The Easy Way Out

31

After a restful night's sleep and a hot shower, Rachel and Blake vacated their room at the Red Star Motel. The parking lot was so empty there was room to land a helicopter beside their rental car, the only vehicle on the lot. He popped the trunk, stowed the duffel bag, and got behind the wheel. Rachel looked out the passenger window.

"Hey." He nudged her shoulder.

"What?" she replied without turning to face him. With her blonde, short hair, it almost felt to him like Rachel wasn't there.

Under a dove gray sky with ragged clouds, he drove out onto the main road. "Something wrong?"

"Could use some coffee." When she finally turned away from the window, he leaned over and stole a quick kiss, which seemed to spark her frisky disposition. "That head," she said. "Not what I was going for."

"I know what that's code for."

"We might need to get our sexercise in the dark until it grows in."

"Had I known this chop job meant no morning sex..."

"You shoulda read the fine print." Then, rubbing her stomach she added, "We burned a lot of calories last night. I'm starving." 

"I never met a problem that bacon can't fix."

With a mocking smirk, she asked, "Have you recovered from your hip injury? Or was it your groin?"

"It was just a cramp."

"Admit it. I wore you out."

"Get over yourself. I wore you out."

"If that's what you need to tell yourself." She pointed to a diner coming up on the right. "Let's settle this over pancakes."

"And bacon." He turned into the lot and parked the car. He took her hand as they crossed the lined pavement toward the diner.

Once inside, they chose a booth at the window where they could keep an eye on their rental car. The air was thick with the smell of bacon, coffee, and the sounds of clanking silverware and scraps of conversation from hungry customers. A waitress filled their mugs with coffee, dropped off menus, then continued to the next booth.

"You know," Blake said. I'm liking that hair. You look hot."

She smiled but it was almost as though she'd forgotten how.

The waitress returned and flipped a fresh page on her pad. "Have you decided?"

"Pancakes," he said. "Pancakes are my thing."

"Get your own thing," said Rachel. "Pancakes are my thing."

"We got plenty of pancakes for everybody." The waitress clicked her pen. "Pancakes come with eggs and bacon. How do you like your eggs?"

"In a cake," Rachel replied.

"Good one, hon." The waitress grinned.

"Scrambled for me," said Blake. "And extra bacon."

"Same," said Rachel.

"I'll put in your order." The waitress made her way to the kitchen.

A skinny old interstate cowboy in stained jeans, a weathered ballcap, and wraparound sunglasses stood at the cash register, check in hand. He looked their way and called in a heavy southern drawl, "Patricia?"

Rachel raised her menu as he approached. "Uh oh," she muttered.

He sidled up to the booth smelling like neither he nor his clothes had contact with soap for months. He lifted his sunglasses. "Patricia, isn't it?"