Chapter 11
Crazy, just frigging crazy, Quinn thought as he sat in the Tombstone Diner outside Phoenix, jiggling one leg under the table and flipping through the song titles in one of the old individual jukeboxes that stood at attention at each table. He had to be crazy in love, or just plain crazy, to be out on what he assumed was a date with the chief rival of his volatile lover.
Or maybe not. Maybe the invite was just that—breakfast at a diner. Anyway, he loved diners, loved the way the early morning light slanted through the windows, as in a Hopper painting, slicing through the space with the promise of a new day.
Mostly, he loved the huge menus. You could get anything you wanted, from banana pancakes to fried clams, maybe both at one sitting. (He really did love to eat.)
Normally,
