “You ever gonna ask him out, or are you just planning on pining indefinitely from your booth?”

“I’ll do what I damn well please, Bastian.” He pointed his fork at me before tucking back into his huevos rancheros.

Wyatt Schumacher was six feet and six inches of strapping ranch hand, complete with a tan Stetson, Wranglers tighter than I imagined was comfortable, and a closet full of cowboy boots. He could rope a steer in a couple of seconds from the back of a horse, had won enough rodeo trophies to span a wall, and was as gay as the day was long.

“Presley’s back,” I said with that goddamn smile that belonged only to her on my face.

“I know,” he said with his mouth full. “You forget I’m the one who told you she was here.”

“I’m gonna see her tonight.”

He chewed for a second, watching me. “Marnie’s not gonna like that.”

Just like that, my smile was gone. “Well, Marnie doesn’t get a say, does she?”

“I mean, does anybody want their ex-wives to have a say? Pretty sure they make their say known whether you like it or not.”

“She left me. Not the other way around. I don’t really see how that grants her power of opinion.”

“She left you because you didn’t want to have kids, not because she didn’t love you.”

Guilt rumbled through me. “She knew I didn’t want kids since we were juniors in high school, so I’m not sure how that’s my fault.”

With a sigh, he rolled his eyes. “Goddamn, men are dense.”

“Anyway, who’s telling Marnie?”

That earned me a look. “Funny. If you don’t think the whole town will know if you see Presley Hale the minute that it happens, you’re dumber than most.”

“Fuck it, then. All the more reason for me to do what I want. Give them something to talk about and all that.”

“Your divorce isn’t even final—”

“Dammit, Wyatt—whose side are you on?”

“Well, yours, obviously. Marnie’s a dick.”

“Then here’s where you say, Pretty slick you get to see Presley since you’ve been missing her for a thousand years.”

“Needy.”

I picked a chip out of the basket between us and stuck it in the yolk of one of his fried eggs, smiling as the yellow goop bled onto the plate.

“Really?” he asked flatly.

I shrugged.

“Fine, I’ll bite. What are you two gonna do tonight? Besides what you always do.”

A laugh shot out of me. “I don’t even care what we do. I just want to talk to her.”

He leveled me with a look.

“Don’t get me wrong, I just …” I sighed. “Five years. So much has happened that I want to tell her about. I don’t know when there’ll be time for kissing.”

“Oh, I think you’ll find time.” He pushed the yolk into a corner and hedged it in with rice. “Anyway, you wouldn’t have to catch up if you’d get on social media like the rest of the free world.”

“After everything that happened in the Corps, it just seemed pointless, empty. I broke up with social when I left, and when I came back, I didn’t care to get back on. I was too busy with Mom, anyway. When every day’s spent dealing with life and death, that’s the only space you’ve got. For anything.”

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