“Oh, but that's my go-to routine!” William said as he feigned anger. “I entered the
talent show.”
“Well, you’ll need to back out or find a new talent!” she said, laughing. “I'm
sorry but I don't make the rules, I only live by them.”
William smiled. “Okay, I promise not to do any Austin Powers impressions in front
of you. I'll behave!” he said, using a deliberately bad English accent to mimic the
Mike Myers character.
“I did warn you,” Casey said with a grin, lightly slapping his arm. “Since you
didn't do it correctly, I won’t give you a strike.”
“A strike?” William asked, confused. “I thought it was one and done?”
Casey smiled. “I've added the strike system. You seem like a nice enough fellow.”
She turned, gazing out the window.
“But you said you don't make the rules?” William asked, puzzled by her changing
rules.
“Exactly,” Casey responded.
They pulled into the parking lot of Cooper’s Diner.
Cooper’s felt like a ghost town. William had been there for Sunday morning
breakfasts and hadn’t expected such an empty parking lot. The familiar neon Open
sign flickered in the window. As a kid, he used to wonder if the place would shut
down once the sign stopped blinking.
“Are you sure this place has the best breakfast?” Casey asked with a skeptical look
on her face.
“They do,” he responded, killing the engine. “I swear.”
“I'll take your word for it right now, but if my pancakes are bad, I will never
trust you again.” Casey stepped out of the 1992 Le Mans.