The woman fluffed her silver hair. “No menus. Don’t need ‘em. We’ve got it all.”
Ryan and I shared a wary look, then he took the jump. “Pancakes?”
“Plain, chocolate chip, banana, or blueberry?”
“Banana,” he said.
“Bacon and eggs?” she asked without skipping a beat.
“Scrambled. And coffee, please.”
“I’ll do the same,” I chimed in. Honestly, I just wanted calories. I didn’t care what shape they came in.
And then we were alone.
“Have you heard from Lisa?” Ryan asked.
“Yeah. She texted me this morning to see when I thought I was going to arrive.” I sighed. “I need to let my parents know I’m going to be in town.” That would go over like a fart in church.
“You look like you’d rather drive to Mars than do that.”
I sighed. “My mom and Shep divorced when I was in high school. She didn’t like that we kept in touch after that.”
“He was part of your life for practically all of it,” Ryan said. “People don’t just disappear because there are divorce papers.” He spun the salt shaker between his fingers. “Has your mom ever remarried?”
I shook my head.
“Your dad?” he asked.
“No. He dates, but it’s never gone anywhere. Apparently, my parents’ divorce was nasty. At least that’s what Amber says. I was too young to know what was going on.”
“And Amber is your?—”
“Sister. She’s a few years older than me.” I took a deep breath. “And while we’re there, you should probably call me Autumn.”
“Autumn . . .” Ryan’s mouth flickered into a soft smile. “I like that.” He extended his hand across the table. “Nice to meet you, Autumn?—”
“Hart.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Hart? You’re a romance author, and your last name is Hart?”
“H-A-R-T. Not H-E-A-R-T.” I let out a blustering breath. “Now you know my secret identity. But you’re only to use it around my family.”
“Huh,” he said, dramatically stroking his chin. “Autumn Hart. Well, at least I finally know the legal name of my future wife. It’ll make applying for our marriage license a lot easier.”
I rolled my eyes.
The lady returned with two cups of coffee in random ceramic mugs. A cigarette hung from her mouth, bobbing up and down as she turned and disappeared. My mug was from a local baseball team, while Ryan’s sported a food service supplier’s logo.
“I think both names suit you,” Ryan said as he grabbed a sugar packet and a tiny cup of creamer from the caddy on the table and dumped them into his mug.
“More people call me Willow than Autumn. Sometimes it feels strange to use Autumn even though it’s still my legal name.”
“Do you prefer Willow?”
I nodded as grief bloomed in my throat. “Yeah.”
“Then I’ll keep calling you Willow.”
