Chapter 12

“I could say, I’m more a ‘broiled, not fried’ kind of guy,” Max replied. “That would a lie. I always fry burgers at home.”

“No grilling in the back yard?”

“I do own a grill. I think I’ve used it maybe three times since I bought it, which was several years ago.”

“Plebeian,” Deacon muttered.

“Nope. I’d be that if I did use it.”

“Good point.”

Deacon signed the credit card slip when the waitress gave it to him, then suggested they leave, if Max was ready. He was, so they did. When they got to the lot where both of them had parked, Deacon said, “I’ll see you next Sunday.”

“If not before. I might drop by your shop.”

“I’d like that.” Deacon grinned. “I’ll teach you how to shoot an AK-47.”

“I think I’ll pass on that, thanks.”

“In your case, probably a wise move.” Deacon started to say something, stopped, then much to Max’s surprise, gave him a fast hug. “Just because,” he mumbled.

“I have no problem with that,” Max replied. “Hugs are good things, even between friends.”