“Just bring the plate, Dottie.”

“It’s literally on the ‘Blue Plate Specials’ board. And it comes with a side of baked apples and a honey-chipotle syrup.”

When it arrived, it was a sight to behold. Three golden-brown fried chicken tenders, crispy and craggy, laid across a thick, buttermilk waffle with deep square wells. A little metal pitcher of warm honey-chipotle syrup steamed on the side. A ramekin of baked apples sat next to it like a quiet apology.

Maya laughed—the same laugh she’d had since she was five, chasing lightning bugs in his backyard. That laugh was the only thing that could move him off his spot.