“I like comic books.” I laugh. “Do you read a lot?”
“Yeah, mostly fantasy or romantasy books, but I do like to read.”
“Romantasy?” I question, as we walk out to my car.
“They’re fantasy books with a love story and some spice.”
“Spice?”
“Yeah, like sex.”
Wren Dawson just said the word sex, and I’m officially the least mature man on the planet.
“Got it, but it’s fantasy. So, is it like aliens having sex with aliens?”
“That would be more like sci-fi.” She gestures to her shirt. “Like this book is humans having sex with men that have bat wings and magical powers.”
“That sounds cool.”
“I think it is,” she says.
“It’s not that cold out; why the sweatshirt?” I ask when we’re almost to the car.
“Have you ever eaten in a Waffle House?” She giggles. “If I were you, I’d go grab a jacket. They keep them freezing.”
I don’t think I’ll need a jacket, but an idea suddenly pops into my head, and I turn around heading back to our door.
“I’ll be right back,” I say. “Good call on grabbing a coat.” I toss her my keys and head back to the apartment to grab a surprise along with my jacket to hide it in.
When I get back to my car, she’s already started it and taken over the music. One Direction blares through my speakers, and it’s not my usual taste in music, but it’s not bad. We don’t talk much on the quick five minute drive, but in my periphery I can see her dancing as she sings along.
I park in the empty parking lot, and we make our way inside the brick building, where we are greeted by the only waitress working and a very grumpy looking line cook.
“Sit anywhere, y’all,” the waitress says. I follow Wren over to a booth and sit across from her.
“I’m so hungry,” she says.
“You need a menu?” I ask, offering her the one that’s sitting behind the napkin holder.
“Do I need a menu?” she scoffs, a little offended. “I’ve lived in Georgia my entire life. Do not insult me by giving me a menu at Waffle House.”
I put my hands up in defense. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to offend you.”
“Doyouneed a menu?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “I know what I’m ordering.”
“Y’all know what you want, or do you need a minute?” the waitress asks.
“I’ll have water, two eggs scrambled with cheese, bacon, hash browns, raisin toast, and a plain waffle,” she says.
“And for you, hun?” the waitress looks at me.
I hesitate for a split second. “What she’s having, except plain toast instead of raisin.”
The waitress walks away without another word.
“Oh, my god, you didn’t know what you wanted, and you totally panicked and just copied me.”
