going on an impromptu road trip with Jessica…whether Rylie liked it or not.
SIX
“HERE? WE DROVE that far to come here ?” Jessica asked, gaping at the restaurant that Abel had finally stopped at.
Poppy’s was the kind of quaint, twenty-four hour diner that Rylie had come to recognize as a staple of small towns. The fifties-style exterior with art deco accents was just like Ole Waco back near the Gresham Ranch, as well as half a dozen other diners that Rylie had seen in various small towns.
To her, the weird uniformity of quaint diners was kind of homey and comforting. To her mother, who never ate anywhere without an extensive wine list or organic local vegan fare, it probably looked like a cockroach-infested dive.
Jessica was staring at it in slack-jawed horror, clutching her designer purse under one arm with her other fist clenching her cell phone: the weapons of a city woman far out of her element.
At one of their rest stops, Rylie had asked Abel what he was thinking by bringing Jessica along. All he had said was, “Gwyn didn’t know what to do with her.” Like they did? Yeah, right. Jessica didn’t know what to do with herself.
Rylie forced herself to smile brightly. “Yes. This place. Poppy’s is definitely worth the five hour drive.” Actually, six hours with adequate bathroom breaks for her mother’s pea-sized bladder. Rylie had been convinced the Union would attack them at every rest stop.
“Best milkshakes in the county,” Abel said with confidence.
“Really?” Rylie asked. At her mother’s look, she repeated herself more enthusiastically. “Really! They do have great…milkshakes.” Werewolves didn’t drink milkshakes.
“If you’re certain,” Jessica said, plastering a smile on her face that was just as inauthentic as Rylie’s. “I can’t wait.”
The bell over the door jingled as they entered. Rylie scanned the decorations. The eccentric collection of vintage advertisements, carved wooden bears, and grandmotherly knickknacks were completely unique to Poppy’s, yet somehow looked identical to every other quaint diner Rylie had ever seen. The only difference was that there were no stuffed animal heads, unlike Ole Waco. That was good. Taxidermy did confusing things to Rylie’s werewolf instincts.
“Sit wherever you like,” said a busty, aproned woman from behind the counter—Poppy, presumably.
Abel dropped into a booth and stretched out. He was well over six feet tall, so when he sprawled, he sprawled . His arms stretched over the windowsill and the back of the seat cushion. His legs took up half the space under the table. There were only a few inches of space on the bench beside him. Rylie would have to get cozy to sit with him.
She hesitated, eyes tracing down the muscle ridges underneath his snug black t-shirt. She could just imagine Jessica’s expression if they started cuddling in public.
Rylie sat in the booth across from him.
Abel lifted his eyebrows. Oh man . He did not look happy.
Jessica sat next to Rylie, elbows tucked in, shoulders tense. Her eyes flicked along the over-decorated walls.
“What you want to eat?” Abel asked.
“Um,” Jessica said.
The menu was printed on the first page of a tabletop jukebox catalog. Rylie skimmed the listings: hamburgers, hot dogs, homemade pasta, pie, and, of course, milkshakes.
“I’ll have a milkshake,” Rylie said. “And a hamburger.”
“A hamburger ?” Jessica asked.
“You know I’m not a vegetarian anymore, Mom.”
“Even so. All that grease.”
Rylie tried to ignore her mother’s pointed look at her breasts, which had grown considerably during her pregnancy, and probably made her look kind of fat. “They have pasta. It’s probably vegetarian. You should get that.”
Jessica hesitated, raking her teeth over her bottom lip. “A slice of pie, please,” she said, reaching for her wallet.
“I’ve got it,” Abel said. He rose to order at the counter.
Awkward silence filled his
SIX
“HERE? WE DROVE that far to come here ?” Jessica asked, gaping at the restaurant that Abel had finally stopped at.
Poppy’s was the kind of quaint, twenty-four hour diner that Rylie had come to recognize as a staple of small towns. The fifties-style exterior with art deco accents was just like Ole Waco back near the Gresham Ranch, as well as half a dozen other diners that Rylie had seen in various small towns.
To her, the weird uniformity of quaint diners was kind of homey and comforting. To her mother, who never ate anywhere without an extensive wine list or organic local vegan fare, it probably looked like a cockroach-infested dive.
Jessica was staring at it in slack-jawed horror, clutching her designer purse under one arm with her other fist clenching her cell phone: the weapons of a city woman far out of her element.
At one of their rest stops, Rylie had asked Abel what he was thinking by bringing Jessica along. All he had said was, “Gwyn didn’t know what to do with her.” Like they did? Yeah, right. Jessica didn’t know what to do with herself.
Rylie forced herself to smile brightly. “Yes. This place. Poppy’s is definitely worth the five hour drive.” Actually, six hours with adequate bathroom breaks for her mother’s pea-sized bladder. Rylie had been convinced the Union would attack them at every rest stop.
“Best milkshakes in the county,” Abel said with confidence.
“Really?” Rylie asked. At her mother’s look, she repeated herself more enthusiastically. “Really! They do have great…milkshakes.” Werewolves didn’t drink milkshakes.
“If you’re certain,” Jessica said, plastering a smile on her face that was just as inauthentic as Rylie’s. “I can’t wait.”
The bell over the door jingled as they entered. Rylie scanned the decorations. The eccentric collection of vintage advertisements, carved wooden bears, and grandmotherly knickknacks were completely unique to Poppy’s, yet somehow looked identical to every other quaint diner Rylie had ever seen. The only difference was that there were no stuffed animal heads, unlike Ole Waco. That was good. Taxidermy did confusing things to Rylie’s werewolf instincts.
“Sit wherever you like,” said a busty, aproned woman from behind the counter—Poppy, presumably.
Abel dropped into a booth and stretched out. He was well over six feet tall, so when he sprawled, he sprawled . His arms stretched over the windowsill and the back of the seat cushion. His legs took up half the space under the table. There were only a few inches of space on the bench beside him. Rylie would have to get cozy to sit with him.
She hesitated, eyes tracing down the muscle ridges underneath his snug black t-shirt. She could just imagine Jessica’s expression if they started cuddling in public.
Rylie sat in the booth across from him.
Abel lifted his eyebrows. Oh man . He did not look happy.
Jessica sat next to Rylie, elbows tucked in, shoulders tense. Her eyes flicked along the over-decorated walls.
“What you want to eat?” Abel asked.
“Um,” Jessica said.
The menu was printed on the first page of a tabletop jukebox catalog. Rylie skimmed the listings: hamburgers, hot dogs, homemade pasta, pie, and, of course, milkshakes.
“I’ll have a milkshake,” Rylie said. “And a hamburger.”
“A hamburger ?” Jessica asked.
“You know I’m not a vegetarian anymore, Mom.”
“Even so. All that grease.”
Rylie tried to ignore her mother’s pointed look at her breasts, which had grown considerably during her pregnancy, and probably made her look kind of fat. “They have pasta. It’s probably vegetarian. You should get that.”
Jessica hesitated, raking her teeth over her bottom lip. “A slice of pie, please,” she said, reaching for her wallet.
“I’ve got it,” Abel said. He rose to order at the counter.
Awkward silence filled his
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