“An assortment!” A true smile spread over her lips.

Martha made haste with bringing out some initial pieces of pie. I’ve eaten almost everything here at one point or another, but usually wandered back to my usual plate. “These are our most popular, and Brent’s personal favorites, but I’ll be back with a sample of all we have so you can decide for yourself.” She flicked her gaze at me in a curious manner. Again, I knew I’d have to deal with the twenty questions about Fallon later.

She hurried away and Fallon looked back to the table, a sadness washing over her face. Did she hate these flavors?

“What are you pouting about?” I flicked the sausage I teased her with onto her plate hoping her awkward sad face would stop.

She sighed and pushed out her bottom lip even more. “I can’t bring this home. We rode on your motorcycle.”

That’s what makes you depressed? “You can get delivery next time, you know?”

Her eyes lit up. “Next time?”

I finished my coffee before responding, waving Martha back over for a refill. “Oh, yeah. You’ll turn into a proper addict for this place.”

The rest of the pie as promised appeared on the table while my coffee got a refill. “Hope you enjoy, sweet pea.” Martha didn’t bother to look at me whatsoever.

Fallon’s gaze flicked between me and Martha, probably wondering what the backstory was here. It looked like she was wanting to ask, but decided against it. Not asking was the better move–I didn’t want to get into my life story with the girl I just met when I knew Martha was going to hound me about it later.

Pulling out my wallet in an effort to appear like I was at least making good on a first date, I asked, “What’s the damage?”

Of course, Blondie reached into her purse as well. Martha looked between the two of us once again and held up a hand. “It’s... on the house tonight.” She disappeared into the kitchen, probably to spill the news about the infamous Brent bringing in a girl to the diner on a random evening. It was out of character for me, and I would have a nice round of questions to try to skirt.

Fallon laid three hundred dollar bills on the table before diving right in, taking a bite of each piece of pie laid out before her. I flipped through my bills and matched her bid.

“Baller,” I challenged her.

“Could say the same about you,” she scoffed, taking in a bite of the blueberry pie. “Looks like Miss Martha can enjoy the morning off after we terrorized her.”