They checked out the menu, and Flynn realized that conversation was going to be well-nigh impossible over the general din of the restaurant. Not only was the chatter at an alarming level, there was also the roar of the cappuccino maker and a vague jazz soundtrack underneath it all. It was okay. After standing in line for almost a couple of hours, Flynn wasn’t sure how much he had left to talk about anyway.
“What are you having?” he screamed.
And Clara screamed back, “Banana walnut pancakes, I think! And a side of applewood-smoked bacon. Coffee, of course!”
Flynn nodded and tried to convey across the table that he was keeping it simple with a couple of poached eggs and one of their crumpets. Flynn loved nothing more—well, maybe a couple of things more—than dipping a good-quality baked good into a runny yolk.