Lone Star Steakhouse, Tuesday, 9:04 a.m.
Delta sat patiently atop the stool and waited for York to get situated behind the counter.
"What can I getcha, pardner?" York asked, leaning an arm on the countertop and grinning at his nephew.
"Coming right up." York grabbed a glass, flipped it with a flourish, and filled it with apple juice. "Four fingers of cider, no ice. Straw?"
"Yes, please." Delta pushed his tiny glasses back up and grinned as York sent the glass sliding across the surface to come to a stop right in front of him without spilling over the side. "Thanks, Uncle York."
"Sure thing, kid. You got your paperwork to keep you busy?" Delta nodded, and York patted his shoulder. "Connie'll be back in a few. Holler if you need anything, I gotta get started on tables."
"I won't yell, but I will let you know if something comes up," Delta said seriously, getting his crayons and coloring book out of his backpack.
York chuckled. "Alright, D. I'll see ya in a bit."