Page 37 of Making It Burn
But my spice rack—my beautifully organized, categorized by cuisine spice rack—mocked me from the counter.
“Thanks for that, Mason,” I muttered, grabbing a beer and putting it back.Hair of the Dog was not the answer.
I needed to get out of this apartment.
Twenty minutes later, I’d managed a shower, teeth-brushing, and clean clothes—jeans and a soft grey sweater that didn’t require any real thought.I looked like hell, but it was Sunday morning after a Saturday night disaster, so at least I fit the aesthetic.
I grabbed my phone, wallet, and keys, and headed out into the chilly November morning.
* * *
River City Diner was exactly what I needed: close, unpretentious, and the kind of place that had been serving breakfast to hungover Richmond residents since before I was born.
The bell above the door chimed as I walked in, and the smell of coffee and bacon hit me like a warm hug.My stomach growled in appreciation.
The place was nearly empty—just an elderly couple in one corner booth and a guy in painter’s overalls at the counter.I slid into a booth by the window, grateful for the relative quiet.
“Morning, sunshine!”A woman appeared at my table with a coffeepot and a smile that was way too bright for—I checked my phone—12:17 PM.She was probably in her fifties, with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and laugh lines around her eyes that suggested she smiled a lot.Her name tag read “Cheri.”
“Coffee?”she asked, already filling my cup.
“Please.And maybe an IV of it directly into my veins.”
She laughed, a warm, genuine sound.“Rough night?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Honey, I’ve been working Sunday morning shifts for twenty-three years.I can spot a hangover at fifty paces.”She set the coffeepot down and pulled out her order pad.“What can I get you?”
“The greasiest thing on the menu.”
“That’s not really narrowing it down.”But she was grinning.“How about the River City Special?Two eggs any style, bacon, sausage, hash browns, and toast.It’s basically a hangover cure on a plate.”
“Perfect.Over easy on the eggs.”
“You got it, sweetheart.”She tucked her pad away but didn’t leave immediately.“First time here?”
“No, I’ve been a few times.I just moved into the neighborhood though, so you’ll probably see more of me.”
“Well, welcome back.”She patted the table as if it were an old friend.“I’ll get that order in for you.You just sit tight and work on that coffee.”
I watched her walk away, her energy almost jarring against my sluggish misery.How did people wake up so cheerful on a Sunday?
I pulled out my phone, checking my messages for probably the twentieth time that morning.
Nothing.
I typed out a message—Hey, about last night—and immediately deleted it.
What was I supposed to say?Sorry you panicked after the best kiss of my life?Or maybe it’s cool that you ran away.I’m totally not replaying it over and over wondering what I did wrong?
I set my phone face-down on the table and took a long sip of coffee.It was strong and hot and exactly what I needed.
Cheri returned a few minutes later with a fresh pot.“Warm you up?”
“Thanks.”I watched her top off my cup.“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, honey.”
