Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 78142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
He gestures to the napkin holder against the wall. “Menus are in there. And the Saturday night special is Salisbury steak with mashed potatoes and green beans.”
“Sounds good, Tex,” Dragon says. “Obliged.”
Tex nods. “Glad to see you back, Dragon. Hope to see you around.” He heads back to the host’s stand.
“Hey, Dragon.” A blond waitress approaches us. “Tex said you were back.”
“Hey, Lexi,” Dragon says. “This is Diana.”
Lexi smiles sweetly at me. “Good to meet you, Diana. Did Tex tell you about tonight’s special?”
“Salisbury steak with mashies,” Dragon says. “Sounds good to me.”
I can’t help but smile. Dragon, the brooding rock star, just referred to mashed potatoes as mashies. In public, in front of a perfect stranger.
Underneath his gloomy exterior, could there be something light, even playful?
“Tex probably neglected to mention that our special tonight is also cherry pie.” She winks at Dragon. “And I know you love cherry pie.” She turns to me. “What can I get for you, doll?”
“Uh…I haven’t looked at the menu yet.” At the moment, I’m too busy wondering why Dragon told me he didn’t like sweets when he obviously loves cherry pie. “Can I have a minute?”
“You sure can. I’ll be back in a flash.” She rushes away.
“I always get the special when I come here,” Dragon says. “They sell a lot of it, so it’s always hot and fresh.”
Does that mean the other food is not hot and fresh? Salisbury steak doesn’t sound great to me. I’m kind of a beef snob. You can’t grow up on a beef ranch and not be, so when I’m out, and it’s a place that doesn’t source its beef from my family’s ranch, I usually get chicken or fish.
I grab a menu and open it. A blob of ketchup greets me. I take a napkin and wipe it off.
“I guess I’ll have…” I scan the menu. “You have any recommendations?”
“Like I said, I almost always get the special. But I hear the chicken fingers are okay.”
I glance down. Chicken fingers served with fries and a side of coleslaw. That’ll work. “Chicken fingers it is.” I close my menu and return it to the holder.
Lexi returns with two glasses of water and sets them down. “You decided yet, doll?”
“Yes, upon recommendation, I will have the chicken fingers, please.”
“Good choice. And you, the special.” She makes notes on her pad and then shoves it in her apron pocket. “Shouldn’t be too long.”
She whisks away, and to have something to do, I pick up my glass of water and take a drink.
Then I look around the diner. Despite the fact that our tiny booth in the back corner has seen better days, the rest of the place is kind of charming. I almost feel like I’ve been transported back a few decades.
“How come this is your table?” I ask Dragon.
He shrugs. “Because it’s usually available, and I like it. Seems to fit me.”
“The other booths are bigger and nicer,” I say.
“I know, but I usually dine alone, so why should I take up more space than I need?”
I suppose he has a point there.
“Besides, I like this booth,” he continues. “It’s cozy. Sometimes I play a game on my phone. Other times, when I remember to, I bring a book to read.”
Again, Dragon surprises me. I wouldn’t take him for the type who would be reading a book alone in a diner.
I lean toward him. “What do you like to read?”
He twitches his nose. “It’s a little outdated, but I’ve been working my way through the works of Charles Dickens. I just rounded off Great Expectations.”
I widen my eyes. A meteor could strike this diner, and that would be less shocking to me. Dragon has an unmistakable darkness about him, but he’s got a playful side and a well-read side. I’m intrigued as all get-out.
“You there, Diana?”
I nod, take a drink of water. “Yeah, I just didn’t take you for the Dickens type, I suppose.”
He frowns. “You pegged me more as the trash TV type?”
“No, no,” I sputter. “I just… I wish I had more time to read the classics. Or at least the initiative to get through them. I’m impressed, that’s all.”
Dragon exhales sharply. “Well, I don’t always read when I’m here. Sometimes I just like to sit in the booth and think.”
“About what?”
“Personal stuff.” He looks down at the table.
Message received. He’s not going to tell me.
Not that I can blame him. He and I don’t know each other very well yet.
We may never know each other well.
I think back to the conversation I had with him at one of my mother’s infamous parties at our ranch house. It was a couple of weeks before Christmas, after Dragonlock had played at a local concert at the cinema with a special guest appearance by Emerald Phoenix.
I was standing alone near the pool house, and Dragon—to my surprise—approached me.