“So, where’s your favorite place to eat here in town?”
“Albert’s. Twenty-four-hour diner.” He was so lowbrow sometimes. People would laugh.
“Diners.” Coke nodded. “You taking me there for lunch?”
“I am. They have a patty melt to die for.” Oh, now he was hungry.
“Oh, man. Good onion rings?” Coke was a whore for the fried and crunchy.
“Yeah.” He winked. “And fried pies.”
“You had me at grilled onions on hamburger.”
“I know. I like to tease.”
“Dillon! Hey.” The banker was George Stahman, who had gone to high school with him. Yay. Coke gave the man a once-over, hazel eyes sizing George up like the man was an unknown bull. Coke really didn’t like banks at all. “What can I help you with, eh?”
Dillon stood and shook like he was expected to. “We want to open a joint account.”
“Business?”
“No, sir. Personal.” Coke stood, too, the move slow and deliberate.
“Oh.” George blinked, and Dillon grinned, the world suddenly shiny and new.
One of Coke’s eyebrows slowly started to rise.
“Coke just needs to have easy access to funds while he’s up here. Instead of having to write me checks and stuff. He’ll be spending a good bit of time with me.” He waited for George to ask where Coke would be the rest of the year. Because he would. Five. Four.
“And where is your home base, Mister…?”
“Pharris. With a Ph, not an F. And me and Dillon’ll be in Texas, when we’re not on the road.”
“Coke works with me, but I live with him full-time. This should not be a surprise, George.”
“No. I mean…” George flapped a hand, looking like an anemic penguin.
“Look, son. Can y’all get me an account or not? There’s onion rings waiting on me.”
“Yes, sir!” George finally hopped to it, getting them into his office, and it took twenty minutes.
He signed things, Coke signed things, then they were out of there, Coke muttering under his breath.
“Sorry, babe. I wish we’d gotten Janine.”
“S’all good, cowboy. It’s all done.”
“It is.” He judged the probability of busting his ass on an icy patch and decided to drive to the diner.
Coke’s phone rang again as he headed for the truck, and Dillon heard the soft sigh.
When Coke pulled it out, Dillon grabbed it. “Coke’s answering service.”
“Uh… Hello? Coke?” AJ. He’d know that dorky voice anywhere.
“It’s Dillon, man. What’s up?” They were going to go have onion rings, damn it.
“Oh, I was just calling. Missy’s getting real swole and Jase and them are being weird and stuff and I didn’t know if Gramps wanted to come down this direction for Christmas, since Miz Scott’s going to be busy with the wedding thing.”
