Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 46197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
“You gonna let him sit there all day? I can smell him from here,” Harland grumbled, looking toward Burt with disgust.
Harland was balding, with a large gut from beer and a poor diet. He was also as greasy as the food he fried. I didn’t like him, but I had to work with him every day.
“You can’t smell anything over the scent of fried meat,” I replied, snatching up the early bird special that the trucker at table six had ordered.
What the special should be named was a heart attack waiting to happen. Four fried eggs, hash browns covered in cheese and bacon, two biscuits with sausage gravy, and cheese grits. If Maybelle and Tipper Elp—the couple who owned this place—decided to put calories on the menu, then they would likely go out of business. This one meal had to have at least five thousand calories in it.
“Sun’s come up. He’s got blankets. He needs to go,” Harland told me.
If I replied the way I wanted to, then he’d be difficult to work with the rest of the day. I bit my tongue and walked away to deliver the plates of unhealthy food to the trucker instead. The high today was only going to be thirty-one. That was rare in Mississippi, even two days before December. I was not letting Burt stay out in that. He was almost seventy years old. Harland could go sit out in it though.
On Thanksgiving, we’d been packed with the usual clientele and some single dads with their kids. The cold snap had hit that day, but there were no available tables for Burt. I took him out a meal and a large box I’d saved from a recent delivery. It wasn’t heat, but it had been something to help keep him out of the wind.
“Here you go,” I said brightly as I set the plate down in front of the trucker. “I’ll freshen up that cup of coffee,” I assured him. “Can I get you anything else?”
I tried not to cringe at the leering smile he gave me. It came with the job. Most of the time, the customers didn’t harass me.
“Could use a little hot sauce,” he replied.
“I’ll be right back.” Not waiting around for him to say anything more and wanting to get away from him as he let his eyes wander down my body, I turned to go grab the coffeepot.
The sound of the bell from the door being opened caused me to pause. This was a seat-yourself establishment, but I needed to see where they’d be sitting and how many so I could grab them menus. What I expected to see was another trucker or perhaps one of the night-shift employees from the hospital less than a mile away. It wasn’t either. It was a woman and she was out of place. The lady had to be lost. Maybe she was passing through town. It wasn’t dangerous around here, but she wouldn’t know that. I doubted she’d ever stepped foot in a place like this. I knew her purse was a Louis Vuitton, her heels were Louboutin, and I’d bet my next three tips that the Burberry scarf around her neck was one hundred percent authentic.
I decided to go see if I could help her before getting table six’s coffee and hot sauce. The scent of her perfume greeted me as I reached her, and it smelled as expensive as she looked. She had to be from out of town. Sure, there was money in Madison, but they wouldn’t be coming in this place for a meal.
“Good morning,” I said as she watched me approach. “Can I help you?” I didn’t add, Because we both know you’re not here for the food.
She began tugging off her elbow-length butter-colored leather gloves and glanced around. “Yes, thank you,” she replied. “I’d like a cup of coffee.” Then she turned her gaze back to mine. “I’ll take that booth if that’s okay.” She nodded toward one that sat farthest away from the rest of the customers.
“Uh, yes, um, all right.”
I battled between just letting her sit down and getting her what she’d asked for or telling her how bad the coffee actually was. Harland made it so strong that it could make hair grow on your arms. Not to mention, it was some cheap brand that came in bulk. From the looks of this woman, I imagined she drank something more bougie. Like French-pressed from freshly ground beans.
The woman headed to the booth, and I watched her, wincing at the thought of her sitting down even though I’d wiped it clean an hour ago. She was most likely wearing Chanel under that coat. Or some other designer that cost more than what the owners of this place made in a year.
Finally turning back toward the coffeepot, I noticed some of the other diners staring over at her curiously. She seemed oblivious to the fact, or she just didn’t care. I hurried to get the things for table six and then went to pour her what might be the worst coffee she had ever tasted. She was texting on her phone when I returned, but she stopped and lifted her gaze to meet mine.