Two pick-up trucks like hers, mud-spattered with Tennessee license plates, and one Toyota Prius that looked awkwardly out of place with it's immaculate white paint job and Illinois tags. Probably tourists, carb loading before a hike up Mt. LeConte.
Morgan parked next to the Prius, grabbed her black canvas messenger bag off of the front seat and headed for the front door. Apprehension gnawed at her, and she tried to stifle her uneasiness. Being able to enjoy good cup of coffee and some down-home food like any normal person would go a long way toward helping her convince herself that she wasn't becoming a total shut-in, but just the act of shaking up her routine like this was playing havoc with her nerves.
Bells over the doorway tinkled cheerfully to announce her entrance and the smell of rich coffee and fried breakfast in the air made her stomach growl. Having pretty much her pick of seats, she headed to a table in the far left corner and settled in so her back was against the wood-paneled wall.
From her vantage point, she could see the whole parking lot and down the length of the restaurant. Two older men sat in a booth a short distance away, each reading their own newspaper. A young guy with his back to her flirted with a waitress in a blue uniform and thick-soled white shoes while she took his order. On the other side of the room, a dark-haired man sat with a little girl of about six as she colored on her place mat.
The waitress, cheeks flushed pink and blue eyes sparkling, finally made her way down to Morgan's table. "Need a menu, sweetie?" she asked.
"No, thanks," Morgan answered, lowering her eyes to "Sandy's" name tag. "Just a cup of coffee and a side of biscuits and gravy, please."
She shrugged and tucked her notepad in her apron pocket. "Easy enough. Be right back."
Morgan took a deep breath. This wasn't so bad. It's not like the place was packed. Crowds made her jumpy because people blended in to them too easily. This, though - this was good. She should add breakfast to her routine every Saturday, just to keep her people skills in shape.
Pulling a novel out of her bag, she opened it and pretended to read, but continued to study the other people in the restaurant over the top of it. The older men still read their papers silently, but the younger guy had gotten his food and was busy shoveling it down like someone was going to snatch it out from under him any second.
The dark-haired man and the little girl also had their food, but neither one was eating. The girl still had her head down as she colored, a swing of straight chestnut hair hiding her face, as the man (probably her dad) spoke softly to her. They were too far away for her to hear what he was saying, but it looked like he was trying to coax her to eat.
The girl, intent on what she was doing didn't respond. Morgan's knuckles tensed on the book as she watched them. Why didn't the girl just eat? The dad had to be getting frustrated. He didn't look angry,
Morgan parked next to the Prius, grabbed her black canvas messenger bag off of the front seat and headed for the front door. Apprehension gnawed at her, and she tried to stifle her uneasiness. Being able to enjoy good cup of coffee and some down-home food like any normal person would go a long way toward helping her convince herself that she wasn't becoming a total shut-in, but just the act of shaking up her routine like this was playing havoc with her nerves.
Bells over the doorway tinkled cheerfully to announce her entrance and the smell of rich coffee and fried breakfast in the air made her stomach growl. Having pretty much her pick of seats, she headed to a table in the far left corner and settled in so her back was against the wood-paneled wall.
From her vantage point, she could see the whole parking lot and down the length of the restaurant. Two older men sat in a booth a short distance away, each reading their own newspaper. A young guy with his back to her flirted with a waitress in a blue uniform and thick-soled white shoes while she took his order. On the other side of the room, a dark-haired man sat with a little girl of about six as she colored on her place mat.
The waitress, cheeks flushed pink and blue eyes sparkling, finally made her way down to Morgan's table. "Need a menu, sweetie?" she asked.
"No, thanks," Morgan answered, lowering her eyes to "Sandy's" name tag. "Just a cup of coffee and a side of biscuits and gravy, please."
She shrugged and tucked her notepad in her apron pocket. "Easy enough. Be right back."
Morgan took a deep breath. This wasn't so bad. It's not like the place was packed. Crowds made her jumpy because people blended in to them too easily. This, though - this was good. She should add breakfast to her routine every Saturday, just to keep her people skills in shape.
Pulling a novel out of her bag, she opened it and pretended to read, but continued to study the other people in the restaurant over the top of it. The older men still read their papers silently, but the younger guy had gotten his food and was busy shoveling it down like someone was going to snatch it out from under him any second.
The dark-haired man and the little girl also had their food, but neither one was eating. The girl still had her head down as she colored, a swing of straight chestnut hair hiding her face, as the man (probably her dad) spoke softly to her. They were too far away for her to hear what he was saying, but it looked like he was trying to coax her to eat.
The girl, intent on what she was doing didn't respond. Morgan's knuckles tensed on the book as she watched them. Why didn't the girl just eat? The dad had to be getting frustrated. He didn't look angry,
