Clint nodded.
"You know what you want?" he asked, holding up his menu.
"Oh! No, I need to actually read it," I said.
We lapsed into silence for a minute.
When the waitress came by for our drinks, I got a margarita and Clint got a draft beer.
"Ready to order?" she asked.
We looked at each other, and both nodded.
"I'll have chicken enchiladas," I said.
"Good call. I'll have the steak fajitas," he told the waitress, who nodded, and took the menus as she disappeared.
"It's good having Brandon and his fella there, and it's actually nice to have someone to talk to," he said.
"Brandon's fella?" I asked.
"Will," Clint said. He flashed his bright grin at me again. "Brandon doesn't like the pretty girls, he and Will met at the rodeo."
“Oh,” I said, “Huh.”
“That a problem?” he asked.
“No, not at all. Not for me, but I would have pegged you for a little less..” I trailed off.
“Brandon’s my best friend, and Will’s a good guy. Anything else is their business,” he said, firmly.
“Good way to look at it,” I said. “How long have you known Brandon?”
“Pretty much forever,” he said, “I suppose we’re more like brothers, he spent all his time at the ranch when we were kids.”
“He mentioned your parents,” I said, “He, uh, actually said that they passed a few years back. I don’t want to be nosy, but, well, I am.”
He took a swig of the beer that had just arrived.
“Car accident,” he said, “My father, at least. Four years back. He lost my mother to cancer a few years before that.”
I winced and reached out, squeezing his free hand briefly.
“That’s rough, I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.
He nodded.
“Your parents?” he asked.
I tried to resist the urge to roll my eyes again.
“They split when I was a kid, and each remarried a while back,” I said. I took a sip of my own margarita.
“They live nearby?” he asked.
“No, he lives in Washington state, and she
lives in Florida,” I said, “They’re as far away from each other as they can get and stay in the country.”