The IHOP was bustling as usual when I arrived. I searched the restaurant for Brandon and found him sitting in a corner booth. Even from this far away, he was a sight for sore eyes.
I walked over and sat across from him on the plush seat. “Hey, Brandon.”
He graced me with a hesitant smile. “Adrian. How are you?”
“Fine, fine.” This was how our conversations typically began. I studied him for a minute. He’d lost weight over the last few months, and his long-sleeved shirt—an olive green that was a favorite of mine—hung looser on his solid frame than I was used to.
“Things okay with you?” I asked.
Before he could answer, the waitress arrived and took our order. We knew the menu by heart.
Once she left, he answered, “Yes and no.” Okay, that was different. I decided to wait on him to elabor
