Joking aside, the truth was that while the fare was far from four-star gourmet, it was good, with sizeable portions, and reasonably priced. Anything from a doughnut to a cheeseburger, or even the house specialty-appropriately dubbed “The Kitchen Sink Omelet”-was available 24/7. On top of that, everything on the menu came complete with a bottomless cup of coffee.

“Look, Row,” my friend continued after I reluctantly followed his instruction and sat back in the booth with deliberate heaviness. “I know where you’re at, really I do, but you gotta listen to me for a minute.”

“I’d like to, but you haven’t been saying anything,” I fired back.

“Jeez, Felicity, could you kick ‘im or somethin’?” He aimed his glance at my wife as he made the rhetorical statement.

“Aye, I doubt it would do any good,” she answered anyway.

“Heya, Storm,” a bear-like man with a wild bush of a red beard called to Ben from the other side of the counter then nodded in my direction. “Rowan.”

I dipped my head in acknowledgement and did my best to replace the frown I knew I was wearing with at least some semblance of a smile.

“You ever go home, Chuck,” Ben asked the man.

“What for?” The man chuckled as he re-tied the string on his stained apron. “This your wife, Rowan?”

“Felicity, meet Chuck.” I made the introduction. “Chuck, Felicity.”

“Nice to meet you,” my wife said with a lilt, following the words with one of her winning smiles.

“Same here,” Chuck agreed.

“Little slow this morning?” Ben asked.

Chuck cast an eye at the clock and shook his head. “Nah, shift change comin’ up. Just the calm before the storm. Heh-heh,” he chuckled. “But I guess the ‘storm’s’ already here, huh?”