Dylan ended the call, wiped the phone clean of car grease with a paper napkin, then slid the device across the table with a muttered thanks. Looking out the window, he pushed out a long stream of air and shoveled a handful of hair off his forehead. Joy noticed the dark hair that dusted his forearms. Thirteen leather bands circled his left wrist. He swung his head back around and fixed his gaze on her. He smiled and snagged a cold fry from her plate.

“Do you mind?” She pulled the plate to her side of the table, repulsed yet impressed at his boldness. She’d once been bold. She used to not give a squat what others thought.

“I’m starving.” He flagged down the waitress and pointed at Joy’s plate. “What did you have?” he asked Joy.

“Cheeseburger and fries.”

“I’ll have that,” Dylan said to the waitress.

“And to drink?”

“Water’s fine. I’m dying of thirst.” He blotted his forehead and neck with a paper napkin.

“Can I get you a refill?” she asked Joy.

“Yes. Cherry Coke, please.”

The waitress took her empty glass and Dylan smirked.

“Figures.”

Her back went rigid. “What?”

“You’ve got the whole fifties vibe going.” He gestured in her direction.

Joy touched her hair, trying not to take offense. She’d pulled it back into a high ponytail and tied it with a silk scarf that morning in San Bernardino before she’d left home for the last time. She thought her hairstyle looked nice. It sharpened her cheekbones and highlighted the caramel lowlights in her hair.

“Back in a sec. I’m going to wash up.” He showed her his grease-stained hands, then slid from the booth. The waitress returned with her refill and Dylan’s water and took away her plate.

What a rude, presumptuous clod, Joy thought as she admired Dylan’s backside until he slipped through the swinging door to the restrooms. She debated asking for her check. She should get on the road. But when he walked back to the booth, she decided to hang out a bit longer. She liked the sound of his voice. And now that she’d seen the color of his eyes, she wanted to find out more. Who was he? He’d mentioned a gig in Flagstaff. If his vocals sounded anything like his speaking voice, he could melt his audience. What instruments did he play? What type of music? Suddenly she wanted to know everything about him, which she reasoned was perfectly okay. Tall-drink-of-water guy was a musician and Joy was obsessed with music. Better that than drugs, Joy argued whenever her parents complained that she never unplugged.

Dylan slid back into the booth and chugged his entire glass of water. He moved the glass aside and leaned his forearms on the table. “What have you got there?” Before she could answer, he snagged Judy’s list.