And oddly, he was starting to like that his charm seemed to have no effect on her.
He held the door open for her, then waited in anticipation for her reaction to the interior of Big Mom’s Wigwam Diner and Café.
The décor was an assault on their eyes. Camping paraphernalia and dreamcatchers and southwest style rugs had been hung haphazardly all over the walls, leaving virtually no trace of the cream-colored background. It was as if every person who’d ever eaten there had left behind a memento, and nothing about it was remotely cohesive.
On the back wall of the space, was a large wigwam, sides rolled open to reveal the door to the kitchen—and over the top of that door—a very ample, three-dimensional woman’s behind.
Just like he remembered.
“Maybe you’ll get an idea for your next set?” Will smirked over at her, but Lauren’s wide eyes held no amusement.
“You want to eat here?” She turned toward him. “It doesn’t exactly seem clean.”
“Oh, come on, live a little.” He led them to a booth next to the front window, and after sitting, Lauren immediately hid behind the menu.
“You know, we should probably try to get to know each other a little,” he said.
“Why?” Her voice came from behind the giant laminated booklet.
“We’re going to be traveling together for a week. Well,” he added, “at least a week.”
She snapped the menu down. “What do you mean ‘at least’ a week?”
He shrugged. “Crazy things can happen on the road. Generously sized women in tepees could pop up anywhere, you know. I’m keeping all of our options open.”
She sighed heavily and retreated again behind the menu.
There was an awkward silence.
“Did Spencer ever tell you about the time we road tripped down to Florida for spring break?”
“No,” she said.
He grinned at the memory, “Yeah it was nuts, we ended up. . .”
He stopped, and felt his smile fade. On the trip he’d gotten so drunk one night that Spencer had to carry him home. Not worth reliving. “。 . .getting, uh, lost, we were wandering around for hours. We got turned around more times than I can count.”
Lauren stared at him, her eyebrows pinched. “That’s a great story, Will.”
The waitress, a pretty blonde about Lauren’s age whose wigwam-shaped nametag said “Melinda”， stopped by their table. She gave Will a once-over, then smiled her approval. Her bright red lips matched her Santa hat. “Well, good morning, handsome. Haven’t seen you in here before.”
Will knew that Big Mom’s was off the beaten path, not on the more famous part of the route that traveled from Southern California to Chicago, so it was unlikely the staff was used to anything but locals. Thankfully the trip Will took as a kid didn’t stick to interstates and highways. His best memories always happened when he didn’t follow the map.
“Haven’t been here in a lot of years, Melinda.” He flashed her a smile.
She pressed her lips together and widened her eyes. “What brings you to my little neck of the woods?”
“We’re taking a road trip. Heading home for Christmas,” he said.
“Ahh, and where’s home?”
“Northern Illinois. A little town called Pleasant Valley.”
She giggled. “Sounds pleasant.”
Will laughed politely.
“And such a long drive!” She put a hand on Will’s shoulder. “I’ll be sure to send you off with a full belly. Everyone comes in for the pancakes,” she leaned in closer to him, almost whispering, “but I recommend the French toast.”
Will mimicked her tone. “Well, then, I’ll have to try the French toast.” He laughed, and she approved. “With coffee and a glass of orange juice.”
She smiled again.
Only then did he notice the death glare coming at him from across the table. Lauren sat, menu down, one brow quirked as if to make a point. Melinda hadn’t even acknowledged her.
“Oh! What did you want, Lauren?” he asked.
“Burger and fries,” she said, without looking at the waitress. “And a Coke.”
Melinda scribbled the order on her notepad. “Great, I’ll be right back with your drinks.” She winked at him and sashayed away, leaving him to face his biggest fan.
Lauren shook her head slowly.
“What?” Will asked.
“Such a cliché,” she said.
And unfortunately, he was pretty sure she had a point.