She glances past me, nose lifting as she catches the scent. “And it smells incredible.”
I follow her gaze to the low, weathered building with the hand-painted sign out front. Smoke curls lazily from a pit out back.
“Best ribs for miles,” I say. “Potato salad’ll ruin you for all other potato salad.”
She smiles, still buzzing, still riding that high. “You’re full of opinions.”
“Only the important ones.”
I hold a hand out to her, casual. Easy.
“Come on,” I say. “You earned lunch.”
And the way she takes my hand, still warm from the ride, tells me she enjoyed every second as much as I did.
We grab a booth near the back, vinyl cracked and warm from the sun coming through the window. Savannah slides in first, still riding that post-bike glow, eyes bright, hair a little wild.I take the seat across from her, stretching my legs out, letting myself settle.
This feels… easy.
Our waitress shows up with a notepad and a smile that’s a little too practiced. She takes one look at me, then Savannah, then back at me again.
“What can I get y’all?”
Savannah orders ribs without hesitation. Potato salad. Sweet tea. I grin at her like she passed a test she didn’t know she was taking. I follow suit, add cornbread, and the waitress scribbles it all down.
“Good choice,” she says, still looking at me when she says it.
Savannah catches it and snorts. “He’s got opinions about potato salad.”
“Strong ones,” I confirm.
The waitress laughs, finally tearing her eyes away long enough to leave us alone.
Savannah leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Okay, I get why you brought me here. This place smells like heaven.”
“Told you,” I say.
I notice them when they slow instead of walking past. Two women, mid-thirties maybe, dressed well, moving like they expect attention and usually get it.
One of them smiles at Savannah first. Polite. Almost friendly. “Sorry to interrupt,” she says. “Do you order at the counter, or does someone come around?”
Savannah answers easily. “They come around.”
“Thanks,” the woman says. Then her gaze slides. Past Savannah. Lands on me.
Her friend steps closer, fingers resting on the edge of the booth like she belongs there. “That your bike out front?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“It’s nice,” she adds. “You take it out a lot?”
“Enough.”
The first woman tilts her head, studying the two of us now. “You two riding together today?”
Savannah’s shoulders go tight. Just a fraction. I feel it anyway.
“Yes,” I say.
