“Fair enough. Me and my measly pancakes will stay sequestered over here on this side of the booth. You can look down your nose at us.”
Lucy snorts. “If you want to argue the pancake’s case, be my guest. I mean, you’ll lose the argument, but you can absolutely try.” She bats her eyelashes.
I laugh outright. “You’re feisty in the morning, Lu. I like that.”
Betsy swings by the table. “Morning, Teej. Hiya, doll,” she says in Lucy’s direction.
Lucy offers her a tentative smile. “Hey.”
“You know whatcha want?”
“The usual for me,” I say.
Betsy nods and scribbles on her pad of paper. “Tall stack of pancakes, extra butter, extra syrup. Coffee and cream. And for you?” She flicks her gaze to Lucy, and then back down to her pad.
“Coffee for me as well, please. But with sugar. And I’ll do the French toast.”
Betsy scribbles some more. “Whipped cream on top for ya?”
“No thanks. Just the strawberries.”
“Coming right up.” Betsy pockets her notepad and is about to leave our table when she meets my eye. “A whole bunch of River Foxes merch showed up at our house on Christmas Eve. Know anything about that?”
I lift my shoulders in a noncommittal shrug. “Were the sizes okay?”
Betsy’s mouth lifts into a smile. “Perfect. Thank you, TJ. If it was just me, I’d yell at you for your charity, but for the kids’ sake, I’ll allow it.”
I nod at her, aware that she doesn’t want to belabor the point. She nods back and bustles off.
Lucy watches her before turning back to me, raising her brows. “Sounds to me like you’re a real-life prince charming. Or at least a knight in shining armor.”
I shake my head. “It’s not a big deal. It’s the least I can do. They’re good kids. Ten and twelve. Their dad got into some trouble and has been in jail since they were little.”
Lucy’s face falls and she flicks her gaze toward where Betsy disappeared into the kitchen. “That must be so hard. For all of them.”
“Betsy is great. She’s held it together, but I know it wears on her. I try to be her friend.”
“You’re a good friend.”
I shrug. “So is she. Her discretion with me is worth more than twenty River Foxes jerseys.” I reach across the table, holding out my hand, and she slips her fingers into it. “You good? Comfortable here?”
She stares at me with a soft smile on her lips before shaking her head slightly, allowing the change in conversation. “Yeah. This is great.”
“No whipped cream?” I bring us back to our breakfast conversation as I flip her palm over and start tracing the lines on her skin.
“No way,” she says staunchly. “You can’t mess with perfection like that. French toast can stand on its own. It doesn’t need any frills.”
“You’ve obviously thought this through.”
“Like I said, I take my breakfasts very seriously.” She winks at me again, and I love it.
“You come here a lot, so the food must be good.” It’s a statement, not a question.
I nod. “Donald—the chef. He’s awesome.”
She tips her head to the side. “Not a name you hear often.”
“I guess not.”
