“You’ll see.” Tank walks away from me, and I follow on the heels of his worn cowboy boots.
We head down the one side of a street we haven't crossed yet. A moment later, I see a neon Open sign flashing red and blue in a wide glass window.
Well, what do you know? There is a business open in Sheet Cake. A business. Singular. One.
A bell jangles as Dad opens the door. I smell the diner before I get a good look. Bacon, pancakes, strong coffee. And is that … salsa? The scent is half classic greasy spoon and half Tex-Mex, and I am here for it. My stomach immediately roars awake, pleased by this new development.
“Simmer down,” I tell my growling midsection, following Dad to red vinyl stools at a linoleum counter. A short woman with sharp brown eyes and a flower in her white hair slaps down two menus, grinning like she’s in on a secret we’ll soon find out.
“Hello, hola, good morning,” she says with a slight accent, her smile stretching wider. “Coffee?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ma’am,” the woman says, clucking her tongue. “No, no, no. Call me Mari, short for Marisol.”
She already has our two mugs and pours quickly, setting a bowl of creamers out between us.
“Thank you, Mari,” Dad says, tipping his head.
She beams before darting away through the swinging kitchen door.
“You’re doing it again,” I tell him. “That Sam Elliot thing.”
“What Sam Elliot thing?”
“Your voice gets deeper and your accent gets thicker. Give you a mustache and a gun and we’re in Tombstone.”
“I am not and will never be a mustache man.”
“Too bad. I think you could rock a serious stache, Pops.”
“That’ll be the day.”
I’m thankful for the easy banter. It settles my mind, which is like a highway full of speeding cars. I’m thinking of Lindy; I’m thinking of ideas for the town. And now, I’m thinking of food as I peruse the menu. I want to order a sample platter of it all.
Mari returns with ice waters. “Have you decided?”
“I think we have,” Dad says.
He tries to order the senior plate, which leads to teasing and giggling as Mari tells him he’s not old enough.
“I’m wise beyond my years.”
“Fifty-six is young. Many good years ahead of you. I’ll serve you the plate,” Mari says with a note of scolding through her smile, “but you pay full price.”
“That’ll have to do,” Dad says, winking, and I mouth Sam Elliot.
The man could charm a basket full of Diamondback rattlesnakes, but he never actually flirts with intention. Never with women who would be actual contenders. My siblings and I are split on whether we’d like to see Dad date again. James is against it, like he’s against all relationships. Harper is more hesitant, and Collin is undecided. I’m squarely on Team Give Love a Chance. It’s been years since Mom died. It would be weird, but my dad is a catch, and he’s been alone long enough. But he’s never shown an ounce of real interest in anyone.
I order a waffle platter and the migas plate, which makes Mari raise her brows. I pat my stomach. “Gotta nourish the food baby.”
With a laugh, Mari retreats back to the kitchen, and Dad and I are alone. Mostly alone, I realize as I spin on my stool to examine the room. At the back booth, a dark-haired girl colors with an impressive intensity. She catches me looking and gives me a grin which reveals a dimple in one cheek. I give her a little finger wave that I hope is friendly, not creepy, and she goes back to coloring, her crooked braids dragging over the paper.
Tank turns to me. “Do you see it, Pat? Can you feel the magic of this place? Do you see what it could be?” He rubs his arms like he’s trying to wipe away goose bumps.
“Pops, this place has charm, sure. But you and I and the guys—we aren’t Chip and Joanna Gaines. Nowhere close. We don’t have the fame to carry a project like this. The Grahams are not the Kardashians.”
We never were that big of a deal, but the Graham name used to mean something. Tank was the most famous of all of us—he played for longer than me or Collin and made appearances on ESPN. But it’s been a while. I stopped being famous the minute I got injured and stopped dating models and actresses. Collin kept his head down and focused solely on the game, so the only press he got was about him being a part of the Graham football legacy. We are old news.
“I didn’t expect you of all people to be the Negative Nellie.”
“I’m just trying to be a realist here. This is the worst possible location for Dark Horse. We’re too far from Austin, not near anything else significant on the map, and you’d need other businesses to repopulate this town. We’re not talking about one project but ten. Maybe twenty. I don’t know if we have the manpower or money.”
This is the kind of investment Dad always warned us away from. Now he’s running headlong into it, trying to drag us too. Everything I’ve said is true, but I also still have a hum of excitement in my bones. But I don’t want Tank getting too hopeful yet. This is a giant decision, and I still feel like it needs to be made with the whole family.
We sip coffee in silence for a few minutes, and Mari returns, balancing our plates.
“One senior plate at regular price, one waffle platter, and one migas plate for the bottomless pit.”
“More like the bottomless Pat,” Tank says, chuckling.
“Good one, Dad.”
When I take a bite of my migas, my eyes almost roll back in my head at the taste. Maybe I’ll make my decision about this town one bite at a time.
“You look like you’re having some kind of life-altering experience over there,” Tank says.
“I might be. For all its foodie ways, Austin can’t beat this. Try a bite.”
Dad takes a forkful of my migas and practically groans at the taste. “I’m not usually big on Mexican food in the morning, but that’s spectacular.” He wipes a dribble of salsa off his chin.
Mari pats Dad on the shoulder as she walks back by. “Can I get you two anything else?”