Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
“That’s totally fine. There’s a great pizza place nearby that delivers, and I can show you Santa Barbara tomorrow.”
Even though he was nice about it, I wondered if he was secretly disappointed. Devon was the type of person who was always on the go, while I was definitely a homebody. Apparently that still applied when I was nowhere near home.
In the morning, we had coffee with Jan and Janice before packing our things and driving to a beautiful shopping district in downtown Santa Barbara. This was the Southern California promised in movies and tourists’ brochures—pristine, palm tree-lined streets, a perfect, mild temperature, even in winter, and interesting shops and restaurants in lovely Spanish-style buildings, which catered to a high-end clientele.
A lot of San Diego was like that, too—just not the part I’d grown up in. That was our next destination, so after we explored for a while and Devon took me to brunch, we got back in the van and headed south. It should have taken about three and a half hours, except that the traffic through L.A. bogged down and added an extra hour, even though we were nowhere near actual commuting hours.
Finally, as we exited the freeway, I pulled out my phone. “I think I’m going to message Myra. She’s a waitress at the diner.”
“I thought you wanted to surprise your dad.”
“I do, so I’ll swear her to secrecy. I want to check if he’s at work and find out if he’s busy. I mean, it’s a little after three p.m. so it’s not like the diner will be slammed at this hour…”
Devon glanced at my profile as we pulled up to a stoplight. “Are you nervous about seeing your dad?”
“No, but it’s stirring up a lot of emotions. This is the first time I’ve been back since I moved to San Francisco, and I was in such a bad place when I left. I’d just ended that horrible relationship, but I never talked to my dad about it. He would have been so upset if he’d known how much I was hurting, so I ended up pulling back and putting up walls between us. I really wish I hadn’t done that.”
I paused for a few moments before saying, “We’ve come a long way since then. Even though we call and text all the time now, I guess I’m worried about what it’s going to be like when we’re together. It’s going to make me so sad if this feels awkward, or if he seems distant.”
Devon squeezed my hand. “Just remember that I’ll be right by your side. I’m great at filling awkward silences with long, rambling stories with no point whatsoever, and by totally oversharing.”
He was obviously trying to lighten the mood, and when I glanced at him, he smiled at me. But there was genuine concern in his eyes.
It only took a few minutes to hear back from Myra. I sent a reply and told Devon, “My dad’s running errands, but he’ll be back at the diner by four. We might as well head over there.”
The diner had been called Sal’s Place ever since it was founded in the 1920s. My dad was its third owner, but he hadn’t had the heart to change the name. When we pulled into the parking lot, I climbed out of the van and stood there for a long moment, taking it all in.
The years hadn’t been kind to Sal’s. The boxy, rectangular building stood by itself on a corner lot, lined with planter boxes of spindly succulents. It was still cute with its art deco details, but the red paint had faded, the neon sign had burned out years ago, and the chrome finish on the door and decorative window trim was marred and worn. The whole thing really could have benefitted from the kind of facelift only a big influx of cash could provide—and that wasn’t happening anytime soon.
“Oh wow,” Devon exclaimed, “I love places like this! You can’t fake that kind of history and authenticity.” I turned to him to see if he was being sarcastic or poking fun at its rundown condition, but he’d meant every word and seemed absolutely enchanted.
We went in through the front door. I’d always used the employee entrance in the past, but that didn’t feel right this time, not after being away for so long. I stopped short in the empty dining room and whispered, “It’s like stepping through time, and I don’t mean the décor. It’s exactly the same as when I left.”
Half of the room was taken up by a long counter and its swiveling chairs. There were four tables off to the right, and the front wall along the plate glass windows was lined with a row of booths, which had worn, red vinyl seats.
Myra suddenly appeared in the pass-through window behind the counter and shouted, “Kit Kat, as I live and breathe!”