Alan approached the hostess stand at Bannock’s with some trepidation Saturday morning. Normally, he would have just given his name, telling Logan that he wanted his usual table in the back corner of the restaurant. When he did that, Logan—Well, he doesn’t exactly sneer, but he sure makes me feel as if I’m not worth anything more than being hidden in the corner.
“How many?” Logan asked when Alan was standing in front of him.
As if you don’t know. Alan resisted saying that aloud. “One please, in Jim’s section.”
Logan seemed surprised as he checked his computer screen. “There won’t be one available for at least half an hour. I can seat you sooner if you want your usual table.”
“I’ll wait.” Alan gave him his name and phone number, then went outside, since the small waiting area inside was
