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Sundays in spring, right after holidays, were always the busiest days at the small diner. Everywhere was the clang of silverware, lively gossip, and the shouts of orders to and from the grill.
Which is why Benny had no time for this.
“Dean, good as it is for you to stop by, what the hell are you yammering about?”
Dean tapped his fork against his plate, adding to the cacophony. “I ordered pancakes.”
“Yeah, and?”
“And these are waffles.”
“Are you serious?”
“You think I’d joke about breakfast? Most important meal of the day, man.”
Dean’s smile suggested he thought that was that, and Benny wanted to settle things quick himself, so he yanked the waffles off the plate, slapped them on the kitchen counter, flattened ‘em with a few hearty swipes of his rolling pin, then dropped them back to where they started from.
“Bon appétit, brother.”