"Excuse me?" asked Kyara, taken aback.
I am about to get cussed out by a walking mummy in my own restaurant.
"Have a seat," said Mrs. Waite. "I want to talk to you, but looking up at you strains my neck and voice."
"I really should get back to the kitchen," said Kyara, but Mrs. Waite just snorted.
"To do what? Focus on your other customers? I'm here and I already have more food than I could eat in three days. Also, I'm old and cranky and pretty much get what I want, so have a seat."
Well, points for honesty thought Kyara, starting to be a little amused by the tiny woman's audacity. Kyara sat down across from her. Mrs. Waite nodded once sharply, as if a decision had just been made.
"Good. Now, Crystal tells me that you don't think people around here are very friendly." Mrs. Waite's eyes glared at her accusingly.
I'm really going to have to talk to that girl about the difference between private and public conversations.
"Oh, well, I wouldn't say that exactly," said Kyara.
"I would," interrupted Mrs. Waite. "Most people aren't. A good number of them aren't very bright, either. I should know, I watched most of them grow up."
Kyara stared at her. This woman is completely insane, isn't she?
"Don't look at me that way, dear. It makes you look like a fish," said Mrs. Waite, her eyes sparkling. "In any event, I managed to walk myself all the way over here, which at my age is no mean feat, just to talk to you, so you should at least ask me how my day was."
I give up. I officially have no idea what's happening right now.
"How was your day?" asked Kyara, bewildered.
"Terrible," said Mrs. Waite. The old woman seemed thoroughly in her element now, rapping her fork against the table like a gavel to punctuate her points. "My grandson only stopped by for a few minutes, we've got a summer storm coming in which is making my joints ache like crazy, and I walked all the way across the road to talk to my new friend and she didn't even want to sit down with me." Mrs. Waite finished her list of complaints. She looked more satisfied than upset as looked at Kyara, clearly waiting for a response.
Did she just decree that we're friends?
"I'm ... sorry to hear that, Mrs. Waite?" Kyara ventured. The tiny woman nodded, her eyes twinkling.
"As you should be," agreed Mrs. Waite. "It's terrible what happens to you as you get older. But It's Jan, dear, not Mrs. Waite. Call me Jan."
She's super weird, but I think I might like her. She's clearly lonely. I can relate to that.
"You should call me Kyara," said Kyara, smiling at this odd new-found friend.
"I already do," announced Jan. "Now, if you could order men from a catalog, who would you order? I'd order George Clooney.”
Her voice lowered even further in a conspiratorial way, as she finished.
“I'd order two.”
Jan rattled on, dragging Kyara with her into laughter.
Three Tuesdays, four new friends, Kyara thought to herself. Well, five, if you can include him.
The 'him' in question was, of course, Jason.
At the moment he was standing next to a huge, growling pickup truck, guiding the driver with sweeping movements of his hands.
Everyone near the truck was splattered with mud, but it looked like he’d gotten particularly hit. His hair looked like it might have escaped, but his chest and arms were plastered with it. It made his shirt cling to him, emphasizing the hard lines of his body and well developed arms.
Damn. No one should look like that outside of a commercial.
Just then, Jason gave the signal, and the truck roared. Its tires spun wildly as it strained against the chains coming out its back end. Mud again filled the air, and everyone around turned either to watch, or to scramble out of the way, depending on how close they were.