“Decent cash?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s a pretty good account,” I answered.

“Good deal.”

“Coffee, sir?” The young woman who’d done the two-step with me moments ago appeared stealthily at our table, a Pyrex globe of the black liquid in each hand. They were distinguished, as usual, only by the green or orange pour spout.

“Don’t call ‘im sir,” Ben quipped with a chuckle. “He’ll get a big head.”

“What’s wrong? Are you jealous?” she asked him before returning her attention to me. “Sir? Coffee?”

“Absolutely,” I answered, instantly turning the heavy mug in front of me upright and sliding it toward her. “Regular, please.”

She deftly filled the mug, pouring expertly from the side of the pot, then topped off Ben’s in the same fashion. “You guys ready to order, or do you want a few minutes?”

“I’m ready.” Ben looked over at me and raised a questioning eyebrow. “How ‘bout you, Row?”

“Uhmm,” I muttered as I pulled a single page menu encased in well-worn laminate from behind the napkin holder and gave it a quick once over. “How about…a number three, over-easy, wheat, and a side of biscuits with sausage gravy.”

“Ewwww, runny eggs? Don’t you know you can get sick from those,” she said as she wrinkled her nose.

“Wendy ain’t ‘zactly the most tactful person when it comes to ‘er opinions,” my friend expressed.

“Oh, shut up, Storm,” she chastised him with the same good-natured familiarity of her earlier jab, which told me he was a regular here just as I’d suspected. Then turning back to me, she offered, “How about you have scrambled instead?”

“Would that make you feel better?” I asked with a grin.

“Yes. Yes it would.”

“Okay, scrambled is fine.”

“You want cheese on those?”

“Sure.”

“Cheddar, American, or Monterey Jack?”