Sean’s lips quirk. “A little.”
“You wound me.”
“Do I?” Sean says, eyes dancing.
“Oh god,” Happy moans. “Do you have to flirt right now? I’m already sick as a dog. You’re making it worse!”
Sean rolls his eyes, but doesn’t lose Mike’s smile. “You brought this on yourself, gentlemen,” he says. “Now I suggest you drink your coffee while I see about those eggs. Those runny, runny eggs.”
Donald and Calvin whimper while Happy puts his head down on the counter. Sean winks at Mike and turns toward the kitchen.
“How do you look like you do?” Donald complains, glaring at Mike. “You drank almost as much as we did!”
“Moderation, boys,” Mike says, wanting to wait for Sean before he goes to his usual booth. “It’s all about moderation.”
“Stop smiling,” Calvin said. “It’s disgusting to be smiling that much this early.”
“He can’t,” Happy groans without looking up. “That’s his I’m-within-seven-feet-of-Sean smile. It doesn’t go away no matter how much you want it to.”
“I happen to think it’s a nice smile,” Sean says, coming back carrying plates loaded with eggs, several rashers of bacon, and a pile of hash browns, crisped around the edges. “And I’m working on getting it up to ten feet, so you all hush and eat slowly.”
“Yessir,” they mutter, slowly picking up their forks and tucking in.
Sean looks around the diner to make sure no one’s flagging him down before he focuses again on Mike. “You feeling any worse for wear there, big guy?” he asks.
Mike shrugs. “A little headache,” he admits.
“That right,” Sean says. “Seems to me you boys went a little overboard last night.”
“We had to,” Happy says through a mouthful of eggs. “We were celebratin’.”
“Oh?” Sean asks, though he’s still watching Mike, who has suddenly found something very interesting on the counter to stare at. “And what were you celebrating?”
“That Mike finally manned up and decided to ask you out on a proper date,” Donald says. Then, “Oh shit, I wasn’t supposed to say that.”
Mike sighs.
“Really,” Sean says, and that gleeful tone is back. Mike looks up and halfheartedly glares at him. “Is that so?”
“Oh yeah,” Calvin says. “We’ve been listening to him wax on about you for years. ’Bout time he decided to do something about it.”
“I need new friends,” Mike mutters.
“Heard that,” a voice calls from the kitchen.
Sean rolls his eyes. “He wasn’t hungover either,” he says to Mike. “Though he looked a little peaked when he came in this morning.”
Walter, the owner of the diner, peers out from the kitchen doorway, spatula in hand, a smile on his face. “Hey,” he says. “I celebrated right along with them. It’s just that Mike and I are real men and can hold our liquor better than the little boys. Ain’t that right, Mike?”
And for a split second, Mike’s hit with something horrendous, like the worst déjà vu he’s ever felt in his life. It bowls over him, and then it’s gone. Mike shakes his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs.
“You okay?” Sean asks, the concern clear in his voice. There’s the briefest of hesitations, but then his hand is on top of Mike’s, thumb brushing against his skin.
“Yeah,” Mike says, forcing a smile back on his face. “Just… yeah. I’m fine. A little slow on the uptake, I guess.”
Sean cocks his head while Walter waves the spatula and heads back into the kitchen. “Take a seat, big guy,” Sean says. “I’ll bring you a cup of joe and something good to eat.”
“Maybe a little company too?” Mike asks. “I think that might be my favorite thing.”