Page 62 of The Sweetest Devotion

Sonny’s wasn’t busy as we entered the small diner, but I kept Kennedy close anyway.

Sonny’s Kitchen was an old-school, family-owned Black diner. They mostly stuck to the same radio station. As hits from the ’80s, ’90s, and early ’00s from Black artists would play throughout the establishment.

Luther Vandross could be heard singing “Never Too Much” as we made it up to the front counter. The classic record had Kennedy swaying a little against me along to the beat.

Kennedy ordered first, going and getting buttermilk pancakes with strawberry syrup. I wasn’t that hungry, so I piggybacked off Kennedy and ordered the same, except with blueberry syrup. Kennedy opted for the house’s famous mango peach lemonade, while I settled with a glass of water. When she tried to pay, I stepped in, sliding her that fifty-dollar bill she’d left on my copy ofNight Changes, before paying for our meals.

Kennedy rolled her eyes as she held the money in her hands and leaned back against the front counter. “I felt bad for making you go out and not being able to eat the fish you bought.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I told her.

Kennedy folded the bill and eyed the pocket of my jeans. She didn’t attempt to give the money back as she simply put it in her purse and tapped her straw against the counter until it sprang free for her to place in her cup.

I scanned the diner, wanting a place for privacy. Sonny’s wasn’t full, but people were spread out enough to where we wouldn’t be alone in any section. No one I recognized was around, and no one was paying us any special attention. Taking a chance, I grabbed a booth in the back corner by the hallway near the restrooms. I sat on the side against the wall, allowing me to have a proper view of those in the room behind Kennedy.

“Do you always come here for your lunch break?” Kennedy wondered as she took in the décor of the restaurant. Red vinyl booths and matching stools at the front counter, marble tabletops, black tiled floor, and pictures of famous celebrities who’d eaten at Sonny’s over the years littered the walls here and there. My favorite was the photo of the late actor John Witherspoon standing side by side with the owner, Sonny Calhoun.

I shook my head, thinking of the sandwich I’d left in the mini fridge in Rod’s office. “I usually pack my lunch.”

“Aww.” Kennedy gushed. “Lunch-pail-carrying worker man.”

A corner of my mouth curled up at her taunting. I was blue-collar after all.

“I hope I didn’t get you in trouble.” Kennedy suddenly frowned as she stabbed her straw into her drink.

I watched the way her shoulders sagged and how genuinely worried she was about her arrival at the shop. Knowing Rod, he was probably just happy I waswithanother woman finally.

Outside of Kennedy’s visit, I was a model employee. Never late, often stayed over just to help out, and I never complained. I was sure I could afford a little leniency, not to mention, it was my day off.

“You’re fine,” I assured her. “It’s my day off anyway.”

Her gaze flickered to mine. “Good.”

I started to ask about her father, but couldn’t decide on how to go about it.

A young brunette came over balancing a large serving tray on her shoulder effortlessly. She leaned down and deposited Kennedy’s plate in front of her before setting mine in front of me. Butter and blueberry syrup was drizzled atop of my three-stack high pancakes, leaving everything drenched in a thick blueness.

“Thank you,” I told the young girl whose name tag readHannah.

“Yes,” Kennedy was quick to echo. “That was super fast.”

Hannah looked at our two plates and bobbed her head with pride. “Sonny’s has the best pancakes in the state. Our cookshaveto keep making them on rotation.”

The front doorbell went off as a couple entered the building.

I hadn’t paid too much attention to the other patrons in Sonny’s, but I did spot a couple plates of Sonny’s famous pancakes on a table or two.

Hannah went to greet the newest guests.

“Wait!”

Kennedy grabbed her purse and dug out that fifty-dollar bill and slipped it into Hannah’s hand with a kind smile.

Hannah’s cheeks turned a tint of pink and she mouthed a gratefulthank youbefore hurrying back to her station.

The benevolence wasn’t an act as Kennedy kept her smile and demeanor as she returned to her pancakes.

She wasn’t my type. Bratty. Entitled. Prissy. But then she wasn’t some stuck-up snob either like some people could be from Hampton Hills. She didn’t even seem judgmental. At her worst, her most vexing moment so far was her not wanting to get into my tow truck for the sake of her “Valentino” dress. Considering her love for whites and creams, I didn’t blame her for being careful.

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