Dancing Shoes and Honky-Tonk Blues Read Online Free Page B

myself involved in. I notice that his gaze has shifted from my face to over my shoulder, and sure enough my mother appears with a coffeepot that she handles like it’s an extension of her hand.
    “Would you like a refill, Mr. Banks?”
    “Yes, please. Your coffee is delicious . . . smooth and rich. My compliments.”
    “Why, thank you kindly,” she responds with a proud smile. “I would have refilled your cup earlier, mind you, but I didn’t want to interrupt.” She fills his cup with a flourish. “May I bring you breakfast? On the house, of course.”
    “That would be most excellent,” he says with a wide smile that shows off perfect teeth. I must admit that he’s pretty danged hot for an older dude. “But on two conditions.”
    Mama arches one elegant eyebrow. How she manages to be a southern belle while waiting tables is beyond me. “And what might those be?”
    “One, that you call me Mitch. And two, that you allow me to pay for my meal.”
    Mama inclines her head. “I will call you Mitch but breakfast is on me . Now, just what would you like?”
    I’m watching this exchange like it’s a tennis match and the two of them have forgotten all about me.
    “Is there something special that you would suggest?” His voice is a smooth rumble and my mother gives him a look that I swear could melt butter!
    “The all-American breakfast is a popular choice. We make everything from scratch, even the hash browns.”
    “Does it come with grits?”
    Mama’s mouth curves into a big smile. “Do you like grits?”
    He smiles right back. “Never had them but I enjoy trying new cuisine.”
    Mama chuckles. “Here at the diner we think of it as good ole down-home cookin’. Now, how would you like your eggs?”
    “Over easy.”
    “Bacon, sausage, or ham?”
    He frowns. “Um, do you have turkey bacon?”
    Mama taps her pencil on her cheek. “Now, just how could you wrangle bacon from a turkey?” She gives him a wide-eyed look but he somehow gets that she’s joking.
    “Okay . . . bacon , please.”
    “Biscuits or toast?”
    “Whole wheat toast.”
    “The biscuits are to die for.”
    “You’re tempting me . . .”
    “All that low-carb nonsense is a bunch of hoo-ha,” Mama tells him with a wave of her hand. “We have customers who eat a real honest-to-goodness breakfast here each and every day and who will live to be a hundred. It’s all about hard work and clean living.”
    Oh, Mama . . . why did you say that?
    Her eyes widen and she looks like she wants to clamp her hand over her mouth. “Oh my , I didn’t mean to imply that you don’t work hard or live clean . . . I meant it as a general observation,” Mama says quickly, but of course the damage has been done.
    “So I’m a damned Yankee, huh?” Mitch says but then smiles. “No offense taken, Sadie. You’re probably spot-on in your general observation, anyway.”
    “Spot-on?” Mama frowns at Mitchell and I notice that the color is high in her cheeks.
    “Correct,” he tells her.
    “Oh,” she says, nodding slowly. “Again, I meant no offense . . . sometimes my mouth just rattles on and on . . .”
    Mitchell shrugs his wide shoulders. “I think we all have preconceptions . . . perhaps misconceptions or prejudices if you will about people and places that we’re not familiar with. This show will be an eye-opener in many ways, I’m sure.”
    “So, will you be in town for the entire production?” I ask, thinking surely he has bigger fish to fry. I notice that my mother is itching to get back to her tables but looks at him expectantly.
    Mitchell cradles his coffee mug for a moment as if making a decision and then says, “Yes, I believe I will. I had intended to leave when the director and the production crew arrives, but I’m beginning to think that I won’t want to miss a moment of this . . . adventure.” He glances at Mama and I have to wonder if he is entirely referring to the show.
    “I do have to get back to work,” Mama says with a