"Short stack it is. Just take a few."

One of the things Rhett loved about the diner was how open it was. One of his waitresses had compared it to a hibachi restaurant, and she wasn't wrong. Rather then a window that only peeked into the back of the place, the grill ran parallel to lunch counter, and he could work and converse with customers easily. Henry and Martha, the previous owners, had designed it that way. It fit in with the small town mentality, and made ordering and special requests easier. Rhett was even considering adding an area in the counter as a sort of permanent skillet, as an omelet and burger station for quick orders.

But even without that existing yet, it was child's play to pour three healthy ladles of pancake batter onto the griddle and let them set up. The cast iron was already hot, and it only took a moment for the warm smell to fill the diner. Rhett's pancake batter recipe was top secret, passed on from his grandparents. Vanilla played a heavy key in it, but the whole list of ingredients was a document that he kept absolutely secret. Whatever was on it, though, his pancakes were divine. Fluffy and sweet, never underdone or crunchy, and perfectly golden. Years of practice had taught him the art, and it was three of these masterpieces that he slid in front of Cassidiee, along with syrup and a basket of butter cups.

"There you go. Motel 6 is clean and safe, rare for a hotel chain I know, but Lizzie owns it so you can trust the rooms. She stays open all night, too, so no worries on when check in closes. Can I get you anything else, or something to drink?"