Page 25 of Falcon

“No one would steal your helmet. Haven’t you ever heard of Southern hospitality? It’s a real thing.” She places her hands on her hips and it’s so goddamn adorable.

“Not risking my favorite helmet for it.” I laugh. “Now, where are you taking me?”

She turns around and points to a small restaurant at the end of the building across the street.

“I’m taking you to get the best fried chicken in town,” she says.

“Fried chicken? You’re a woman after my own heart. Most women I take out want salad or something that barely qualifies as actual food.”

“Oh, not me. I want all the calories, all the fat, all the grease. If I’m eating out, I want to enjoy it.”

The wind catches her hair and blows it across her face, sending the scent of her shampoo wafting into my nose. It’s sweet and slightly florally.

Christ, I’m in trouble.

***

We make our way into the restaurant and wait to be seated. I take a quick look around while we wait.

It looks like it used to be some kind of old warehouse or factory that they’ve renovated and turned into a two-story restaurant. It’s nice, homey, and has kept that rugged aesthetic. Photos line the walls: of Savannah and the building in various stages of the early 1900s and even more modern years.

“This used to be a textile mill, cotton mostly, I think,” I hear Faith say, as she steps up beside me to look at a photo on the wall.

“That’s interesting, actually. I like how they kept the look when they renovated.”

“Everyone here wants to preserve the history as long as they possibly can. You’ll see that if you’re able to look around the city more while you’re here.”

“Will you be my tour guide?” I give her a wink.

“Maybe.” She bites her lip as the buzzer in her hand sounds. “Table’s ready.”

***

“Holy hell.” I lean back and rub my hand over my stomach. “How do you have room for anything else?” I ask, as she polishes off a chicken thigh.

“I like food,” she says with a shrug, as if that explains it all.

“I see that. And with food this good, who wouldn’t?”

The meal was phenomenal: fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, green beans, corn bread. A traditional soul filled, Southern meal unlike anything I’ve ever had before.

“Room for dessert?”

“Hell no. My trainer is going to have my ass as it is after this.”

“How much do you really train for what you do? In my head, I feel like you live in the gym.” She takes a sip of her water while she waits for me to answer.

“I’ve gotten my routine pretty figured out. I don’t live at the gym, but leading into a fight, I train more than usual, and I do try to hit the gym at least once a day.”

“What will you do while you’re here?”

“I was hoping I could find a gym or something. Know of any good ones?” I lean forward and place my elbows on the table.

“A couple, yeah. I have a friend who owns one. I can write down the address for you.”

“That would be great.”

“So what does training consist of? Sorry for the twenty questions, I’m just a curious person.”

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