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birthday.
    â€œReally, Paige. I felt terrible. What a way to make a good impression, right?”
    I shrug. My birthday wasn’t all awful, but it wasn’t great. I am not sure Tyler could have changed any of that, though. Odds were that Luke would still have shown up.
    And then Preslee this morning.
    I rub my forehead.
    Tyler looks over at me. “All okay?”
    â€œHmm? Yeah. Sorry. I’ll explain later.”
    We get to the restaurant and Tyler pulls the truck into a parking space. I first discovered this place when I was in the middle of my first midterms here. It was the only nonscary-looking place open late and it smelled like heaven inside. And another heavenly attribute, it was cheap.
    I came here a lot through college. Most of my Freshmen Fifteen was thanks to the peach pancakes with a side of bacon.
    Which is why the day after I graduated, I started running.
    We get seated at a table in the corner and I look around at the Saturday late-morning customers. Families who are visiting over ice-cold pancake remnants and likely their umpteenth coffee refill while babies and kids play goofy games with each other. Men reading the paper alone. Ladies chatting over some of the lunch options.
    â€œI don’t know if I’ve ever actually eaten here before.” Tyler opens the menu. “I think I came in here once with Rick, and it was packed to the rafters so we headed to IHOP instead.” He shrugged. “Rick was apparently in a pancake mood.”
    â€œThose moods are hard to shake,” I say, feeling Rick’s pain. The need for pancakes struck often after I vowed to stop coming here. I tried to shut the need up with celery sticks, and it rarely worked.
    I will never understand how some people can exist on diets of fruits and vegetables. I have a deep mix of sympathy for them and envy of them.
    â€œSo. What’s good here?”
    â€œPeach pancakes,” I tell him decidedly. I’ve already eaten my semihealthy breakfast of Raisin Bran, and I am still thinking of ordering the peach pancakes.
    I always thought there was no cereal more healthy than Raisin Bran until I was sleepily reading the cereal box one morning and realized that sugar was listed twice in the ingredients.
    Now I am not sure, even though in my brain the word bran is pretty much synonymous with lover of all things healthy .
    Tyler makes a noise deep in the back of his throat. “Mmm. Burritos. Ever had the meat-lover’s burrito?”
    â€œYou do not know me at all.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause, Tyler, there are peach pancakes here. Peach. Pancakes. As in, the best ever. Why would I trade those in for something I could get at any truck stop in the city?”
    He shrugs. “I figure this burrito is probably made with real bacon. That’s one up on the truck-stop burritos.”
    I just stare at him. “Please tell me you are joking.”
    â€œNo, I’m serious. I bet this place uses real pork.”
    I make a face and the waiter comes over. “Good morning. Can I start you off with some coffee? Or perhaps one of our cinnamon rolls? Are you feeling okay, ma’am?”
    I look up at the waiter, and if I have to guess, he is right around my age. And he is calling me ma’am .
    That doesn’t sit well for some reason. Probably because I just turned another year older. “I’m fine, sir.”
    Tyler smushes his lips together and stares very intensely at his menu.
    â€œCoffee?” the waiter asks again.
    â€œYes please. With cream for mine.”
    â€œYou, sir?”
    Tyler shakes his head. “Just orange juice for me, thanks.”
    â€œAre you ready to order?” he asks, scribbling our drink order on a notepad. We both order our breakfast and Tyler hands the menus to the waiter.
    â€œHappy birthday, ma’am .” Tyler hands me a small wrapped box across the table.
    I didn’t see him carrying anything in, so it must have been in his