Clarabell appeared next to our table half a second after we sat down. “Hey, y’all. This must be Maya. I’m Clarabell. So nice to meet you, sweetie.”
“Thanks,” Callie said. “Nice to meet you too.”
“Gibson Bodine, I’m plum tickled you brought her in,” Clarabell said. She turned back to Callie. “I’ve been dying to meet the girl who finally tamed this one. What with everyone else in his family pairing off, gettin’ themselves engaged and whatnot, it’s high time he settled down too.”
Callie gave me an amused smile. “You think he’s ready for that?”
“Oh sure. They all are, sweetie; it just takes some of them longer to figure out what’s best for them.”
“All right, Clarabell,” I said. “Can we just have our menus?”
“Of course.” She handed us each a menu.
I put mine down without looking.
“Can I get you anything to drink to start?” she asked.
“Water.”
“I’d love a sweet tea,” Callie said.
“Coming right up,” Clarabell said, then walked away.
Callie leaned across the table and lowered her voice to a whisper. “She looks exactly the same. Do they still have those huge waffles with the whipped cream topping?”
“For breakfast, yeah.”
Her eyes lit up. “Can we come back in the morning?”
God, that smile. “Sure.”
She scrunched her shoulders and went back to her menu.
Clarabell came back to take our orders and thankfully left out any more relationship commentary. Our food didn’t take long to come out—an open-faced turkey sandwich for me, roast beef with mashed potatoes for Callie.
Sallie Mae Brickman walked by our table no less than eight times during the course of our meal, pretending like she’d forgotten how to get to the restroom. And I heard people whispering things about us, as if they didn’t realize we could hear them.
’Bout time that Gibson got himself a woman in his life.
With all his siblings fixin’ to get hitched, it’s a good thing he found her.
They make a cute couple, don’t they?
I still say she’s a mail-order bride.
Callie stifled a giggle with her hand. “Mail-order bride?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know where they got that one.”
“About that. I’ve been meaning to ask, did you find me in the online catalog, or the print version?”
“Print,” I said, not missing a beat. “Your hair really stood out on that glossy paper.”
She fluffed her hair out. “Ah, so it was my mermaid hair that sucked you in.”
God, Callie, everything about you is sucking me in. “Must have been.”
“Well, I’m glad you picked me. Although if I’m a mail-order bride, where’s my ring?” She held out her left hand, fingers splayed.
Clarabell stopped at our table right as Callie said where’s my ring. “That’s a good question, sweetie.” She lowered her voice, as if somehow that was going to keep Callie from hearing. “Gibs, if you’re fixin’ to pop the question to your lady, let me know. We can hide the ring in her dessert.”
“Simmer down, Clarabell, that won’t be necessary.”
Callie stifled another giggle.
Clarabell shrugged. “Suit yourself. But if you ask me, not enough of y’all are getting engaged in my diner. It’s a perfectly romantic spot.”
“Has anyone gotten engaged here?” Callie asked.
“Sure have. Ricky Grant proposed to Susannah Varney right there where you’re sitting.”
“That must have been twenty-five years ago,” I said.
“Most likely,” she said with a smile. “It was an exciting day.”
“That’s sweet,” Callie said.
Clarabell took our empty plates. “Sweet as my strawberry rhubarb pie. Speaking of, can I get you two lovebirds some dessert?”
Lovebirds? Jesus. “No. Just the check so we can get out of here.”
“All right, don’t get your britches in a bunch.” She glanced at Callie. “You sure, sweetie? I have some lemon meringue pie that’s a little slice of heaven.”
“Thanks, but dinner was so good, I couldn’t eat another bite.”
Clarabell smiled and went to get our check. I took some money out of my wallet and dropped it on the table. It was more than enough for dinner and a nice tip. Too big of a tip, what with Clarabell’s questions about rings and engagements. But I just wanted to get out of Moonshine.
Callie put a hand to her stomach while we walked to my truck. “I’m so full, but it was so worth it.”
“Glad you enjoyed it.”
“What’s next? Bonfire at Scarlett’s?”
“That’s the plan.” I opened the truck door for her again. Kinda wished it was my Charger. She’d look damn good in the front seat of my baby.
We drove down to Scarlett’s place, a little postage-stamp-sized cottage on the lake. Because she was Scarlett, it was cute. And although she