Clogging class is Tuesday at 8. I told you I’ll give you the address so here it is.
Oh, this is Clogging Casey.
Well, drunk me had clearly decided to just dive right into life in Wanted.
Truthfully, sober me isn’t any different so I’m excited to try clogging. Who doesn’t want to stomp around for the hell of it? Also, I love that Casey has given herself a nickname that is so literal.
“Exactly,” I tell Lucy. “Plus, I plan on eating more mac and cheese bites at the festival today. I tried them last night and if they created a cult centered around mac and cheese bites I would join it.”
Ian appears out of nowhere and sits down on my opposite side just in time to hear my latest bit of nonsense. “You are the joining kind, Winnie. Half of Wanted is talking about you today.”
“And they haven’t even tasted my bourbon balls yet.”
“Ian isn’t the joining kind,” Lucy says. “I’m Lucy, by the way. We haven’t formally met. I’m Buddy’s mama.”
That actually surprises me. “Really? You don’t look old enough to be his mother.” She doesn’t. I would have put her at fifty something and Buddy a generous forty-seven.
Lucy beams at me. “Thank you.” She leans in closer. “Been putting saddle oil on my skin since the late seventies.”
Beauty tips and breakfast. Dinky’s Diner has it all.
Though no mention of my stolen lamp. I assume I’ll get it back at some point with some extra bling on it.
Buddy slaps my water down in front of me. I study him closer. How is this man Lucy’s son? He should have dipped into the saddle oil along with his mother.
My lemons are bobbing as I lift it to take a sip.
“Who says I’m not the joining kind?” Ian complains.
“Who cares? It’s not an insult. And we’ve already moved on to saddle oil,” I tell him. “We’re past your introverted status.”
I also take a second to text Clogging Casey back and confirm I will be there Tuesday and save her contact information.
“I belong to stuff,” Ian says, like he hasn’t heard a single word I said.
“Like what?” Lucy asks.
He clears his throat. “Well. There’s…and I’m not introverted.”
“Um hmm.” Lucy eyes him over her reading glasses then returns to tapping on her phone screen with her hot pink acrylic nails.
“Hey, Buddy, can I get a black coffee?” Ian asks.
“Order some eggs too or you have to give up the stool,” Buddy says, flicking a towel across the countertop.
I glance around. The diner is only half full.
“What did you order?” Ian asks me.
“Nothing. Just water.”
“Then why do I have to order food?” he asks Buddy.
“Because I said so.”
“Fine. I’ll take a Southwestern omelette.”
“No, you won’t. I’m not doing all that. You can have a fried egg.”
