After booking a place to stay the night in Pilot Grove, MO, I decide to grab something to eat - preferably at a place that also serves alcohol.. The town is small and quaint with a population of roughly 800. I'm not from around here. The drive was relatively uneventful. From Nashville, I stopped in St. Louis, MO. Construction on the interstate and traffic put me behind in my travel time otherwise I would've stopped in Kansas City for the night.
After changing, I look up places to eat. Deon's Bar & Grill is around the block from Katy Junction B&B - not even a 5 minute walk. I know where I'm going. The bar and grill is small, and when I walk in, people turn to look at me. I can tell this is a place for regulars and bikers for Katy Trail. I press my lips into an awkward small smile and take a seat at the bar. The bartender comes up to me and smiles, leaning on the counter. He has short, dark hair, bright brown eyes, and freckles along his cheeks and nose. Huh.
"You're not from around here, are you?" he asks, and I shake my head. "Well, I'm John. Want a menu, or are you just here for a drink?" he adds with a wide smile.
"Menu, please." I offer another small smile, and he reaches around and grabs a menu for me.
"Take your time and let me know when you're ready to order." He pats the counter gently before walking over to another patron at the bar - an older gentleman with a ballcap, flannel, and a gun on his hip. Yeah, I'm definitely not from around here. After looking through the menu, I set it down and look around. I know no one, I'm by myself, and I'm in a town I'm not familiar with. Good thing I keep a knife on me.
"Ready?" I hear, and I look up to see the bartender. I order a burger and fries along with a glass of Jameson whiskey on the rocks. He checks my ID, and I can tell he doesn't believe my 5'2" ass is legal.
"Like the liquor, huh?" John passes me the rocks glass and leans against the counter.
"I don't have a taste for beer, wine makes me feel like I'm a 50 year old spinster, so yeah, liquor it is." I take a sip of my drink, the cool liquid heating my throat as it goes down. No face, no scrunch of the nose. This shit is like a damn soda to me.
He watches me and raises an eyebrow. "So what is someone from Kennesaw, Georgia doing out here in Pilot Grove?"
"I'm, uh... I'm just passing through."
"I hear that at least 20 times a day. Give me a little more than that." He flashes a smile.
I roll my eyes before leaning back in my seat and smile in return. "I'm driving out to Portland. Stopping in at major cities. I was trying to make it out to Kansas City before the end of the night, but that didn't happen. So here I am, in Pilot Grove."
"Johnny! Food's up." A server says as she walks around the corner, a smug grin on her face. John stands up straight and disappears into the back.
Huh.
After eating, I step outside for a cigarette. You can smoke inside, but I wanted some fresh air. Looking up at the night sky, I smile to myself. In Kennesaw, I don't get to see the night sky like this. Stars decorating the blue, black, and purple sky like the first snowfall or John's freckles. As I smoke, a truck races down the street, the engine obnoxiously loud. A mini-fridge box slides to the other side of the bed as they round a corner. Rolling my eyes, I return my attention to the night sky and smile.
❧
I leave the B&B at 8:30 A.M. after taking a nice hot shower, eating breakfast, and filling my to-go mug with coffee. I let myself sleep in a bit, knowing I have another long day ahead of me. As I was loading my stuff into my car, John ran up to me, his cheeks pink. Luckily I remember telling him where I was staying for the night and about my car, otherwise this would've been an interesting encounter. He gave me his number on a small piece of receipt paper, and I tucked it into my pocket with a smile. "In case you find yourself passing through again," he had said. I could tell he was nervous because he didn't know what to do with his hands. It was the cutest thing.
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