Twenty-five minutes later, Priya was driving us to Three Coins Diner in Seminole Heights, our favorite breakfast place. It was a hole-in-the-wall kindof spot with cracked vinyl booths, laminate tables, and a broken jukebox in the corner that only played one country song if you smacked the side in precisely the right spot.
Despite the décor, they had the best pancakes in Tampa, and the owners treated us like their own children.
The bell attached to the front door tinkled as we walked in. Mark waved from a booth by the window where he sipped coffee and stared at his phone with the kind of manic energy that suggested he’d already had three cups . . . or ten.
“There he is!” Mark shot up and pulled me into a hug before I could even sit down. “We did it!”
“We did it,” I agreed, sliding into the booth across from him while Priya took the seat next to me.
“Good morning to you, too, Mark,” Priya said dryly.
“It’s a great morning, Dr. Priya, an amazing morning.” Mark was vibrating. “Do you know what we did yesterday?”
“I have no idea. Please tell me,” she said as she nudged my knee with hers and fought the urge to laugh at Mark’s childlike enthusiasm.
“We made over two thousand dollars,” Mark and I said at the same time.
Then we both started talking.
“—people were lined up outside—”
“—ran out of vodka in the middle of overtime—”
“—some guy started a drinking game and everyone—”
“—Lightning Jersey and his friends were so drunk they—”
“—Rod had to improvise the entire menu because—”
“—Maya’s Instagram exploded. We have like three hundred followers now—”
“—people kept asking when the next watch party was—”
“—this couple stayed for the entire day, just watching and holding hands—”
“—I went to the liquor store twice—”
“—Jacks learned to bartend in like thirty seconds—”
We were talking over each other, gesturing wildly, and looking like absolute maniacs to the other diner patrons, but neither of us could stop.
The waitress appeared. It was Linda, wife of James, co-owner of the diner since the twelfth century. She looked from Mark to me then to Priya, shrugged once, then set down a pot of coffee without a word, spun, and disappeared into the kitchen.
I assumed she’d take our orders when we calmed down.
Maybe.
Priya poured herself coffee, poured me coffee, thenpoured Mark more coffee even though he didn’t need it. She was smiling that genuine smile she got when she was happy for someone, the one that made her look less like a hard-ass ER resident and more like the friend who’d patched me up three years ago and decided I was worth keeping around.
“—and our chef, Rod, he’s a genius—”
“—the food was so good people were taking pictures—”
“—this one guy ordered three burgers, said he was taking them home for the week—”
“—every single person I talked to said they’d come back—”
“—they said they’d make us their game time home—”
