Something Like Normal(30)

“Can we get some breakfast?” Moss asks as we pile into the Jeep. Kevlar calls shotgun.

“We can stop somewhere,” I say. “What do you want?”

“Waffle House.”

“Not again,” Kevlar groans at Moss’s suggestion. “Solo, did you know there are thirty-eight Waffle Houses between here and Lejeune? Now, we haven’t eaten in all of them, but wouldn’t you say four in a seventeen-hour period is excessive?”

“I like Waffle House,” Moss says.

Harper is probably working, which is a good enough reason for me. “Shut up, Kenneth. If the man wants Waffle House, we’re going to Waffle House.”

Harper looks up as we enter the restaurant. Kevlar is out in front, so I wink at her and put my finger to my lips. She gives us a bright, generic smile. “Hi! Welcome to Waffle House. Have a seat anywhere and I’ll be right with you.”

“Damn, Solo, if there were girls who looked like that in the other Waffle Houses, I’d have stopped at every single one of them,” Kevlar says.

“Why? So you could sit there and not talk to them the way you did when you, me, and Charlie went to New York?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“C. J.,” I say, “you should have seen him. The whole trip he talked about how he was going to get laid. Then we get to the bars and he’s like, ‘She’s hot. Maybe I’ll go ask her to dance.’ And Charlie and I would be all, ‘Do it.’ But did he? No.”

“I talked to that one girl.”

“Oh, that’s right.” I nod. “One girl. Did you get laid? Kiss her? Get her phone number? Dude, it’s not difficult. In fact, I bet I can get that girl”—I point at Harper—“to kiss me before breakfast is over.”

“No way.” Kevlar shakes his head. “You’re not that good.”

“How much?”

“Twenty bucks,” he says.

“Deal.”

Harper brings menus and silverware. “My name is Harper. Can I get you some coffee? Or maybe some orange juice?”

“Harper? That’s a beautiful name,” I say. “Were you named after Harper Lee?”

The corner of her mouth twitches, but she doesn’t give anything away. “No, Charley Harper.”

“The artist? He’s one of my favorites,” I say. “My name’s Travis and these are my friends Kenny—”

“Ken,” he interrupts, and I nearly lose it. Ken? Since when? “Ken Chestnut.”

“And this is C. J.”

“Very nice to meet you,” she says. “You gentlemen aren’t from around here, are you?”

“We’re down for a couple of days from North Carolina,” I say.

“Marines,” Kevlar adds. “We just got back from Afghanistan.”

She turns her high-beam smile on him and his face goes as red as his hair. “Nice.”

“We’re going deep-sea fishing later,” I say. “You wouldn’t—would you like to join us?”

Then she smiles at me and this charade takes on a whole new dimension and I like it. A lot. “Sure, sounds fun,” Harper says. “Now, about those drinks.”

While she’s gone, Kevlar fills me in on company gossip. I don’t know how he finds it all out, but he has dirt on nearly everyone. “Dude, you remember Nardello from second platoon? His wife left him and took everything, even his ’66 Mustang.”

“Damn, that’s cold.”

“And Day—dude, he tried to off himself.”

“What? No.”

“Yeah,” Kevlar says. “He was pretty tight with Palmer.”

Palmer was one of the eight from our battalion who were killed. I didn’t know Day or Palmer very well, but I guess I know how Day feels. Like you’re a glass that’s filled to the top. Then you have to face everything back home and the glass overflows.

Harper comes back with a pot of coffee and I push it all out of my mind. “You guys know what you want?”

Moss orders biscuits and gravy with grits and Kevlar goes for a pecan waffle, but I cock my head and look up at her. “All I want is a kiss.”

Her eyebrows lift. “What?”

“Nothing on the menu would compare.”

Kevlar groans and even I have to admit it’s the cheesiest thing I have ever said. But this isn’t about successful pickup lines. It’s about winning twenty bucks from the guy who bungee-corded me to my bed.

“Well, that’s just about the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard,” she says, and slides into the booth beside me. Harper touches my face with her fingertips and presses her lips against mine. She smells like apples and bacon and maple syrup. This is supposed to be a joke, but her tongue teasing against mine makes the Waffle House disappear and sends me dangerously close to cold shower territory. Her green eyes are on mine as she pulls slowly away and gives me a tiny, private smile. I extend my hand across the table—palm up—and Kevlar slaps a twenty in it. Harper gives me another quick peck on the lips, then stands up. “Are you having the usual, Travis?”

“Yep.”

“Solo, man, that was so not fair,” Kevlar protests.

I snap the bill between my fingers. “I’d say it almost makes us even.”