| Wattpad Editor's Choice | Jason Lovett, a no-nonsense guitar-player, is leaving New York to get to a career-making gig in LA. But before he gets far, his car breaks down. Being stranded without a car or money and running short on time to get to th...
"Oooh, okay, here it is!" Della squealed, pulling into the next lane and then turning into the driveway.
I held back a gasp of shock. Bright neon signs flashed in my face, practically screaming at passers-by to stop for a crappy cup of coffee or a stale hamburger. The paint on the little building in front of us was chipped and peeling in some areas, while yellowing beams of light seeped through the windows. A handful of cars were sitting in the parking lot, but not many—and most of those were big, clunky vans that you'd normally take roadtrips in.
Della pulled us into a parking spot right underneath the biggest, flashiest sign that read, "Darlin' Daisy's Diner: Home of the State's Best Grilled Cheese."
A least they tried to keep it real with their sign claims.
I pursed my lips. The last thing we needed was to get food-poisoning from some moldy old diner she found on her phone. This place just didn't look promising. At all.
"Are you sure about this?"
"Jason, it's perfect! I mean, look at it. It's so quaint; it has a sort of unique, vintage charm."
"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure the food here is vintage too... This place looks like it hasn't changed anything since the 50's. C'mon, let's go somewhere else; I saw a drive-through a mile or two back."
"Listen, Lovett, if you are going to ride with me, you're going to have to learn to loosen up and go with the flow. Where's your sense of adventure?"
I grimaced. "Getting food-poisoning is not my definition of an adventure."
Instead of answering me, Della completely ignored my protests, grabbing her tote bag and sliding out of the car. My stomach suddenly growled.
My own body is betraying me! Why??
"Okay, fine!" I groaned as I clambered out of the Bug, "Just lock the car."
The locks clicked. And I trailed along behind my captor into the dingy diner, mentally preparing myself for an upset stomach.
•••
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We both ordered the "House Special: Grilled Cheese" and a side of fries. And it was actually okay. I mean, I didn't die and I didn't hate the food... Okay, fine! Maybe it was because I was exhausted, but in all honesty, the grilled cheese tasted kind of like the ones my mom used to make when I was a kid—the ones that crunch when you take a bite and then suddenly melt in your mouth in a pool of gooey, cheesy goodness. In short, it was pretty freaking amazing. And the inside of the diner wasn't nearly as filthy as it looked on the outside. And the service was decent. All in all, not too bad a place. But of course, I couldn't say so. Besides, even if I did, I don't Della would have noticed.
As soon as she was done eating, out came a glittery-cased laptop. Its temporary home was made on the chrome colored counter-top, where Della and I sat on tall swiveling stools. She rambled for a while, but eventually her comments came fewer and further between.
